There is a chapel deep within Black Briar Forest
where the candles are lit every evening by ghosts who still believe someone is coming.
The pews wait patiently.
The door never locks.
The wind has memorized the promise:
“Later.”
No one has seen the visitor in many moons.
Still, the candles burn.
Not because hope is foolish—
but because even abandoned places remember what it felt like to expect footsteps.
Between Bruises & Blooms 
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