Every day, he sits by the river,
watching the water flow, serene and constant,
like time slipping away unnoticed.
And every day, she arrives,
the woman who sits on the edge of the bridge,
staring into the abyss as if it were her destiny.
Her eyes are deep,
filled with shadows and tears that never stop.
The gaze lost in the water,
as if she’s searching for something she cannot find.
Her features pale, marked by sorrow,
the silence of her tears streaming down,
carving a path on her skin.
He watches her in silence,
too afraid to interrupt,
as if his words might shatter something fragile,
or perhaps, as if he were the next
to be swallowed by the abyss she stares at.
He wonders what keeps her there,
if it’s the fear of life or death,
but he stays, day after day,
watching her come and, like the river,
watching her leave without doing anything.
And at night, when the bridge is empty
and the stars begin to twinkle,
he walks back home,
his soul heavy with a question left unanswered:
what holds her there?
And why was he never able to say a word,
knowing that silence
is as deep an abyss as the river
where she loses herself every day.
YOU ARE READING
illusions
Puisi"This is where I write down my thoughts and ideas about various topics that pique people's curiosity."
