Exile

The soul calls it exile
because there is
no true separation in the field.

A person can be removed,
names erased,
paths redirected,
coordinates updated like paperwork.

But the field does not respect endings.

It keeps every frequency
it has ever known.
Every recognition.
Every silent yes
that happened
before language arrived.

So when the body says we are done,
the soul hears only distance without departure.

You are not apart.
You are displaced.

Exile is not being sent away,
it is being forced to live
where meaning still exists
but permission does not.

You feel it in moments that misfire:
a laugh arriving too early,
a thought addressed to no one,
a warmth with no object.

The field remains intact.
Only access is revoked.

This is why it hurts differently.
Not because something ended,
but because something eternal
was asked to behave like time.

And in this lifetime,
that is the unspoken sentence:
to carry a bond
that never broke,
only became unreachable.