The Seeker in Armor

His name was forgotten by the winds, because even before
The world learned to count the days,
He chose the path of silence.
Not because he had nothing to say,
But because the world had no ears capable of hearing.

Born not amidst battles, but between the sighs of stars,
He descended from that crack in the sky
Where reality sleeps and dreams of itself.
He was made neither of flesh nor of thought,
But of that light which exists only
On the threshold of night and dawn.

They say he had a heart,
But not where others do.
His heart lived in his palms –
For everything his hands touched came alive.
Even dead rose petals bloomed,
And cracked memories – healed in someone’s eyes.

Yet he never stayed.
His path – castles without doors,
Cities where clocks have no hands,
And the dreams of those who never sleep.

Once, he loved.
Deeply. Boundlessly. Without words.
And it destroyed him – or perhaps, on the contrary,
Made him truly alive for the first time.

Since then, he became the Seeker.
Not a Hero. Not a Savior.
A seeker of that one soul
Who would see him not through the armor,
But into his core.

Who would not be afraid of the silence of his footsteps
And would not flee when he speaks with silence.

Perhaps the castle in the clouds was not built by him,
But for him.
And perhaps he stood there not by chance…
But to wait for you.