that you give yourself.
It sits beside your ache,
watches you break,
and waits;
patient as light
filtering through a crack.
Not to fix,
but to remind you;
you are still here.
And that you are enough.
-
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you can bloom with grace.
Like the lotus
rising from the depths,
your peace can still
find the surface.-
sharing the sunset
with a ghost
reaching through
dusk’s quiet air,
for hands
that once held yours,
present in memory,
absent in touch.-
I remain;
faded but faithful,
a silence wrapped
in the scent of old songs,
where love
once breathed
and now
barely echoes.
-
watching twilight kiss the domes of a forgotten palace as the crescent moon glows soft, steady and surreal. You’re in awe of their presence, humbled by their grace, and even when apart, your heart feels alive.
-
remember the sorrows
I tried to forget,
feel the love
I never confessed,
and bloom quietly
through every
drop of ache.-
She caressed the daisies like fragile secrets, each petal held a memory she couldn’t let go of - tender, beautiful, painful. The world thought she moved on, but beneath layers of grace, she still reached for what once bloomed in her heart. Some goodbyes don’t echo loudly. They stay... wrapped gently in silk, and silence.
-
She wandered into the woods, seeking silence, not signs. But there it was – a lone orange butterfly, resting on a leaf. It hovered for a few moments; then fluttered away into the dusk, as if to say, “You’ve held on long enough. It’s time to let go.”
-
Every Thursday, he sat at the corner window of the café with two cups. The coffee would always remain untouched. Regulars called it his ritual of waiting. For years no one dared to pry into his solitude.
This evening, it was raining cats and dogs. He was flipping through his novel.
The barista asked gently, ‘‘Expecting someone?” He smiled briefly, eyes moist.
“She died in the crash ten years ago…but tonight, she finally came.”
The second cup was empty.
But the seat across him? Dripping wet.-