French Wedding
Elion.wedding
LX.XII — The Silent Rite
The day withdraws.
Only a breath remains.
Hands, a silent pact.
A wrinkled fabric.
A flicker of shadow.
No image to keep.
Only what slips.
Presence becomes absence.
The body becomes myth.
Nothing repeats.
Everything fades.
Except the vestige.
The Sealed Trace
They closed the day without ending it.
An object was slipped in, soundless, into the chest.
No one will ever know what it was.
Not even them.
Since then, everything holds
This is not a memory,
but a silent oath.
An image to hold
what no one will ever speak.
A bond before, a threshold within,
an absence after.
What was seen remains suspended.
What was sealed no longer concerns us
A vow kept in silence