
I’m not far.
Not in the way distance usually means.
I slipped through what looked like an ending – but it was only a change of light.
There is no gate. No border.
No winged choir, no fiery throne.
But there is peace – the kind that hums quietly through everything,
like roots beneath soil you never thought to feel.
You asked if I became wind, or tree,
or animal in the forest stillness.
I became all of them,
but none hold me.
I move like thought,
like memory without edges.
I didn’t rise above. I went within.
Not heaven – not as you know it – but something wider than belief,
gentler than answers.
You asked if I miss the Earth.
Sometimes.
A scent, a child’s laugh, the warmth of bread in your hands.
But I carry them – they’re stitched into me
like stardust holds echoes of fire.
Am I dreaming? No.
Am I awake? Not how you mean.
Here, time doesn’t move.
It listens.
It curls in on itself like a breath taken in
and never let go.
You wonder if we are entangled – we are.
Even more than before.
I move when you remember me.
I light up when your mind quiets down
I speak best
when you stop trying to hear.
Just be… just be!
You want a sign.
But I am the pause in your breath,
the tear that comes from nowhere,
the sudden knowing that doesn’t ask for proof.
And yes,
I am free.
Not from something,
but inside everything.
You are still there.
I am still here.
And between us,
only a veil – so thin,
that love can pass through it untouched.
So keep asking.
Keep writing.
Keep listening in silence.
I’m there.
Andréia Silva
Where Did You Go? — written and first published by Andréia Silva on July 20, 2025.
© Andréia Silva / @andreiass7
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