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In the empty spaces between footfalls, we find the echoes of our departing selves.

Placeholder image made in Midjourney v5.2

Absolution in Ink -rewrite

I haunt these halls-

a shadow stitched to linoleum,

a footfall in the hush

before the bell.

Each step is a gauntlet,

each breath a blade

against the throat of morning.

I write in the dark,

a final flare,

a phosphor script

on the bones of night.

To you-

students, seekers,

I leave a map:

let knowledge

be your lantern,

let truth be your teeth.

To you-

creatures curled

in the crook of my arm,

I leave the rhythm

of my hands,

the scent of my sleeve,

the promise of a bowl,

a window cracked for sun.

I have walked

the splintered roads,

worn my shoes

to the quick.

The streets wait-

mouths open,

hungry for the softest thing.

I cannot feed you

to that hunger.

So I script my exit,

one last rebellion

against the cold machinery

of indifference.

If death is mercy,

let it be a rest.

Yet even as I fade,

I see you-

in rooms of laughter,

in arms that do not tremble.

Let this vision

be the balm

that steadies my hand.

Let these words

be my last decree:

in every line,

a piece of me breaks free,

to hover, to guide,

to light your way

when all else fails.