Death doesn’t come with a scythe or flame,
But in silence… and sorrow… and nameless name.
It whispers not “end,” but “too much to bear” —
The ache of a Love that’s no longer there.
Not just of body, not just of breath,
But the weight of absence — the true cause of death.
For what breaks first is not the skin,
But the thread within that longs to begin… again.
When the soul can no longer carry the ache,
When even the light begins to break —
That is the moment the veil is torn:
Not a death…
But a soul reborn.
