In the quiet spaces between
moments,
I feel the weight of possibility.
Love, a distant shore,
glimmering with promise,
yet obscured by the fog of memory.

I stand on the edge,
toes curling over the precipice,
wondering if the leap
will lead to flight or fall.

In your eyes, I see a universe,
uncharted, vast, inviting.
But the heart is a fragile vessel,
bruised by the tempests of yesterday,
hesitant to set sail again.

I trace the lines of your face
with my gaze, cautious,
as if touching something sacred
might unravel the safety of solitude.

To love is to risk,
to open wounds long closed,
to invite joy and sorrow
into the sanctuary of the soul.

I am afraid,
not of you, but of myself,
of the unknown terrain
that love demands I traverse.

Yet there is a pull,
a quiet urging from within,
to step into the light,
to let go of the fear,
and trust the journey ahead.

quiet moments of the night, beneath the shimmering glow of the moon, I find myself enveloped in a sense of longing, a yearning to reconnect with the roots that bind me to the earth. As an Afro-Indigenous soul, I am a child of two worlds, yet I feel the weight of disconnection pressing upon my heart.

The wind whispers secrets to me, carrying echoes of ancestors long gone, their voices mingling with the rustle of leaves and the song of the night. I listen intently, eager to learn the stories of those who came before me, to understand the wisdom they left behind and the legacy they entrusted to my care.

But in the midst of this longing, I feel a sense of displacement, as if I am adrift in a sea of unfamiliarity, searching for the shore of belonging. I ache to reclaim the traditions and customs that have been lost to time, to honor the heritage that courses through my veins like a river of memories.

And so, I turn my gaze to the moon, seeking solace in its gentle radiance, knowing that it too has witnessed the struggles of my ancestors and the triumphs of their spirit. In its luminous embrace, I find the courage to embark on a journey of rediscovery, to chart a course back to the roots from which I have been severed.

For in the quiet of the night, when the world falls silent and the stars shine bright, I find the courage to reconnect with the land that bore me and the people who came before. And though the path may be long and winding, I walk it with determination, guided by the whispers of my ancestors and the gentle caress of the wind.

The weight of regret settles heavy upon the shoulders of those who have shattered hearts in their wake. Like ripples in a pond, the consequences of their actions spread far and wide, touching lives in ways they could never have imagined. Karma, that unfathomable force of the universe, has a way of balancing the scales, of bringing about justice in its own time.

For those who have broken hearts, karma is a relentless teacher, offering lessons in empathy and understanding. It whispers reminders of the pain they inflicted, urging them to confront the consequences of their actions with humility and grace. They may find themselves on the receiving end of rejection, abandonment, or betrayal, forced to reckon with the same emotions they once callously disregarded.

Yet karma is not merely punitive; it is also a catalyst for growth and redemption. Through the trials and tribulations it brings, those who have broken hearts have the opportunity to evolve, to cultivate empathy and compassion where there was once indifference. They may come to understand the depth of their own actions and vow to tread more gently upon the hearts of others in the future.

In the end, karma serves as a reminder that we are all interconnected, that the pain we inflict upon others reverberates within our own souls. It is a call to mindfulness, to consider the consequences of our actions before we act, and to strive for kindness and integrity in all that we do. For in the dance of karma, every step we take echoes throughout eternity, shaping the world in ways both seen and unseen.

In a room full of people, I often feel like a ghost. Conversations swirl around me, vibrant and alive, yet I remain on the periphery, an observer to lives that seem effortlessly connected. There’s a hollowness in being overlooked, a quiet ache that settles in the spaces between words left unsaid.

I move through my days wearing a mask of normalcy, my thoughts a labyrinth that few care to navigate. Eyes glance past me, uninterested, unseeing. I wonder if they sense the depth beneath the surface, the complex landscape of my inner world. But no one asks, and I remain a solitary island in a sea of faces.

The longing to be seen, truly seen, is a silent plea I carry within. To have someone pause, look beyond the facade, and recognize the nuances that make me who I am. I crave that connection, the feeling of being known and understood, yet it remains elusive, a distant star in a vast, indifferent sky.

In the quiet moments, I wrestle with my invisibility, the weight of it pressing down. I yearn for the validation of a gaze that lingers, a voice that says, "I see you." But until then, I navigate the shadows, hoping that one day, someone will see through the veil and acknowledge the person hidden within.