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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