10/22/2025
Nine Windows of the Broken
Nine days.
Nine windows.
Each one a fragment, a piece of time that cracked and refused to vanish.
In many stories, nine marks the end before a beginning, a number of completion, of quiet transformation.
It began with stillness, the quiet before memory stirs.
Then came longing, the slow ache of distance,
love without a place to land,
homes that grew smaller inside the mind.
Somewhere between leaving and becoming,
the self began to fade,
a shape half-remembered,
a voice that forgot its own language.
Time fractured too,
its rhythm breaking,
its hands no longer knowing where to point.
And yet, even in that silence, something remained.
Love. Memory. The breath between what was lost and what endures.
Now the nine fragments stand together,
not as an answer, not as repair,
but as a whole made of what could not be mended.
Because time doesn’t heal.
It only learns to breathe differently.
And maybe that’s enough.
🕰 Nine Windows of the Broken
by .art
