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 In this hollow of the world, the sea has taken my name.
 It calls to the shore in a tongue of salt and ruin,
 and I, who have no oath left to swear but silence,
 listen for the echo of a vow that was never mine.

 The wind knows the shape of my absence and whispers it low
 to the stones that remember my footsteps — each one
 a small grave of intent, where I knelt to pray
 to gods whose faces have long since been worn away.
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Uploading this old doodle I had sitting around for a while for my profile info image. Emulating wax coloured pencils digitally was a struggle — I should do more of it.