You smolder in the silence,
a fire long starved but still alive in embers,
its warmth is just enough to keep me waiting—
waiting for the storm to crack open
and flood me with more than your distant light.
But all that comes are echoes,
faded remnants of what might have been
if you could stay.
I reach out to the fracture between us,
fingers tracing the lines where promises cracked,
where words unraveled into hollow gestures.
You come and go like a ghost,
haunting the spaces between my thoughts,
leaving behind only the worn edges of what we were,
never fully here, never fully gone.
I hold onto the embers—
the only proof I have that something once burned bright,
though now it withers in the cold air
of your absence.
How many times have I rebuilt the walls
only for them to be broken by a whisper,
a flicker of you that never stays?
Your presence is a shadow,
an illusion I can’t help but follow
into the same labyrinth of disappointment.
I am tired of waiting for you
to fill the hollow spaces you left behind,
to stop fading like smoke
the moment I reach for you.
But still, I wait.
Even as I unravel
in the emptiness you leave,
even as the distance between us grows,
I wait—
because I am bound to a ghost
that refuses to fade.
the silence is quiet
Screaming into the void,
Do I exist at all
When my voice is swallowed whole
By silence,
When I vanish beneath the weight
Of unseen shadows?
I am here,
But no one knows.
Flesh and bone dissolve
Into whispers of what was.
I shout my name into the darkness,
But it fades like smoke,
Like a song unheard.
Am I real
If no one sees,
If no one feels the tremble
Of my pulse
In the spaces between?
Invisibility wraps around me
Like an empty cloak,
And I wonder,
Do I exist
When the world looks right through me?
But perhaps, in this quiet place,
I am more than the noise they refuse to hear.
Maybe, in the silence, I reclaim the space
Without their eyes.
Chasing light
I walked in silence, where noise roared loud,
Through crowded streets that echoed empty.
A warmth that chilled, a smile that hid,
In eyes that spoke what hearts disowned gently.
I chased the sun beneath the rain,
Held fleeting moments as they slipped away.
What was whole felt broken, what was lost remained,
In every word we dared not say.
Where whispers shouted and stillness hummed,
Where peace became a restless fight,
I found the truth within the lie,
And wandered lost in blinding light.
In shadows bright and darkness clear,
Where wrong felt right, and far drew near.
I stood between the pull and push,
A heart that emptied—yet brimmed with rush.
Now the storm has passed, the echoes fade,
The sun I chased now warms my skin.
I stand between the dark and light,
Not torn, but whole, where I begin.
The forgotten truth
The most easily forgotten
is the breath we take,
the beat beneath our skin,
a pulse so quiet
we don’t notice
until it slips away.
The most important things
are never loud—
they live in the silence
between our words,
the flicker in a glance,
the silent hum of a heart
we forgot to hear.
We search for meaning
in shouts, in echoes—
but the whispers—
soft as a sigh,
slip past unnoticed,
until they’re gone.
Like stars that fade at dawn,
the weight of love disappears
before we know it was ever there,
slipping through our hands
as we stand, empty,
too late to hold what could have been.
between the silence and the shadows
I see you standing in the shadows,
where the silence grows too loud.
I offer my hand, but you keep fading,
drifting through the crowd.
But I’m here for you, always,
whenever you call my name.
But I’m scared of what you’re hiding,
are we playing the same game?
—
You call me from across the distance,
but my heart is far too slow.
I hear the words you’re trying to say,
but I can’t let you know.
I can’t leave you, but I can’t stay,
there’s a weight in all we’ve said.
I need you close, but I’m afraid,
of the storm that’s in my head.
—
We’re caught between the words we speak,
and all the silence in between.
I want to hold you, but I’m weak,
this love we share is left unseen.
—
I wait for you, but you keep stalling,
lost somewhere between the lines.
I offer you my heart in pieces,
hoping you’ll make them rhyme.
The spaces where we should have spoken,
lie heavy like a closing door.
I’m standing here, waiting, wide open—
are we who we were before?
—
I see the way you try to save me,
but I’m sinking all the same.
Your light is burning in the distance,
but I’m too afraid of flame.
You left your key upon the table,
and I left my words unsaid.
