Palo Santo, Burnt Sage, Linen, Mourning Florals
Stay close, mijo.
Nights like this awaken old ghosts.
When the moon swells and the wind howls, listen - for there is another voice it carries.
She walks the river’s edge, mourning the children she cast long ago into its dark embrace. She drifts like mist upon the water, her white veil tangled in the reeds, her
sorrow older than the river itself.
If ever you glimpse her, run home to
me, and do not look back.
And if her cries reach your heart, close
your eyes, hold your breath, and hide -
for if she finds you, she will draw you
down where even prayers cannot follow.
Palo Santo, Burnt Sage, Linen, Mourning Florals
Stay close, mijo.
Nights like this awaken old ghosts.
When the moon swells and the wind howls, listen - for there is another voice it carries.
She walks the river’s edge, mourning the children she cast long ago into its dark embrace. She drifts like mist upon the water, her white veil tangled in the reeds, her
sorrow older than the river itself.
If ever you glimpse her, run home to
me, and do not look back.
And if her cries reach your heart, close
your eyes, hold your breath, and hide -
for if she finds you, she will draw you
down where even prayers cannot follow.
