Lately I've been feeling
Disconnected from the world
It seems such a dreadful place
It feels far away from home

So I come to my safe haven
Read and write for hours
Write and read some more
And I know I'm not alone

For I get to see each of you
The outcasts, the weirdos
The misfits, the poets...
But above all, the kind

My little beacons of hope...
My people

maybe not now, not quite today,
but somewhere down the winding way,
when time feels right and skies align,
your path will gently cross with mine.

i won’t rush fate, i’ll let it flow,
there’s still so much we’ll come to know.
no need for maps, no need to see—
we’ll meet again. we’re meant to be.

I knew you were there —
knuckles resting like they didn’t know what to do.
I heard your breath through the wood.

You almost knocked. I felt it —
the air pulling back,
the hush flexing its muscles.

I almost opened the door. I felt that too —
the lock daring me to turn it,
the weight of the air leaning hard against my chest.

But neither of us moved.

We just stood there —
two statues pretending not to be waiting —
except I heard you breathing.
And I know you heard me too.

I fell for him, not in whispers or sighs,
But in crescendos, in rhythms, in skies
Painted with notes that danced in the air,
Each song a thread of the love we’d share.

He wasn’t just music—he was the sound,
The hum of the earth, the pulse underground.
A genre, a chord, a tune soft and true,
Would echo his soul, would carry his hue.

But now he is gone, and silence remains,
A hollow refrain, a ghost in the strains.
Yet when music plays, I’m drawn to the year,
I search for a sign he might have been near.

Did he hum this tune? Did he hear this beat?
Did it brush his soul? Was it his retreat?
The thought is a comfort, though bittersweet,
A harmony bridging where life and death meet.

For love like this does not fade away,
It lingers in songs, in chords that replay.
So I listen, I wonder, I dream him alive,
Through melodies where his spirit survives