I have a thousand reasons to love you,
But if you ask me why, I’ll still say I don’t know.
There’s something magical in the way you move,
Every word you speak, my heart you soothe.
Just being near you feels like heaven’s grace,
When I’m apart, your love I chase—
My mind spins visions, scenarios so sweet,
Living a life where our hearts meet.
I don’t know why it’s you, but there’s no one else,
Who can claim my heart, my thoughts so deep.
Your beauty shines like morning light,
Your voice, a melody that feels so right.
The way you move, a dance so pure,
Filling my soul with life’s allure.
My heart yearns for you, every day,
And warmth I feel when you’re near to stay.
I want to be yours, and only yours,
For you alone, my love endures.
I’d give all to have your heart,
For in your love, I’d never part.
I thought the moon and stars were bright,
Until I saw you, and found new light.
Your kindness, sweetness, makes me kneel,
A sinner’s heart, now made to heal.
To ask for you, is like asking for grace,
A gift too great, too pure to embrace.
Oh, sweet Angel, the devil weeps,
Regretful of the day he left heaven’s keeps.
For he never knew, there would be one,
So divine, so bright, under the sun.
And in your love, I find my wings—
A love eternal, where my spirit sings.
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 11:03 AM UTC
But I’m selfish—
even with myself.
What if I no longer wish to roam?
What if I’m tired
of digging through fire
just to find a softer home?
Tell me—
what does it mean
when someone won’t let go of love,
even when it breaks their bones,
even when the sky above
has given every reason
to move on?
Not because they’re lost,
but because they chose.
Because I chose a piece—
no matter how it fits.
Even if it cuts,
I won’t call it quits.
Even if it’s sharp
and tears through my chest,
I carry it still—
because I loved it best.
It wasn’t perfect,
but it was mine somehow.
So I hold it close,
like a quiet vow.
Is happiness in seeking
what finally fits?
Or is it in keeping
what never quits?
I can’t tell
if I’m betraying my soul
or finally making myself whole.
That’s the echo I hear
in the quietest part—
not a question,
but a stubborn heart.
A name I won’t forget.
A light that won’t depart.
A feeling that lingers,
sharp and true—
and still,
I carry you.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 2:25 PM UTC
It’s no surprise
that kindness feels so sweet
when you’ve been starving ,
even crumbs are a treat.
It’s easy to miss,
but the truth is this:
a little kindness
can feel like bliss
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 2:24 PM UTC
I don’t want to stop existing.
I want a smaller, quieter world
where cruelty’s predictability
is less exhausting
than the cruelty itself.
A world with clear lines,
where actions have weight,
where courage blooms,
and evil is named
without debate.
I see the chaos.
I see the unfairness.
I see the noise.
I accept it.
I do not like it.
But I carry my wishes.
Because I am human.
Because some parts of me
refuse to be erased.
I imagine a life
simple, grounded, meaningful
not to escape,
but to touch
what feels sacred, shaped.
I carry longing.
I do not expect it to be fulfilled.
I will not confuse desire
with entitlement.
I do not demand
that reality bend.
I do not cut away
the parts that hurts.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 2:24 PM UTC
When it comes to love, I carry my fire,
Longing without demand, without desire.
I won't mistake want for a right to claim,
I won't bend the world or assign it blame.
I keep the parts that hurt, the parts that sting, I won't erase a note in my own song to sing.
She lives in my landscape, a brush, a hue, A memory, a wish, a standard I pursue.
Not a promise, not a plan, not a place to land, But an art I hold gently in my hand.
I keep the part of me that wanted it to last,
A heartbeat of present, a shadow of past.
This is my compass, my steady guide,
It keeps me awake, it keeps me alive.
It keeps me honest, it keeps me true,
It keeps me human in all I do.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 2:22 PM UTC
Invisible wall she exists, yet she don't, a screaming name in my cathedral's thought. Through hollow halls drifts my lost soul, silently screaming for heaven to fall.
Oh wall, oh cruel, invisible wall, why grant me love I could not call? Why show me light I could not rule- a flame too pure for a broken fool?
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 1:31 PM UTC
Tonight I hear the walls breathe low,
Their whispers tremble, soft and slow.
The stones I set to guard my heart
now fall like ghosts that drift apart.
Through cracks of light, her shadow streams,
unravelling the quiet dreams.
And I'm still bound by what I made
Watch love slip through the cracks I laid.
