Quirkygrandma - Hello Poetry

I remember lace — how it whispered down my spine, how it clung like a promise just before it frayed. I remember music, a waltz on the wind, and the way my name sounded sweeter when he was near. They said it was fate. They said I was lucky. They never said he’d run. The earth was cold when I fell into it, not from grace— but from a man who knew how to smile while slipping poison in a glass of hope. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride— until I became one, wrapped not in joy but in silence. I didn’t walk down an aisle. I was carried. Petals didn’t fall; they rotted. The bells didn’t ring; they echoed. And so I stayed. In bone and lace, in a dress made of dust, a heart stitched shut so it wouldn’t feel the beat it lost. Years passed. Centuries, perhaps. Love is timeless, they say. But grief? Grief is patient. It waits in the folds of your veil. Then— he appeared. Not the one who broke me, but the one who saw through me. Through hollow eyes, through silent sighs, through the way my fingers trembled when he spoke. He didn't run. He didn’t promise either. But he listened. And for a moment— a heartbeat I could almost hear— I was alive again. Not in flesh, but in something softer. Something that felt like a maybe. Like a might-have-been. But the living must belong to the living. And I? I belong to the soil. To stories forgotten. To songs no one sings anymore. So I stepped aside. With grace I never had in life. I let go— of the dream, of the dress, of him. Because sometimes, the kindest kind of love is the kind that says goodbye. Still… as the wind brushes through my empty chest, and the stars refuse to warm me, I wonder— Tell me, my dear... how can a heart still break once it has stopped beating?

0

Oct 2, 2025

Oct 2, 2025 at 4:29 AM UTC

Dead bride.

I remember lace — how it whispered down my spine, how it clung like a promise just before it frayed. I remember music, a waltz on the wind, and the way my name sounded sweeter when he was near. They said it was fate. They said I was lucky. They never said he’d run. The earth was cold when I fell into it, not from grace— but from a man who knew how to smile while slipping poison in a glass of hope. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride— until I became one, wrapped not in joy but in silence. I didn’t walk down an aisle. I was carried. Petals didn’t fall; they rotted. The bells didn’t ring; they echoed. And so I stayed. In bone and lace, in a dress made of dust, a heart stitched shut so it wouldn’t feel the beat it lost. Years passed. Centuries, perhaps. Love is timeless, they say. But grief? Grief is patient. It waits in the folds of your veil. Then— he appeared. Not the one who broke me, but the one who saw through me. Through hollow eyes, through silent sighs, through the way my fingers trembled when he spoke. He didn't run. He didn’t promise either. But he listened. And for a moment— a heartbeat I could almost hear— I was alive again. Not in flesh, but in something softer. Something that felt like a maybe. Like a might-have-been. But the living must belong to the living. And I? I belong to the soil. To stories forgotten. To songs no one sings anymore. So I stepped aside. With grace I never had in life. I let go— of the dream, of the dress, of him. Because sometimes, the kindest kind of love is the kind that says goodbye. Still… as the wind brushes through my empty chest, and the stars refuse to warm me, I wonder— Tell me, my dear... how can a heart still break once it has stopped beating?

89

They said quite your mind, So I sat down and listened to voices of different kind. But they don't sit still— They whisper and nag,bend me according to their will They chatter and fight like kids in room, One makes happy choices, another chooses gloom. “you are okay , you can do this”— a flicker of light Gets traded by the thought like moonless night.. “what if they laugh and judge”, It speaks like people are holding grudge. Sometimes they whisper, soft as a breeze, Saying things “you can't be free ”, I try to tell them “can you let me be” Another one chimes mockingly “not so easily ”. There are gossip voices, that are wrapped in cruelty— Making every misstep, like a news on sea.... and there's this small girl, still lost, ungrown, Wandering asking for place to stay , place to call home. Sometimes they chorus loudly— Like the half forgotten song, that keeps you awake daily, They argue,they fight, like friends who turned enemies... Throwing words like knife, causing wound with no remedies. At night they buzz like static down a long road, I lie counting rhythms , trying to detangle the node. By morning I beg— “one quite hour”. I plead. They laugh. They mocked, but at last all agreed. So here I am sitting with them. Messy, alive and aware Giving loudest a glare, smallest a care. And sometimes I meet am voice— Same as mine, Clear as ice, Not the loudest, or meanest comment, Just another me ,telling me “dont let them give your soul a dent”.

0

Sep 24, 2025

Sep 24, 2025 at 8:49 AM UTC

Voices

They said quite your mind, So I sat down and listened to voices of different kind. But they don't sit still— They whisper and nag,bend me according to their will They chatter and fight like kids in room, One makes happy choices, another chooses gloom. “you are okay , you can do this”— a flicker of light Gets traded by the thought like moonless night.. “what if they laugh and judge”, It speaks like people are holding grudge. Sometimes they whisper, soft as a breeze, Saying things “you can't be free ”, I try to tell them “can you let me be” Another one chimes mockingly “not so easily ”. There are gossip voices, that are wrapped in cruelty— Making every misstep, like a news on sea.... and there's this small girl, still lost, ungrown, Wandering asking for place to stay , place to call home. Sometimes they chorus loudly— Like the half forgotten song, that keeps you awake daily, They argue,they fight, like friends who turned enemies... Throwing words like knife, causing wound with no remedies. At night they buzz like static down a long road, I lie counting rhythms , trying to detangle the node. By morning I beg— “one quite hour”. I plead. They laugh. They mocked, but at last all agreed. So here I am sitting with them. Messy, alive and aware Giving loudest a glare, smallest a care. And sometimes I meet am voice— Same as mine, Clear as ice, Not the loudest, or meanest comment, Just another me ,telling me “dont let them give your soul a dent”.

32

He's not even trying— but somehow, it's all clear He is the main character and I am not even near. He laughs, and it's like— ugh, why does it sound that nice? Like someone bottled up summer and sarcasm and poured it into his voice. I pretend I’m not watching, but I always am. When he’s staring at the skies, or running his fingers through his hair because it keeps falling in his eyes. (How unfair is that? Like—sir, why you have so pretty and smart?) He probably doesn’t know my name. Or maybe he does. Once he held the door for me, and I swear—my entire soul blushed. I wish I was braver. I wish I could just say hi. Or maybe trip and fall into his arms like movies with rom-com vibes. And it is ridiculous— How I imagine him imagining me like the outcasted girl Who is tied to sunshine boy by destiny.

0

Sep 23, 2025

Sep 23, 2025 at 3:42 PM UTC

Him.

He's not even trying— but somehow, it's all clear He is the main character and I am not even near. He laughs, and it's like— ugh, why does it sound that nice? Like someone bottled up summer and sarcasm and poured it into his voice. I pretend I’m not watching, but I always am. When he’s staring at the skies, or running his fingers through his hair because it keeps falling in his eyes. (How unfair is that? Like—sir, why you have so pretty and smart?) He probably doesn’t know my name. Or maybe he does. Once he held the door for me, and I swear—my entire soul blushed. I wish I was braver. I wish I could just say hi. Or maybe trip and fall into his arms like movies with rom-com vibes. And it is ridiculous— How I imagine him imagining me like the outcasted girl Who is tied to sunshine boy by destiny.

27