She walked through life as if running isn’t enough
Her palms were filled with absence
Her nights heavy with unfinished words

She knew it wasn’t the end—
Only another bruise of time
Another echo she had to forgive

To graze within this end
Was to cradle sorrow like a fading rose
Bleeding beauty into silence

And still she chose—
to make life bloom—
when the moon glares at her doom
To smile even when forever ends


Erennwrites

I don’t know when it started—
maybe it was the 3am calls,
the way we could talk about nothing
until one of us fell asleep
Or maybe it was the reels—
cats in glasses, dream cities,
anything that made us laugh like children
who didn’t know love was creeping in.

I tried to keep my distance,
not talk every day,
because the feelings were growing too deep
and I didn’t want to scare you away.
But maybe I did
Or maybe you found someone else
who made you laugh the same way I tried to.

You disappeared.
No explanation.
Just… gone.

And now,
I carry everything I never said—
like folded notes in my chest
You were never just a friend to me
You were the lily I watched bloom
and never dared to pick.

Wherever you are…
I hope someone tells you
what I was too afraid to say


Erwnnwrites

There is a thread—
unseen, divine—
spun long before your hand met mine
In the silence where no eyes see
God wrote your name beside my decree
Beneath the stars, before the breath
in the realm untouched by time or death
our souls were lanterns, side by side—
then cast to earth, and made to hide.

You walked through rain, I burned through frost
both led by strings we didn’t know
We loved the wrong, we lost the right
yet dreamt the same face every night
The world was loud, but hearts were wise—
they searched for home in strangers' eyes
I passed by years that wore your scent
not knowing where your silence went.

And every prayer, though not your name
still reached the sky and burned the same
Still, fate would stretch but never tear—
for what is yours is always there
Perhaps in this life, not in flesh—
but in the ache, the dreams, the breath.
Perhaps we meet where souls reside
where tulips bloom and no one dies.

So if you feel a sudden pull
when the wind is soft, and the world is dull—
it’s me, my love, it’s always been—
the other end of the unseen string.


Erennwrites

They say black is mourning—
a shade stitched in grief
the colour of farewells
and silence beneath.
but they forget—
black was the first kiss of the universe,
the cradle where stars
learned how to burn.

Black is the ink
that wrote the letters
he never sent—
confessions sealed
in a drawer of—
What-Ifs and
Could-Have-Beens.
Black is the bruise,
leaving an imprint to the heart
the forgotten piano note
that still lingers in her ears.

But it is also the night sky
that held her darkest secret
on her childhood diary
the cold coal that once was fire
and the shadow that stayed
when everyone else left.
Black does not beg to be loved
It simply is beautiful in its defiance
Romantic in its sorrow—
A silence that sings
And in its depths
we find the truth—

That even the darkest—
can still be graceful.
And still—
be worth
remembering.


Erennwrites

You touched me once
within—
not in this life
but somewhere between
a breath and a prayer
where souls forget
they’ve said goodbye

We never began
We’ll never end

Infinity—
is loving you
in every life
you never lived with me.


Erennwrites

She walks like a flame through a thunderstorm's cry
not to be doused, not even by sky
A tempest herself in a world gone tame—
fierce, untamed, with a whisper of flame.
She’s mischief in silk, wild laughter at dusk
a soul wrapped in lace, old books and musk
Where others would falter, she dances through pain
a lily still blooming in heavy rain.

Her fingers are stained with the colors of the past
lost in a time where slow love could last
She haunts every library’s dust-covered shelf
finding pieces of others, and maybe, herself.
She sips on old stories in candlelit nooks
falling in love with the scent of old books
Rusty cafés, forgotten halls—
her heart beats loud in crumbling walls.

She is not of this world, not quite of this age
a handwritten letter on heartfelt tenders
A lady too late for ballroom grace—
yet too early to vanish without a trace.
She loves like a secret, too precious to name
soft where she trusts, hard when in pain
yet never the same—
to those whom she lets in
she’s fragile, sincere—
a trembling heart behind armor and spear.

But oh, how she still believes in the spark
in moonlit confessions and hands in the dark
Even after the storms and battles she's braved
her lily still blooms in the ruins she saved
So here’s to the fire that will never die—
to the girl who still dreams beneath sorrow’s sky.

She’s every lost poem, every ache lost in name—
a lily that burns in the heart of the rain.


Erennwrites

We were just
two shadows in a field of blue
a white sigh and a black whisper
lost between petals
and the hush of things unspoken
The world didn’t know our names—
but the flowers did.
They watched you lean into me
like a prayer left unspoken.

We danced without music
just the rhythm of glances
the poetry of tilts and tilting heads
at old wooden windows
where time paused—
as if even it was curious
how love could bloom—
from silence.

We saw forever
in a sea of daisies
our backs to the world
shoulders brushing like fragile vows
we dared not speak aloud.
You—
with a heart too quiet
Me—
with one too loud.

And when the sea called
we sat by the edge
on cracked teal concrete
watching ships go by
not chasing them—
just wondering if they carried
the versions of us
who never said goodbye.

Behind brick and bloom,
we hid from the world
but not from each other
Your head touched mine—
so softly,
it rewrote every ache
I thought I had to keep.
Your gaze was the garden
I forgot I deserved.

And if I could choose again,
I'd still be the black night
to your gentle dawn—
not perfect, not always kind,
but always
always,
there.


Erennwrites