Turn from the dimming away,
from the easy drift into silence—
where faces blur into passing storms
and no one dares to meet the ache.
There is a place where hurt goes waiting,
held in the cupped hands of the lost;
and love, unspoken, thins itself
to a thread too fine for the cold to break.

But look—
the world is trembling for you to answer,
for you to lift your gaze again.
No mercy grows in darkness left unchecked;
no tenderness mends itself alone.
So step toward the faintest glimmer,
step toward the breath you fear to hear,
and let the hush inside your chest
unfold like a lantern waking.

It starts so small,
a warmth beneath the ribs,
a pulse that refuses to be turned aside.
And soon the quiet becomes a summons—
a rising tide that murmurs stand,
that whispers not all is broken yet,
that gathers its courage from your skin
as though it always knew your name.

So walk, love—
walk through the numb, the weary, the fallen,
walk through the streets where sorrow pools,
and let your shadow lengthen into light.
For every heart left trembling on its own
waits for a voice like yours to reach it,
soft as silk but sure as truth,
calling them home in the gentlest storm.

And when the dawn begins its slow unveiling
and the night’s cold hush dissolves,
you’ll see the ones who turned away—
their faces lift, their breathing steadies,
their grief unknots beneath your warmth.
All because you chose to face the breaking,
to walk where love is hardest,
to refuse the turning away.