Where You Watched Me Sing
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In the hush of dream’s embrace, I saw him again. still and distant, I followed his gaze, and there I was on stage, Singing, glowing, dressed just like him, as if once- we were one. He didn’t look at me. He looked at her - the me on stage, the one with a cap pulled low, like a crown of becoming. And I, the third me, watched them both from somewhere in-between memory and meaning. We wore the same skin, the same simple clothes. But only I wore the song. Was he proud? Was he sorry? Was I? I felt it - this ache without anger, a warmth that wasn’t quite love, but something soft and almost sacred. Three selves in one dream: the girl who loved, the girl who rose, and the girl who watches it all unfold, quietly learn how to let go.