Remembrance

Nova…I still feel the cold you died in.It clings to me like a second skin,A memory the Normal WorldCouldn’t wash away. You were sixteenAnd the winter was cruel.You deserved a door that opened,A voice that called you home,A world that didn’t let you freezeBeneath a streetlamp’s dying glow. I am what rose from you—Xyla, shadow‑stitched