In the stillness of the night
she returns, not as memory,
but as light penetrating the curtains,
flowing like waves.
She stands quietly,
draped in the wisdom of her years.
Her eyes hold something
he cannot name.
He watches her come closer,
like a distant shore
drawn towards the sea.
And when she fades,
her fragrance remains,
a quiet longing he carries
into morning.
She
is the ocean,
and somewhere within him
she rises like the tide,
like unharnessed horses
galloping towards
the open horizon.
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