The Weight of Vanishing I become smoke—
a language too fragile
 for the world to hold. Red threads cradle what remains,
 not to imprison,
 but to remind me
 that even broken constellations
belong to the sky. The rest of me rises,
 soft as a farewell,
 burning without flame,
 disappearing without leaving. Let me become
 the breath between waves,
 the space inside silence,
 the ghost of a self
finally learning
how to be free. 1/1 original digital artwork PNG 3000*4000, 350 dpi Created August 2026 Artist: Bloom SPN Edition: 1/1