White was the morning she walked away,
barefoot on cold tiles, carrying silence.
The sky had no color that day—
only the hush of something ending.

White was the page I never gave her,
the one that held everything I couldn’t say.
My hands trembled with the weight of it—
not the words,
but the years between us.

White is the silence that hums at dusk,
when the sky forgets its colors
and everything feels like remembering.

White is the dress on her wedding day
She left with winter in her eyes,
Walking down the isle, and I stood still,
watching her vanish into the light.

White is the flame I hold at night,
soft with sorrow, strong with light.
Not empty now, but full instead—
of hope, and love, and words unsaid.


Erennwrites

We don't know each other,
We have not seen each other.
Yet, we are bound together
by an invisible thread of emotions
in this world of words .

Together we stand ,
   with each other ,
    for each other.

We met in coincidences—
Once in angst staring at the moon
Twice in silence glaring at the sun
Thrice under colored skies pretending not to watch.

Each time,
the universe held its breath.
Each time,
we let go too soon.

There were years between our names.
Other hands. Other homes.
Hearts that tried to forget
what never really left.

But I’ve learned—
what isn’t meant for you
will fight to leave.
And what is
will find its way back,
no map,
no warning,
just a pull.

So even if we part again,
even if time forgets our faces—
I’ll know:

'You are the return.
You are the thing that stays.'
Indefinitely


Erennwrites

I never understood the sentence
"I have my heart in my mouth."
Not until I tasted it,
not until I spit it,
not until the words got stuck in my throat
because I felt a weight on my mouth that didn’t let me breathe.

I didn’t understand the sentence
until I felt my chest empty
and its beating on my neck.
Until I cried because I couldn’t even talk.

I didn't understand what
"Having your heart in your mouth"
meant
until I found it there
and I had no one to turn to.

The number grows but
I still can't tell if I am whole.
Every day is nearly the same
until it's simply not.

Even family changes or moves on.
No one is safe in the long run,
Not the encountered stranger,
the acquaintance or friends...

Nobody knows when they'll meet their end,
and it scares me.
I don't like the YOLO philosophy,
but here I am again, pondering.

I'm trying to make sense of everything
I'm wondering what exactly I need...
What can help me be happy?
I wouldn't say I'm ashamed but my past is embarrassing?

I guess I'll continue and just keep going
I'll keep trying my best,
For as long as I can,
I'll try to get through this

You are the warmth in the serenity I never drank,
the final page of a novel I hold off reading
just to stretch the story one more night.
You are the lullaby I hummed when I forgot the lyrics
but remember the ache.

I think I’ve been writing to you in everything—
in the way I halt at fullstops
Because I'm afraid
there's always an end from a beginning
I do not know the color of your eyes,
but I know how they’ll light up when you speak of things you love.
I haven’t felt your hand in mine,
but I know how I’ll memorize the curve of your thumb
like it’s punctuation—
a comma in the sentence of my life
that says: pause here. something beautiful is coming.

If you’re wondering,
yes—
I’ve saved you all the best lines.
The ones that never made it into poems
because they were too soft, too sacred, too soon.
They live folded in my chest
like notes passed under desks in classrooms of longing.
I don’t send them,
because I want to give them to you in person—
when we are older,
and ready,
and brave enough to admit we were always meant to find each other
in a world full of almosts.

And when you arrive—
with your quiet eyes and your laugh that tastes like home,
don’t be surprised if I cry.
Not because I am sad,
but because it is a kind of grief
to wait so long for a face you already loved
in every stranger that almost looked like you.

To you, whom I haven’t met yet—
come slowly,
but come.
This heart has been keeping time in poetry,
and every line
has always led me to you.


Erennwrites

It begins with a hush—
the kind that fills your chest,
right before the sky remembers
how to open its heart.

And then it starts—
light breaking through darkness
with no warning, no mercy.
It’s beautiful,
almost unbearably so.
You look up,
and for a second
you forget the silence
that comes after.

I held your hand once
beneath that color sky.
We didn’t speak.
There are no words
that can touch what it feels like
to watch something so eminent
already beginning to end.

That was us

All color,
all chaos,
flashes of everything we wanted to be
and knew we couldn’t hold.

You laughed,
and it cracked something in me.
Not because it wasn’t real—
but because it was.
'Real things don’t last
the way we want them to'

And still,
if I close my eyes—
I swear I can feel the heat
on my face,
like you never left.
Like we are still
watching the skies collide in pastel neons
Like the ending
was always worth
the wonder.

We loved like fireworks.
Loud.
Bright.
Gone.


Erennwrites

Raindrops kiss the earth,
he sits beneath the grey sky—
eyes still on the stars.

Clouds hide every light,
but he whispers to the dark,
“Maybe one will fall.”

Storms can’t shake his faith—
even meteors seem far,
but he waits, and waits.

The world says, “Give up.”
He only tightens his grip—
hope like fire inside.

Rain or stars above,
he believes in miracles—
even if they burn.


Erennwrites