Invisible wall, you fade, you fade…
She is too real you should be afraid.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 1:30 PM UTC
The wind had stilled.
The world no longer trembled.
And in the hush of a moment that didn’t rush,
the boy walked to the guardian.
Not as a whisper.
Not as a ghost.
But as a soul finally ready to be seen.
His small hand, trembling and warm, reached for the guardian’s.
The man flinched at first—
not from fear, but from disbelief.
“I saw it,” the boy whispered. “Everything she saw in you… I saw it too.”
The guardian blinked, as if light had touched a part of him long buried.
“You are full of colors,” the boy said, smiling through wet eyes.
“Bright ones. Soft ones. Scars that still shine.
And you don’t have to carry that heavy armor anymore.”
The guardian looked down at the shield strapped to his arm.
It had always been there, forged from guilt, duty, silence.
He let it fall.
The clang was gentle—like a stone returning to the earth.
The boy placed a hand on the guardian’s chest.
“I’m here with you now.
We can breathe together.
Finally.”
And they did.
In and out.
Slow and steady.
A shared breath, long denied, now alive.
And with each inhale, something opened.
And with each exhale, something softened.
The boy no longer needed to hide in the shadows of memory.
The guardian no longer needed to be the last one standing.
They had found each other.
And together, they stepped forward—
not as fragments,
but as one whole being
who had just learned
they were allowed to live.
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 10:39 AM UTC
There once was a boy
with wonder in his bones,
soft little palms,
and a name never known—
not spoken with love,
nor held in the air—
just drifting through silence,
unseen, unaware.
The child didn’t vanish—
he learned how to hide.
He buried his spirit
somewhere deep inside.
He sang into silence,
so no one would know
that he walked without crying
through cold winds that blow.
And so came the Guardian—
not born out of might,
but forged out of fear
in the absence of light.
He stood like a shadow,
a sentinel still,
not asking for thanks—
only bending his will.
He built a quiet world,
where danger might rise.
He braced for the heartbreak,
learned silence replies.
He learned how to flinch
before words could land,
to spot every wound
before it was planned.
He wrapped up his pain
in layers unseen,
turned sorrow to insight
and called it routine.
He smoked when he felt numb,
watched hours drift by,
told himself “It’s okay”—
though he knew it’s a lie.
For armor can guard,
but it cannot grow.
It cannot feel love,
only weather the blow.
He was built not to dream,
nor to live, nor to hold—
but to shield the soft heart
from a world harsh and cold.
But the years moved along—
and the boy stirred within,
pressed his hand to the ribs
and whispered through skin:
“Is it safe yet?” he asked,
his voice faint and low.
The Guardian paused—
unsure how to let go.
“I don’t want protection.
I just want to be held.
I want to stop hiding,
to feel, to be well.”
And the Guardian answered,
his voice soft with pain:
“Not yet. Not yet.”
He repeated again.
But the words broke his silence—
he felt them ring true.
He had saved the young boy…
but locked his soul too.
And all he endured—
every scar, every fight,
now felt like a prison
that blocked out the light.
He wept not from failing,
but from being the wall—
from bearing the burden
that now must fall.
He was not the enemy.
He was the stay.
The quiet protector
who never walked away.
He carried the silence,
absorbed every blow,
while the boy learned to breathe
and to quietly grow.
But now, the world softens.
The war starts to cease.
And the Guardian stands
with no use for peace.
His armor, once noble,
now hangs like a weight—
a testament carved
by sorrow and fate.
He doesn’t regret it.
But he doesn’t know how
to stop being the shield
and just be here now.
And inside the silence,
the child still waits,
watching the doors,
watching the gates.
Hoping one day,
when the storms all subside,
he'll come to the Guardian,
stand by his side,
look in his eyes
with love—soft and true—
and say:
“You didn’t fail me.
You carried me through.
But now, it’s my turn.
I’ll take the next breath.
You’ve guarded enough—
you can rest.”
And maybe—
for the first time since all this began—
they dream not of safety…
but of sunlight again.
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
I found my sanctuary
In the bottomless, raging sea.
I sank as I grew weary —
Reached its bottom with my bare feet.
Free of motion,
Evading commotion,
Ceasing devotion,
Dreading demotion.
This is a resignation;
I serenely grow my gills —
Neither weakness nor damnation,
Just a soul worn out from flotation.
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 1:44 PM UTC