I will not lie on my deathbed
haunted by the ghosts
of dreams I left unborn,
of words swallowed
like ash and regret.

The voice in my head
a relentless whisper,
an ember refusing to fade:
Go forward,
Go further,
Or burn alive in the silence.

They call my sky too wide,
my dreams reckless,
as if their fears could cage
my endless horizon.

I burn hot like fire
a fury ignited
by the smallness
of their projections,
the cowardice
of chosen comforts,
a daily surrender
to empty routines.

I rage against shrinking,
against the numbness
of a life untested.
Let them choose ease;
I will chase obsession,
run wild into uncertainty,
and carry my dreams
like flames
into the dark.

The flowers bloomed
I cut them down
You gave me the seeds

some moments
dont come back to you --
but when they do,
they usually always
bring the laughter
you still remeber
the shape of.

and for a second,
you're there again --
happy
and full of
joy.
whithout even
trying
to be.

It is more than fine to say No.
Nothing behind that necessarily
You will find your way hopefully sooner or later
Make it an adventure no matter what that might be
No excuses just go for it
Do it your way
Enjoy yourself one step or leap at a time

She walks where night forgets itself
beneath flickering signs,
past alleyways that hold their breath.
Not quite seen,
but the traffic hushes
when her heel touches the curb.

Streetlights spill down her spine
like a chapel of small suns,
and puddles ripple with memory
not rain.

She doesn’t look at you,
but you are already unraveling
Her name no longer fits your mouth,
your past left leaking behind her steps.

Shopfront mannequins turn to watch.
Buskers miss a beat.
Dogs whimper low like sinners in pews.
Something shifts.
Paint peels. Neon falters.

No perfume, no sound
just the scent of once-loved letters,
and a warmth like someone you mourned
standing just behind you,
never speaking.

She walks on.

Her dress, midnight silk
stitched with the hush of every goodbye.
Her face
you remember it wrong
every time you try.
Like smoke, or poetry,
or the space between subway doors.

Coins clatter.
Lights change.
You blink
and she is
gone.

Still,
you swear the sky
tastes different
since she passed.