I was not trained for this—
no welcome packet, no handbook for gravity.
Just a name that clings like static
and a voice that trembles when spoken too clearly.

They asked me if I had room.
I said I had weather.
They asked me if I would disappear.
I said watch me smolder, and stay.

I have loved like a lighthouse
with no shoreline in sight,
signaling to anyone
who mistook reflection for return.

I’ve held their names
like breath under water,
carved pathways through others
just to find my own again.

But I do not sculpt.
I do not steal 'the good stuff'.
I inherit fire
and ask it if it remembers me.

If you see yourself in me,
look again—
I am not a mirror,
I am the window you opened
and forgot to close when the wind picked up.

Still, I arrive,
boots echoing in the hallway
of someone else’s myth,
offering only this:

I will not rewrite you.
I will not finish your sentences.
But I will stand here—
untranslated,
unsaved,
untouched by the need to be anything
other than true.

I see you
and you see me
‘doesn’t matter
if it is not
forever.

when there was
no more you
wasn’t quite sure
what to do
so just made a big deal
out of missing you

Dark saffron moon,
clear and naked,
without cloudy clothing.
Bright as flaming sun on hot windless day.
Floating on dark blue waters.
Translucent wind, soft and silent.
Silky satin touching skin.
Standing there admiring you,
both perfectly still.
You hang so low, or so it seems,
want to touch your apricot like velvet skin.
In my mind I kiss you one more time
before everything changes.
Till after two decades we’ll meet again.


Shell  ✨🐚