起死回生

She looked pale, mysterious,

like a lily drowned under water—

its beauty blurred by sorrow’s ripple,

still reaching for a vanished sun.

A ghost of grace beneath the tide,

yearning for what once was

and can never be again:

a touch, a name,

a moment unfractured.

The river remembers her,

in silken whispers through the reeds,

calling out her silence

in echoes only the dusk can hear.

And still she floats,

fragile in her longing,

as if grief might bloom again

into something more than ruin—

a memory not marred,

a heart not broken.

In that hush between worlds,

she waits—

not for return,

but for revival.