Your mind, a canvas vast and wide,
Paints the world with thoughts inside.
It searches far, it seeks the clues,
To prove the stories that you choose.

If shadows speak, "No light for me,"
Your mind will find the dark to see,
And every cloud, and every storm,
Will only serve to reinforce this norm.

But whisper soft, "Hope finds a way,"
And watch how dawn transforms the day.
Your mind, like soil, will nurture seeds,
Of brighter thoughts, of kinder deeds.

For in the garden of the soul,
What you believe will shape the whole.
So plant with care, and tend with grace,
The thoughts that bloom will fill your space.

The power's yours, with each new breath,
To choose belief, to conquer death.
Of dreams once lost, or hopes turned gray,
For your own thoughts will light the way.

So speak with wisdom, mind your voice,
For what you tell it shapes your choice.
In every word, in every line,
The proof you seek is yours to find.

Each day is a canvas, a story untold,
Where moments of wonder in silence unfold.
One day, a café where whispers are heard,
Sipping on dreams, not saying a word.

The next, a long walk beneath skies of blue,
Breathing in life as the earth welcomes you.
Friends fill the air with their laughter and grace,
While novels call softly to a quietened space.

One day, you conquer, with focus and might,
The next, break the rules, let indulgence take flight.
Junk food and laughter, with no guilt to hide,
For life is a journey, enjoy every ride.

A day with your family, where love is the feast,
Sharing your stories, where joy is increased.
Then retreat to your boards, where dreams take their form,
Imaginary worlds where creativity’s warm.

For as long as the sun in the heavens shall rise,
Let each morning greet you with endless surprise.
Put on your best, feel the world in your sway,
And make every moment your favourite day.

Tears,
they carry weight,
more than saltwater breaking the dam—
they are the liquid syntax of our soul.

Unspoken words
blur the edges of vision,
and we tremble, not from weakness,
but from the quake of something deeper,
a chasm opening wide.

Sadness. Overwhelm. Rage. Joy.
It all pools into one common thread
invisible until it spills
across our cheeks.

Yet, society fears this flood,
as if emotions shouldn't break the surface.
We wear our stoicism like armour,
but real strength is in the unraveling.
In the wet confession
we try to blink away.

To cry is to translate
what words could never say,
to let the body speak
its native tongue,
pure, raw, unrefined.

Don't shut the floodgates.
Tears know the way.
They navigate the jagged landscapes
of grief, of joy, of loss, of rage,
dripping into the open wounds
we pretend are healed.

They tell us what we refuse to hear,
so we bow to them,
not in defeat, but in reverence,
for every tear is an offering
of truth we cannot bear alone.

It's the fire no ocean could quell,
a heat beneath skin, searing
through every pulse, an electric hum
of being alive in the presence of another.

Love is an uncharted storm
raging quietly in the veins;
no hands can grasp it,
no mind contain it,
it slips, shifts, floods every silence
with the whisper of its impossible need.

And yet, it's delicate, too;
the breath that catches
between words,
the glance that folds
time upon itself.
It's in the empty space
between bodies
where all things combust
and surrender.

It breaks you open,
but it's the breaking
that keeps you whole.
It's the longing that lives
inside you forever,
a flame that neither ends
nor begins;
just burns. And burns.
Because love is always too much,
but never enough.

A heartbeat in the distance,
once a symphony,
now fractured notes dissolving in air.
Fingers once laced,
like threads weaving worlds,
are loose, and the wind,
whispers goodbye between the gaps.

You were the sun at midnight,
the impossible touch of light,
in places I didn't know could bloom,
but time turned you into a shadow,
fading slow,
leaving nothing but echoes of your warmth.

The road we carved,
marked by laughter and silent promises,
cracks and crumbles beneath the weight of absence.
Each step forward drags the ghost of your smile,
a tether to something no longer there,
but not yet gone.

I hold you,
not in flesh,
but in memory's restless dream,
where your voice still lingers,
on the edge of a word,
that never fully lands.

How can love be lost?
It sits in the marrow,
a fire never truly extinguished,
just misplaced in the night.
Yet the heart learns its new rhythm,
the silence becomes a new kind of music,
and love lost, but not forgotten,
rests somewhere deep,
beneath the skin of the stars.

In the quiet chambers of the heart,
Where love once bloomed, you find your part,
A tender place where memories sing,
Of someone who was everything.

But trying to forget, to erase, to sever,
Is not the task, nor now, nor ever.
For in the marrow of what was shared,
Is a beauty that lingers, a love once declared.

You don’t sanitize the wounds of time,
Or clip the edges of the climb.
No, you cradle the ache, the jagged thorn,
For in its presence, you were reborn.

Let the pain rest where it may,
It teaches in a quiet way.
The love that once felt like the air,
Is not erased, though you may no longer share.

Sometimes life moves with a heavier hand,
And you must lay down what you planned.
You walk away, not in defeat,
But knowing some roads will never meet.

The heart grows too big, desires too far,
And you must follow your own star.
It’s okay to leave, to let go, to release,
For in that, too, there’s quiet peace.

Though you thought forever was in the weave,
There’s grace in knowing when to leave.
To accept, to walk, to quietly part,
Is to honor the depth of your own heart.

Letting go is the hardest dance,
A battle fought between heart and chance.
The mind, so eager to step ahead,
But the heart lingers where it's been fed.

For memories are stitched like thread,
Woven deep in all that's said,
In favourite songs, or simple sights,
A brand of pasta, soft lamplights.

The world spins on, but you remain,
Caught in love's sweet, aching chain.
And though you try to walk away,
Your heart insists it still must stay.

It's not weakness this lingering ache,
Nor is it wrong, this path you take.
For healing comes in waves, not lines,
A rhythm not bound by clocks or signs.

There will be days of peace, so rare,
And others when the weight's still there.
But this is life, a tender maze,
Of broken hearts and mending days.

Be kind to you, in this in-between,
Where loss and hope both intervene.
For though they're gone, and life is changed,
The love you had is still unchained.

And on those days when tears do fall,
Remember this, above it all.
When life withholds what once felt true,
It's shaping something fresh for you.

So trust the time, the path unseen,
And know you'll heal, though stuck between.