The final page turns,

The ink disappears in memory,

A soft exhale hangs in the air,

Like a sigh after the storm has passed.

The burden of what was

Lies lightly now,

Not lost,

But no longer taking up the space it did.

Fingers run through the boarders

Of times that were sharp,

Now blunted by years,

Never going back to what it once was.

It is not an ending,

But a pause,

A gap between breaths,

Where what was

Makes room for what it will be.