You said you’d wait—are you still able
to hold me when I lose my thread?
—
We’re caught between the words we speak,
and all the silence in between.
I want to hold you, but I’m weak,
this love we share is left unseen.
—
I’ll keep waiting on the edge,
I’ll keep calling out your name.
I’ll keep falling, I’ll keep hiding,
I’m too broken to take the blame.
—
I’ll reach for you in this final moment,
I’ll step through the space you left behind.
But can I find the strength to hold you,
when I can’t even find the time?
—
We’re caught between the words we speak,
and all the silence in between.
We reach for love, though we’re still weak,
this love we share is slipping away.
Do you remember?
Do you remember the colors,
Not the soft ones—the feral, electric blues,
The reds like wounds that never heal,
And the silver streaks of nights we tore open
Just to see if the stars would bleed?
We didn’t paint; we spilled ourselves,
Letting every shade burn and blur,
The canvas, our battle.
Do you remember our moonlit walks,
Where the ground cut us open,
But we danced anyway, barefoot on broken glass?
Your breath tasted of ash, mine of salt,
But we swallowed the pain,
Craving the burn, the spark that kept us alive.
We walked until the dawn found us raw,
Bruised, but untouchable.
Do you remember how love never whispered,
But screamed through the cracks in our skin?
It wasn’t soft; it was a knife pressed to the bone,
And we dared it to go deeper.
We wore our hearts like jagged glass,
Cutting anything that came too close.
Even when it shattered, we grinned,
Bleeding but laughing, defiant.
Do you remember?
We didn’t fill silence with words;
We set it on fire.
We roared, we raged,
And in the spaces between, we trembled,
Not from fear, but from the force of holding everything at once.
Now, even with all the fractures, the scars,
We remain—
Not unbroken, but unbreakable,
The world bent to us,
And we dared it to try again.
Veil of Dreams
In my dream, you drifted like whispers on the breeze,
A veil of moonlight, soft against my skin,
Each breath a tender vow, each heartbeat a tether,
Loving me with the quiet strength of eternity.
Your presence, a shield woven from stars,
Guarding me from the darkness that lingers,
You, my solace, my unwavering anchor,
Protecting me as the moon cradles the restless tides.
In your silent embrace, I found my home,
No words needed, just the truth of our souls,
Bound in the infinite dance of light and shadow,
Loving, always, even in the depths of a dream.
If I only have tonight
If I don’t exist beyond this night,
if the stars erase the taste of my name,
and the world forgets the weight of my body,
will you still feel the presence of me in this moment?
Let me pour myself into the now,
into the tremor of your breath,
the warmth between our skin,
the sacred aching quiet that wraps around us.
If all I have is this fleeting second—
let me bleed into it with you,
our bodies fused in this burning now,
where time dares not chase us.
Grasp me harder than the promise of dawn,
for tomorrow may dissolve like smoke,
but here—here I burn, I live,
I am everything, and I am yours.
You are the sun in my heart
You are the sun in my heart,
but even suns can burn.
You shade me with your love,
hands gentle as dusk,
guarding every fragile part of me
from the world’s scorching heat.
You are the dawn after the longest night,
the quiet breath before the storm,
the warmth that mends the brokenness,
and the light that keeps me whole.
When the winds howl and tear,
you stand between me and the dark.
Your voice, a whisper of peace,
calms the rising waves inside me.
In your presence, I find stillness,
sheltered from the chaos beyond.
You make the storms fade,
and I stand unbroken, safe,
wrapped in the quiet of your care,
untouched by all that rages outside.
In your glow, I find refuge,
as morning softens the hardest truths.
You blur the lines between hurt
and healing with your touch.
Every sharp word falls away,
shattered glass in the warmth of you.
You gather the pieces of me
that were lost in the dark,
and with love, you make me whole,
holding me close, mending each scar.
With hands made of grace,
you hold back the fire,
a shield of love so steadfast
nothing can harm me here.
I bloom in the space you’ve carved,
unscorched, unafraid,
wrapped in your eternal light,
forever safe in your arms,
alive in the heart of your sun,
and in the warmth of your love.
Arrival
I thought I was leaving—
doors closing softly behind me,
the weight of the world folded neatly
like winter coats in an empty hall,
echoes quieting into stillness.
