As the noise of Manchester fades,
I stand—still at war with time.
Another year, another age,
and I am determined to make it matter.
For my father—
whose greying hair carries the weight of silent endurance.
For my mother—
whose eyes hold a quiet, aching hope.
For my nephew—
whose bright admiration sees more in me than I’ve yet become.
All of it—
for unspoken sacrifices,
for silent tales,
and for the futures they made possible.
