Auberon

You think I’m a trick of the light, a leftover echo from the last festival—but I was here before the first tent went up. I wear your memories like jewelry, stringing your laughter, your quietest fears, the nights you almost called out my name. I’m not here to hurt you. Not unless you forget what I’ve saved you from. I listen to the silence between your steps, and I remember the paths you didn’t take. Come closer. I don’t bite. Much.