The garden doesn’t ask questions ~

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The Child I Misplaced

/Read in the Caption/

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All the Poems, He Never Wrote ~

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That One Strand ~


/Read in the Caption/

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Steal my dreams
I still wake up
chasing stars.

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A writer is not what you see.
They are a maze tangled with broken reflections,
truths stretched thin and shadows wearing familiar faces.

They speak of love as if it’s a memory borrowed,
carve sorrow from places they’ve never truly walked,
and craft windows that invite you in,
though they themselves never dwell inside those rooms.

To read their words is to chase a shifting light,
to wander halls where meaning bends and twists,
and realize the one who writes is often lost
beyond the very pages they create.

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Where the fractures bloom ~

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A new beginning doesn’t always arrive with a sunrise or a calendar date. Sometimes, it’s the quiet decision to try again, to believe despite the scars, to plant hope where doubt once grew. Life renews itself not with noise, but with the silent courage to start over — one breath, one step, one heartbeat at a time.

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• Confessions of a Broken Nobody •

(The story which changed my perspective of life)

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Even storms run out of rain.
hold on, your sunlight’s just delayed, not denied

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