Now when a moment of departure is coming nearer — the island of Cyprus has loosened its grip on my days but not on my becoming. After almost three years of tides, light, and quiet belonging, leaving feels less like an ending and more like a slow unmooring.
This poem carry what I couldn’t pack: the salt in my breath, the patience the sea taught me, and the ache of learning how to leave a place that had begun to feel like a part of me.
Leave a Reply