DIMMED BUT STILL MOVING

Streetlights hum in a world gone gray,

shadows stretching long

like they’ve been waiting to speak.

My steps land heavy,

but they land sure —

no rush,

no race against the turning clock,

no need to catch a moment

already passing.

Breath turns to fog,

soft as fading memory.

The heart drums on,

quiet but persistent,

a rhythm that refuses to quit.

I’m dimmed,

but moving —

not undone,

not swallowed by the setting sun.

A flicker still rises in me,

chasing echoes across a fading sky,

choosing motion

even when the light grows thin.

The moon hangs low,

a tired eye watching over clouds

that drift with no ambition.

My hands hold air —

the shape of things no longer here,

the weight of what was never mine to keep.

Still, I’m dimmed

but moving,

not undone —

a quiet glow walking beside the dark.

No explanations,

no battles,

just the soft insistence of forward.

Empty streets whisper my name.

Every crack in the pavement remembers me

better than I remember myself.

If the world unravels,

I’ll weave another thread —

not broken,

just softer,

still here.

The flicker fades…

but I remain.