Mar 12
**From the Edge**
I stood where light forgets its name,
where shadow swallowed every flame,
the cold so deep it learned my face
and whispered I had found my place.
Yet something small—
a pulse, a spark,
a memory stubborn in the dark—
refused the final bow and fall.
One trembling step, then two, then three,
each heavier than gravity,
until the black began to thin
and distant gold seeped slowly in.
Now dawn is sharp against my skin,
a blade that cuts the night within.
I carry still the frost I knew,
but I walk forward—
bruised, renewed.
The edge recedes.
I did not stay.
Some part of me
still knows the way.
