“The Ones Who Return”
They say the stars are ancient fires—
but some of us remember lighting them.
We came not from above,
but from within—
the slow awakening of thought
wrapped in clay and chance and pain.
Each step forward cost a dream.
Each breath of wisdom, paid in sorrow.
We learned to love
before we learned to name it.
We broke ourselves to touch the infinite.
Then we forgot.
It was the price of kindness.
For if we remembered the weight of eternity
all at once,
we would never move again.
But not all memory is gone.
Some of us remember the shape of the sky
before it learned to burn.
Some of us wake with tears for no reason,
mourning things that haven’t happened yet.
Some of us find the edge of truth
not in scripture,
but in silence.
We are the ones who return.
Not as prophets,
but as questions.
We carry no answers.
Only echoes.
And the memory
of a flame
that once called itself
a soul.