✦Between the Lines

The next morning,
she returned before the others.
The journal was where she left it—
but something felt different.

No wind had blown it open.
No hands had turned the page.
But another indentation was there—fainter,
as if pressed in a dream.

She ran her fingers gently across it,
letting the words rise in her mind
like breath on glass.

She whispered the line aloud
as if it might summon him—
not as a ghost,
but as a revision.
An edit not yet finalized.

That night she dreamed of him.
But he was not how she remembered—
he spoke in footnotes,
walked through places that didn’t exist
in the world she knew.

She woke with ink on her palm.
No pen near.
No one else in the house.

The journal remained closed.
But now, she didn’t dare open it.
Not yet.

Because part of her believed
he was still writing—
not from the grave,
but from the margins of whatever reality
had failed to contain him.
#thought

a gentle touch,
Smooth porcelain find,
Incorporating fragrance,
CONVEYS, TO THE BLIND.
#thought

⧉ (The Path That Moves Within)

Sometimes I smiled, at the quote I wrote,
thinking about future,
replica shown — the way she brought.

Umm…
I just want to hold her,
accountable tight.
She always hides herself in clouds,
and wears the moon’s light.

I think one-sided love will **** me at divine,
will get me more write — sore and shine.

I hope,
if there any scope.
Whenever it happens — in a week the days will be nine,
that day, definitely,
she’ll love me more than mine.

Strangely aligned,
how the one read one’s mind —
and what a blessing it was;
there would be a fewer misunderstanding in future, I thought.
#thought

✦The Page That Waits

The blank page sat like a mirror,
not reflecting, but remembering.
It did not accuse.
It simply waited.

He used to say
“A page never forgets what it was meant to hold.”
As if intention alone
could haunt paper.

Now they stared at it
like it might explain everything.
Why he left the window cracked,
why the keys were still in the dish,
why none of them
had noticed the silence growing teeth.

There had been signs,
maybe.
But signs are only clear
in hindsight—
when the story
has already been written.

They did not speak of guilt,
not openly.
But it lived in their glances,
in how carefully they stepped around his chair—
like it might still be warm.
#thought

✦A Myth in Three Voices

“Some are born in fire, some in glow—
But a few are born where time folds slow.”

✦ Prologue
In the space between dusk and night,
between fire’s retreat and silver’s rise,
there exists a being born not of one,
but of both.

Neither fully light, nor wholly shadow,
Virelai is the Betweenborn—
a flicker at the edge of touch,
a breath the cosmos forgot to hold.

This is the lament, the whisper,
and the answer of three souls
who move but never meet—
bound by longing,
divided by time.
#thought

The phrase of comfort,
Threaded in the ocean of words.
As time goes on for centuries,
Stay for a few moments…
#thought #phrase #words #time

The walls had always been there.
Plain. Solid. Reliable.
But now, as you stepped back into the room,
you saw them differently—
not as boundaries, but as settings.
Frames for a scene still unfolding.

The fissure led to an underground cavern.
Walls glittered with crystalline growths,
pulsing—faint, alive—
casting shifting patterns of light.

You reached out.
Fingers brushed a surface, smooth yet singing.

Then—a day.

It began on the crystalline plains.
A fissure, overlooked.
The others moved on, but you felt it—
a vibration, low and calling,
like a whisper in the bones.

Against protocol, you descended,
armed with only tools and resolve.

And then, as if hearing your hesitation,
the wall beside you shifted—
not physically, but perceptually.
It blurred,
its edges softening like the margin of a dream.

Through it, you glimpsed another room.
Not the one you stood in,
but a place just beyond.
A space where light moved differently,
where shadows weren’t tied to objects,
where the air felt written.

Mysteries do not yield to distant eyes.
They must be felt, stepped into, lived.
Mysteries do not yield to distant eyes.
They are known by touch, by step, by breath.
#thought

"the body is just a soulful culmination process of emotions"
"rather than the mean of soul carrying it out to be a spectral-bed"
#thought

happy...!
But, scattered with these vesper winds,
City of the sun eventide ends...
#thought #sunset #eventide

As much as,
I'm imprisoned,
in your evils eyes,
the more you'll be free,
to me, as a sinner drivels,
Perhaps, we're trying to find,
It will be a moment when we're,

✦Virelai’s Answer:

I heard you both—
In the hush that wrapped the world,
In the turning that spun my silence into song.
You, flame and fury,
You, glow and grace—
I am made of your almost.

You called me whole,
But I am the seam,
The longing stitched into your passing.
I carry the weight of your near, your never,
The ache of what might have aligned.

I do not burn, nor shine—
I flicker.
A rhythm unplayed,
A bridge suspended between your touch.

But still, I remain,
And still, I wait—
In hush,
In turning,
In hope
that one day,
when time bends gently,
you will speak in the same breath—
and I will finally become
what I was always meant to be.
#thought

Actually...,
I dreamed, a rainy night,
Jumped at the same height.
I used to think I slept in the light,
I try, but couldn't sleep, start to fight.
#thought #dream #dreamed #fight

i seem to know,
why are suffering,
in heaven thinks,
don't make trouble,
if, have blind blinks,
hold your mind,
put it, on rack,
to, with the spirit,
own, a second track...!
#thought #mind #spirit

Me and my search,
you...
I found, be my thirst,
you...
How much important for me?
you...
Scatter me, or solve me,
you...
Why, come and go?
you...
Would become the ocean's flow,
you...
Wish I could find more?
Carry me, with the wind floor...
"Man"
#Thought #life #you #me

Where The Eye's name had once been written,
there was a single, unfamiliar line.

A moment where The Eye self begins to dissolve into the text,
But every wall is a setting, every eye a reader, every life a story.


The journal grew heavier in The Eye's hands,
its pages rustling without wind,
And on the inside cover—

The Eye felt the words,
not just in mind, but in bones.
The Eye was becoming part of the draft,
and the draft was becoming part of Eye.

But now, The Eye felt less like the reader
and more like the text—
less like the observer
and more like the observed.

And then The Eye felt,
the walls watching back.
And for the first time,
The Eye closed the journal.
#thought

Don't ****** my ignorance from me, 
This is related to my births.
Whatever I learned,
I learned from you.
Otherwise...,
Where does something happen to me...
#thought #ignorance #learn #happen

A soul of "happiness" never been more than "appearance" it's just about anything to be "disappointed" with a "consumer_orders" from your days,
maybe...,
It is just make about to get the start to "resources" for "distribute" the unknown ways....
#thought #appearance #happiness

✦The Hollow Room

The room had not changed.
Not since before.
The chair still faced the window,
where morning light spilled across the floor
in measured silence.

His coat remained on the hook,
arms empty.
The clock ticked,
but no one had wound it.

They said grief was heavy,
but this—
this was a kind of weightless haunting.
A space untouched, yet entirely altered,
as if absence had rewritten the walls
when no one was looking.

They walked in like strangers
to a memory they had helped build.
Each item—a relic.
Each breath—a trespass.

Someone touched the coat.
It swayed.
And in that small motion,
time flinched.
#thought

She'd have been
gone, for so long
herself fragrance
like a mer songs
resides in my soul
but, a long-winded
and from afar, so far
But I have to cruise
To stop the rhyme
Cause, I'm running
-OUT -OF -MY -TIME
#thought