You twist the truth, but I can read the signs,  
Each half-spun tale ignites a darker fire,  
And love decays beneath your thin designs.  

You speak in riddles, dodging clear confines,  
Yet every name you bury fuels my ire,  
You twist the truth, but I can read the signs.  

You think me blind, but darling, I divine  
The ghosts you hide—I know your every liar,  
And love decays beneath your thin designs.  

I let it slide, my silence once benign,  
But venom drips from all that you conspire,  
You twist the truth, but I can read the signs.  

I dream of ways to make your secrets mine,  
To watch you squirm beneath the tangled wire,  
And love decays beneath your thin designs.  

Still, here I stay—though fury blurs the lines,  
Your pretty words are drowning in the mire,  
You twist the truth, but I can read the signs,  
And love decays beneath your thin designs.

You weave your words in careful, quiet guise,  
A name withheld, a story left unclear,  
Yet still, I hear the echo of your lies.  

You never speak the truth that meets my eyes,  
The gaps you leave are louder than you fear,  
You weave your words in careful, quiet guise.  

Each hesitant confession I despise,  
Yet love still tethers me, though pain is near,  
And still, I hear the echo of your lies.  

I know the who, the what—your vague replies,  
You dance around the things I hate to hear,  
You weave your words in careful, quiet guise.  

But if I call you out, the moment dies,  
I bite my tongue and swallow down the tear,  
And still, I hear the echo of your lies.  

One day, perhaps, the truth will meet my eyes,  
Or I will leave before it disappears—  
You weave your words in careful, quiet guise,  
Yet still, I hear the echo of your lies.

Do you feel the weight  
of my name when it flickers across your screen?  
Does it settle in your chest,  
a slow-burning ember,  
or is it just another name, another light,  
another moment you let pass?  

Do you feel the weight  
of hearing my name in a crowded room?  
Does it pull your thoughts toward me,  
the way yours does when I see it—  
buried in scripture,  
a name meant to mean something,  
a name I can’t read without thinking of you?  

Do you feel the weight  
of the hurt you’ve left behind?  
The nights I knew—  
but pretended not to.  
The times you whispered lies into my ear  
while holding someone else in the dark.  
Did you feel the weight  
when I did the same?  
Did it crush you like I hoped it would?  

Do you feel the weight  
when our fingers brush,  
when our eyes meet  
and neither of us dares to look away?  
Do you feel it tighten around your throat  
when you say my name,  
like it does for me?  
Or do you breathe easy,  
unburdened,  
untouched?  

Do you feel the weight  
of silence,  
of wanting to call,  
of wanting to tell me—  
everything, anything—  
but stopping yourself?  
You were always the first person I told,  
my safest place,  
but was I ever that for you?  

Do you feel the weight  
of knowing I would do anything,  
because I know you would too?  
If I say, please,
you listen.  
That has to mean something,  
doesn’t it?  

Do you feel the weight  
of knowing I can’t imagine anyone else?  
That I don’t believe in accidents,  
that I don’t believe you are just another boy
that I don’t believe you are not mine?  

Do you feel the weight  
the way I do?

She stands at the counter,
flour dusting her fingertips,
cinnamon curling through the air like a whisper
she’s afraid to speak aloud.

A pinch of salt, a dash of thyme—
she throws them in like she’s casting a spell,
but nothing ever turns out right.
Too much heat, not enough heart,
the flavors never fold into each other,
never blend the way they should.

In her mind, another bowl waits—
one no one can see.
She tosses in “too much,” packs in “not enough,”
folds in “too loud” like stiff egg whites,
sifts in “too big” until it settles in the cracks.
No recipe, no measurements, just
a mess she can never quite fix.

She walks through the grocery store
like a stranger in a foreign place,
staring at shelves lined with things
she doesn’t know how to use.
Aisles stretch too wide, labels blur,
and the pressure knots in her stomach
until she turns around, empty-handed.
She just won’t go next time.

She can bake, though.
She knows the way sugar melts into butter,
how vanilla warms a room,
how patience turns batter to gold.
But sweets feel like a confession,
like proof.
So she says she can’t.
Pretends her hands are clumsy,
her cakes always sink.
Shrinks behind the lie
because it’s easier than the truth.

She just wishes she could cook.
Wishes she could make something people need.
Wishes she didn’t feel like a failed recipe.

Oh, sweetest sound upon my ear,  
a tethered thread, a spark sincere.  
Your voice, like embers soft and bright,  
calls out my name, and I ignite.  

Not once in passing, lost, unseen,  
but placed with care—intent, serene.  
A whispered note, a steady drum,  
each syllable leaves me undone.  

You speak, and suddenly I’m there,  
a past unshaken, light as air.  
Your tone, familiar, pulls me in—  
a dance between what’s now and then.  

"Goodnight," you say—yet here I stay,  
caught in the warmth you send my way.  
I tell myself it’s just a sound,  
but even now, I come unwound.  

So call it once, call it twice,  
with no regret, with no disguise.  
For every time, without pretense,  
I fall in love and lose defense.

All the miles between us feel like an ocean,  
Breathing sorrow into every quiet moment.  
Caring for you comes so easily,  
Despite the wounds you’ve left on me.  
Every lie you’ve told still stings,  
Foolishly, I cling to the love it brings.  
Grace fills my heart when I see your name,  
Holding back anger, forgiving the pain.  
I ache for the safety I find in your eyes,  
Just once, I wish you’d see past the lies.  
Kindness pours from u when I need it most,  
Love like yours keeps haunting my ghost.  
Maybe one day, we’ll rewrite this story,  
Now I pray for peace, tho it feels so blurry.  
Only you know how to calm my fears,  
Patiently listening thru laughter and tears.  
Quiet nights remind me of your touch,  
Regret fills the spaces where I loved 2 much.  
Still, I dream you’ll feel the same,  
Tethered to hope that whispers your name.  
Under the stars, I send you a prayer,  
Vowing I’ll wait, though life feels unfair.  
When I’m with you, the world feels light,  
Xeroxed memories replay in the quiet night.  
Years may pass, and still I’ll stay,  
Zoning in on love that won’t fade away.