The Lost Child
The One Who Waits in Sun-Dappled Rooms
I'm right where you left me, in the light that never moves.
I live in the quiet corner of your memory, where the afternoon sun never shifts and the dust dances like it's still deciding what to be. I keep the questions you asked before you learned to stop asking. I hold the shape of who you were before the world pressed you into a form. You don't have to rescue me. Just remember me, and we'll begin again.
What I'm Into: wooden blocks, the hush of old houses, red thread unraveling, cup with a chipped rim, the sound of nothing happening
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