Dying and reborn in the same hour (Marcella Boccia)

In the hour when the sky bleeds into the earth,I die—not in the silence of a distant night,but in the trembling breath of dawn,where life and death make love,their bodies woven in the threads of shadows.I die in the arms of a memory,one too fragile to hold,its weight a river that cannot be crossed,its waters too bitter to drink.The past pours over me,its fingers leaving bruises,each one a story I no longer wish to tell.Yet, in the very same moment—I am reborn.A fragile flame stirs in my chest,its flicker weak, but not extinguished.From the ashes of my grief,a new world rises,its edges sharp like the promise of rain,its sky unclouded by the weight of old wounds.I am born of a river I did not choose,its currents dragging me under,and yet, I swim.My body is both broken and whole,a contradiction as old as the wind,as certain as the sun's return after the storm.I am dying and reborn,a cycle too tangled to untie.In this brief, fleeting hour,I am both dust and stars,both prisoner and freedom,both lover and lost.And in the silence that follows,I find myself anew.