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“The Last Love’s Dance In the tender weave of adulting, friendships softly fade. To part from you is not pride’s cold decree Your absence carves a canyon in my fragile heart’s terrain. Yet, I choose to release you, though my soul aches, no throne of pride, For self-care demands this quiet, piercing break. My waning love, a tender gift, I offer to those who hold me near, Who mend my festering wounds with care. My last tears, like rivers etched from the shattered dreams of youth, Will fall with those who weep within my sorrow’s embrace.” — Njau Kihia
The Last Love’s Dance
In the tender weave of adulting, friendships softly fade.
To part from you is not pride’s cold decree
Your absence carves a canyon in my fragile heart’s terrain.
Yet, I choose to release you, though my soul aches, no throne of pride,
For self-care demands this quiet, piercing break.
My waning love, a tender gift, I offer to those who hold me near,
Who mend my festering wounds with care.
My last tears, like rivers etched from the shattered dreams of youth,
Will fall with those who weep within my sorrow’s embrace.