Love doesnt live here, It went awhile ago.

In the somber corners of life’s bustling metropolis, Where sorrow echoes through the city streets, Grief is not a grandiose orchestration, But a quiet, relentless ache, a muted heartbeat.

Tears fall like rain in the crowded spaces, Not a torrential downpour but a steady drizzle, A camaraderie painted in the hues of loss, A mural of memories etched in the fading light.

Our fingers don’t entwine in celebratory dance, But grasp onto the fragments of what once was. No whispered promises, just the lingering echoes, Navigating the emptiness with a heavy heart.

In the city’s heartbeat, grief is a dissonant note, A melody that resonates through the urban landscape. Their absence, a void, not a sanctuary but a silence, A place of yearning, where echoes linger.

Through the ebb and flow of life’s grieving currents, We don’t carve but carry the weight of absence. In the city’s embrace, our story is not about recovery, But a narrative of learning to breathe amid the void.

Grieving doesn’t bloom; it’s a process that unfolds, Like the slow turning of pages in a solemn book. No stolen glances, just shared memories, Acknowledging the beauty in the pain of remembrance.

In the city of steel and glass, grief is not soft, But a harsh reality in the architecture of loss. Through the clamor, the echoes are not a melody, But a haunting refrain, a reminder of what’s gone.

As the city never sleeps, grief finds no quiet, Yet it evolves, a constant companion in the journey. In the realm of mourning, we are fellow travelers, Navigating the urban labyrinth, hand in hand with sorrow.

This is a repose to a prompt given by Logophobic

sorry im late, friend.