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“You will find me in the flicker of dying bulbs, in the rustle of sleepless winds, in the corridor's caged whispers, in the door's slow-blooming creak, in the wail of distant gales, in night's ink-thick hollows, in the silver hush of anklets, in each bead trembling on an orphaned necklace- for even after I am gone, your fear will keep me breathing everywhere light forgets to look.” — Shion Kurohama
You will find me
in the flicker of dying bulbs,
in the rustle of sleepless winds,
in the corridor's caged whispers,
in the door's slow-blooming creak,
in the wail of distant gales,
in night's ink-thick hollows,
in the silver hush of anklets,
in each bead trembling on an orphaned necklace-
for even after I am gone,
your fear will keep me breathing
everywhere light forgets to look.