Fading echoes

A heart cries— softly, like the slow drip of rain on a grave no one visits. It doesn't know the future, doesn't dare to hope. Only feels the ache of unanswered echoes in the silence of maybe. Will they stay? These people with their fleeting smiles, their hands that feel warm but pull away too soon— like smoke, like ghosts. Like rose petals, they live once, then fall without a sound, without a warning, without a single soul noticing how beautiful they were— before the wind carried them away.