They are madly in love, but that love seems to drive them to madness.  Time has passed, each moment filled with efforts to make things work, but inevitably, they end up right back where they started, fighting. They love so deeply, opening parts of each other once kept dormant. They were probably never meant to be, deep down she feels like that are not right for each other, and sometimes he begins to think it’s true. Shes mad that he can’t just leave her alone, where is the space she has always pleaded for? He’s mad that the time away from her feels like a piece of him has been torn away, how could you love someone and still yearn for the distance? Her love burns like a fire, needing air to fuel its brightness, yet yearning for space to avoid being suffocated. His love flows like a river, a constant current that needs something to pull against, requiring a connection to stay alive. Each passing moment only draws them closer, their hearts in sync, an invisible thread weaving them together. But this symphony of emotions becomes harder to bear, as if his love is an unstoppable force, and hers an immovable object, each pulling in different directions. Perhaps she’s not ready for this kind of relationship, or maybe he was never meant for one. Yet, the harder she pulls away, the more desperately he holds on. The waves may crash, and the buildings may fall, but beneath the rubble, they stand, planning to rebuild. Their love drives them to the edge, unsure of what comes next. She craves time to breathe, space to settle, while he longs for reassurance, wanting to feel as though he’s not being cast aside.

I’m striving to write a poem, yet the words elude me, as if every letter has crumbled to dust within my mind. A spark of poetic fire ignites, but when I reach for even a single syllable to shatter the silence, each nascent line dissolves into emptiness. I battle on, though the will I once possessed has faded like a flame doused by relentless rain, leaving only wet coals behind. I wander into the void of night, my energy dissipating into shadows, each effort emerging as a desperate plea that the void mercilessly swallows. Still, I stand at the edge, peering into a vast sea of forgotten verses, watching the rhythmic ebb of lost words. I know that soon, I will gather the scattered strands of my thoughts and awaken the dormant creation within.

Hey there, beautiful. What’s it like in that bright city? I’m a thousand miles away, yet even tonight, your beauty shines as vividly in my mind as the stars above. Not even the northern lights can compare to you. Hey there, baby. Don’t worry about the distance, our souls are still entwined, our hearts beating in perfect rhythm. Just close your eyes, listen to my voice, and imagine me by your side, whispering all the love I carry for you. Hey there, my love. I know things have been hard, but believe me—one day, we’ll close this distance. We’ll build the life you’ve always dreamed of, and our love will be more beautiful than we ever imagined. Hey there, honey. I have so many more words left to write, endless poems woven just for you. If every verse could make you love me even more, I’d write forever—falling deeper, sinking further into your heart. A thousand miles may feel like an impossible expanse, but I’d listen to the hum of trains, the soaring of planes, I’d even walk until my legs gave out, just for the chance to hold you again, to feel the warmth of your skin. Doubt may creep in, and people may laugh, but we’ll smile through it all—because I have never felt a love so true. And baby, I promise you this: no matter how long it takes, no matter how much the world may change, I will find my way back to you. Hey there, love. I hope my words find their way to you, carrying all the love I feel. One day, this distance will be nothing more than a memory. And when that day comes, I’ll finally get to say: This is where I’ll forever stay.

some nights I wish you'd
just knock — it's not just my door
I'll let you in through

the sound of rain on
a moving train makes me wish
the trip was longer

when people feel trapped
sometimes they're the prisoner
sometimes they're the cell

The shoreline isn't what it used to be.
It's staggered now; the smoothness has regressed,
and aquamarine ice is stinging the water
like a knife. The room itself is warm,
though stifled with smoke and dust. We go out
in the night and inhale.
The cold smells nice. Where is the moon?
Where are the stars? All I see are city lights to the south,
and an unbreakable darkness in the east.
I miss the sound of moving water,
and I dream of summer.
But how I love these winternights, tucked beneath blankets
and snow. An interval to the dissonance
of a January that is too warm, too dry.
In the early dawn, the sky is periwinkle darkened,
and the waves crash me a song reminiscent of you.