she feel his gaze,
he feels her–
silent admiration.

"why not confess?"
cupid sighs,
but god only smiles,
"some love is made
to be felt,
not said."

I swear broken promises for
entry to your secret garden
I stab your heart once more
and once again beg pardon.

What’s meant stays,  
quiet and sure.  
  
True love waits,  
even when we turn away.  
  
What isn’t ours  
slips,  
like water,  
gone before we know it.

I can’t help but think of the past. All bridges I’ve burned the heart I broke she was innocent and pure as angelic as the heavens. No one will ever take her place in my heart soul and mind. As I’m sitting here drowning in my memories and these  bottles
I can’t help but think of her and the bottom of the bottle

My pen is my transport,
My paper, my portal.
The moment they touch,
I end up somewhere else:
The late victorian age with
a story of tragic romance,
a mystical realm
with the most fantastical lore.
Perhaps the roaring twenties,
Or the age of rebirth,
Maybe classical Greece,
Or somewhere else—
It doesn't even have to exist!
I could do whatever
My heart desires
With just paper and a pen,
And some inspiration in mind...
I find true solace when I write.