"Don't let me forget you," my heart says as it weeps for its muse, who has long forgotten it.
Long ago, we sauntered side by side, intertwining fingers under the crest moon. Your laughter like a sweet melody to my ears, rose against the echoing wind and dancing trees. Every word surrendered to the warmth of your breath, tickling my skin and sending shivers down my spine. I can't forget how you held my hand gently, as if I might disappear one day.
...And I did—not by choice, but because life chose to intervene in our lives.
Even right now as I write this, I long for your embrace. I yearn for your quirky presence. I can’t help but hope that amidst the throngs of people, I somehow find your gaze because I still love you, and I despise you for having taken my heart and not returning it.
Now, I wake up every day praying that someday the memories will fade, that someday, when we cross paths, I don't recognize you. We meet as strangers.
Let me forget you, darling...
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 12:36 AM UTC
My inner world, divided cleanly into halves,
beats in a haunting tether--
a shared odyssey of parallel pilgrimage.
One half, utterly mad, slips quietly with time; the other walks in liveliness--a Queen of Youth, adorned in an ostentatious gown,
a crown resting lightly upon her head, reigning in sovereign grace.
She, the better half, moves with an undercurrent of benevolence, rich in agape despite the turmoil within. Her power is given gently, deliberately--mindful of the fragile human heart. She pours without expectation, yet beneath her kindness lies a guarded will, honed by the threat of quiet degradation.
He, tired and unraveling, withers toward nothing-- a ruined city, battered by time, a flower fading into winter's slow decay. He whispers of a dolorous soul, where entropy holds dominion, its tears cascading like a waterfall to meet the earth below--
the scent of soil and sorrow rising together.
Have you ever known a mad king? One who welcomes the end with dignity, embracing it with a tranquil smile--yet bound to a counterpart who defies him?
For she remains-- the Queen of Youth--her voice a serenade of courage, her presence radiant with defiance. She endures where he dissolves. She gives where he releases. And still, they are one.
He, the Mad King, worn by the weight of his kingdom, rvered yet unraveling--
a relic of time, returning to ash. This rest he longs for is delicate, yet laced with a quiet hope. And so the question lingers--
Which of them will fall into eternal slumber first?
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 2:51 PM UTC
In a city run by blood and greed, survival is not a choice but a demand--one that calls for action forged in blood and iron. Yet, victory is the monarchs warning: War is the avenue of Death, a price of loss in exchange for victory.
Do you, Monarch, not hear the cries of your people? They wail in desperation, agonizing over their impoverished life and suffering.
They drown in irreparable grief, running to the streets to protest against the oppression that condemns and inundates them. The weight of injustice, the blatant prohibition of liberation etched in their fraying cries.
Monarch, retaliation is inevitable--born of your cruelty. You, Monarch, have neglected your people, silenced their mouths and even their lives. You have starved your people; left them to rot you produced. You have drained the vitality of your people, depleting their hope and deserved oxygen. Where is your heart! Where is your mercy! Wait, you have none.
Your people, who mourn, storm toward the lavish castle where you, Monarch, waste away in wealth. Your people approach you, hoping you heed their pleas. Atlas, they face you. Monarch, you sit upon the throne, adorned in silk garments with a crown made of gold that's embellished with rare gems. The crown sits unworthy upon your head. One by one your people kneel before you, begging for salvation. Yet, none is given. Instead, you force them back to the dead streets once more. Derision is you. You are soaked in corruption that cannot be unwritten or ignored anymore.
Your People have made a decision. The people have deemed you unworthy to rule them. The people condemn you as unworthy of the throne. What is to come is punitive! Usurpation is upon you.
It is your sin that is your crime, that you shall take sole responsibility and endure the actions of the people who will commit against you. Mutiny and retribution come to you. For the cries of the oppressed rise, reaching a crescendo under a constellation that shines no more. The tyranny that held them in chains for too long will meet a lost, as victory, sweet and palpable, is ours at last. Autonomy shall reign, cloaked in the eternal grab of peace. The city once governed by blood and greed--the Monarch-- will now witness an end in blood, for like your people you too shall know fear. You shall simmer in agony, living in a warped hell forever.
"Monarch, angel of death, your demise has come. Meet eternal slumber. The people take your power like a thief in the night. Your authority, gone-- relinquished. Blood for blood.
The cries of the oppressed have fallen silent, for victory is ours, but at what cost?
Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 4:38 PM UTC
My Love,
I forfeit the pursuit of hope for your return.
Your absence has left a deep mark on my life. However, I can no longer ignore my declining mental health. I have convinced myself that you still love me and that if I wait, you will return. The harsh truth is that you are never coming back. We were never really good at being friends or lovers; we were only good as strangers.
I will no longer wander down memory lane, indulging in nostalgia. I will no longer cling to broken fragments of the past. Those memories of us, I release into the wind. The angel of Christ captures them and carries them far away from my sight, never to be seen again. You must remain in the past, your presence erased. To you, love, may the hand of God always be upon you.
Adieu, Tesoro.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 3:07 PM UTC
Not every soul that finds us is meant to stay beside us.
Some walk only part of the road, yet leave light that never fades.
You are still with me, not in touch, but in trace.
I live on carrying that glow, grateful for the path we shared.
Adieu, my love. I miss you.
Nov 1, 2025
Nov 1, 2025 at 2:50 AM UTC
Their murmurs echo through the night, ancient tones of the past and present longing for purpose and rebirth—they who have lived and died yet drift between worlds.
Oct 24, 2025
Oct 24, 2025 at 2:51 PM UTC
That night, God whispered to the little swan of the events to come, yet His words went unheard. As she slept, a feeling of repulsion took root and began to grow within her. Anxiety seeped into her heart.
Oct 18, 2025
Oct 18, 2025 at 11:05 AM UTC
Unbeknownst to the little swan, their rekindled friendship would forever remain between two worlds, never to change, never to fade, yet ubiquitous in the reticence of the past, present, and future. She, the Maiden of the Night, and he, the Muse of the Day, unespied.
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 3:14 PM UTC
You have my heart—hold it tenderly. I am deeply fond of you. I wish nothing more than to make you my eternal, yet your presence belongs somewhere else—not with me, nor ordained to be. Always and forever, you shall have a piece of what you stole. That piece is yours, so cherish it forever, for I must let you go. I release you quietly into the night. The wind carries you swiftly away, and you soar out of sight.
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 2:51 PM UTC
Love (noun):
A symphony of recognition, of knowing, of becoming.
An unfolding harmony between souls, where one sees, understands, and transforms through the presence of another.
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC