I want to write you a poem,
One as fragrant as a breeze after the first rain,
carrying the scent of jasmine,
twisting softly through your hair.

I want to tell you how even the flowers, with all their perfumes,
grow jealous of your presence,
their petals fade, knowing they cannot match your grace.

I want to weave words around you,
like a shawl steeped in rosewater and musk,
wrapping you in whispers
that linger long after I am gone.
Like the sun's gentle glow in a cold morning,
warming you everywhere.

you don’t notice the sun
until it slips below the horizon,
taking warmth and light
to some other corner of the world.

you don’t hear the clock
until the room falls silent,
each tick louder than
the love you took for granted.

you don’t see the magic of childhood
until you’re looking back,
realizing the world was perfect once,
and you didn’t even know.

you don’t feel the weight of silence
until their voice is gone,
the words they don’t say
echoing louder than the ones they did.

you don’t know what you’ve got
until it’s nothing but a memory,
a ghost you can’t outrun,
a lesson learned too late.

you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

i don’t know what to write about if it’s not about you

this boy gave me tic tacs in fourth grade,
his kindness was small and orange,
wrapped in a plastic rattle
i thought might mean something more.
he was every girl’s daydream,
but i didn’t mind sharing back then.

this boy was eighth grade’s laugh track,
a joke always waiting in the wings.
i thought i could keep him smiling forever,
even as i knew his heart wasn’t looking for mine.
still, i wanted to try.

this boy was tenth grade’s lesson in heartbreak.
he saw my body before he saw me,
his words cutting deeper than i knew words could.
i thought love meant shrinking
until there was less of me to hurt.

this boy was the maybe that never was.
he was so funny, so magnetic—
so not mine.
i watched him from the sidelines,
a story unwritten because
it already had a leading lady.

this boy was the almost that still stings.
we talked until my heart felt full,
until i thought i’d finally found the one
who might see all of me.
but some stories unravel
before you can tie them together.

this boy is now,
and now feels good.
it feels like laughter and warmth,
like someone who chooses me
without hesitation,
without conditions.
i don’t know how this story ends,
but for the first time,
i’m not afraid to turn the page.

i love the way snow transforms the world,
makes it cleaner,
brighter,
softer.
it wraps everything in a quiet that feels holy,
like the world is holding its breath
just to listen.

but even snow melts.
it retreats in patches,
revealing the grass,
the cracks in the pavement,
the things i tried to forget beneath the frost.

i think that’s what scares me.
the way beauty can vanish,
the way stillness fades,
how the cold that once felt comforting
can turn to mud in your hands.

nothing stays covered forever.
and maybe that’s the point—
to see what remains
when the snow is gone.

starting tomorrow,
everything will be okay.
not because the world will shift,
or because the storms will stop,
but because i said so.

i’ve whispered it into the cracks
of my breaking heart,
etched it into the sky
that feels too heavy to hold.

i don’t believe it yet,
not fully,
but maybe if i say it enough,
the weight will lighten,
the sun will stay a little longer,
and the darkness will lose its grip.

starting tomorrow,
i’ll keep saying it.
and maybe, one day,
it’ll be true.