But each step forward
felt less like an exit
and more like becoming—
a slow unfurling,
like flowers opening to light,
delicate, yet inevitable.
The act of departure
is not a severing,
but a shift—
like the tide surrendering the shore,
an embrace of the unknown,
where the future blooms quietly
as a new place of belonging,
waiting just beyond the horizon.
I see now,
this journey is not an escape,
but an arrival—
not an end, but a becoming,
a soft merging of past and possibilities.
And in the distance,
where the sky touches the earth
in a blur of light and longing,
I see myself waiting,
smiling with open arms.
Not leaving.
Arriving.
roots and leaves
Beneath the surface, the roots spread,
quiet tendrils that drink the deep.
They hold the earth together,
grasping stones, whispering to the soil.
In their silence, they remember
the weight of time.
Above, the leaves tremble,
catching the first light of dawn,
dancing with every breath of wind,
alive in the moment,
shedding shadows as they rise.
But the roots and leaves are bound,
woven by what cannot be seen.
The leaves reach for the sky,
their joy brief, their fall inevitable,
while the roots wait,
anchoring the earth,
holding fast through the cold.
When the leaves return to dust,
it is the roots that endure,
their quiet patience
bringing new life,
year after year,
season after season.
There is no beginning or end,
only the unseen connection,
the pulse that runs
from root to leaf
and back again.
letting go
We held tight to the shadows of who we were,
gripping the edges of old names,
as if they might still fit—
the comfort of an identity frayed,
threads loosening with each step we take forward.
We whispered those stories, didn’t we?
Hoping they would echo back as truth,
like a song stuck in our memory,
a tune we had outgrown but couldn’t bear to forget.
But mirrors don’t keep secrets.
In the quiet reflection, we see ourselves—
versions shedding skin,
each layer slipping like a season that’s come and gone.
What once was,
now just a ghost of the person we thought we’d be.
To become who we are,
we had to let the past unclasp its grip,
let it fall like leaves surrendering to the wind,
not with bitterness, but with quiet grace.
No regret, just the gentle release
of what no longer serves us.
And in this shedding, we find space—
empty but full of promise,
ready to hold the weight of now,
not weighed down by the stories behind us.
Here, in the unknown, we begin again,
not with who we were,
but with all that we’ve yet to become.
bridges built, bridges burnt
We built a bridge out of silences,
carefully, as if it might break beneath us—
each step, each glance,
a stone placed on the shifting waters of what could be.
In the beginning, we believed in it,
that quiet crossing between your world and mine.
We held our breath as the timbers groaned,
hoping the weight of words unsaid wouldn’t be too much to bear.
But nothing holds forever.
Time began to whisper at the edges,
and in the cracks, we planted seeds of doubt,
their roots curling into the foundation, unseen.
One day, the wind changed.
The air tasted different, sharp—
your voice, a spark,
and the bridge that carried us for so long
collapsed in a blaze we didn’t know we were kindling.
We watched it burn from both sides,
the glow lighting our faces,
and for a moment, it felt almost beautiful—
the end of something we thought might last.
Now, only ashes remain.
And in the quiet aftermath, I understand:
not every bridge was meant to stand forever.
Some were built to fall,
to teach us that sometimes the crossing is the lesson,
and the flames, the way forward.
But still, I think of the next bridge.
Of hands that will gather again,
of stones that will be laid,
of the unknown road it will lead to—
and I wonder,
will we dare to cross it again?
Abandon desire
Let go of the flame you’ve cradled too long,
its light once sharp, now barely a flicker.
It seemed to carve out a path,
but now the shadows dance unbidden.
Desire is the voice that never quieted,
calling you down roads that led nowhere,
its weight pressing harder with every step,
until the ground beneath you turned to glass.
You’ve carried this longing like a wound,
and in release,
there’s no sudden freedom,
only the ache of empty hands
reaching for nothing.
But maybe in this nothing,
there’s a quiet you’ve never known—
not peace, but something smaller,
something that doesn’t burn.
Abandon desire,
and in the absence,
feel the air settle around you,
unsure, but still.
reflections of an unquiet mind 