Two hands traded a heart on the fourteenth. It wasn't flesh, but breath, blush, and a promise that would last forever.
It grew between them, a red vow sewn with whispers, a balloon of promises with a knot at the end of a shaking thread.
It is in the middle of the road today.
The wind pushes it around without care, moving it from one uncertain direction to another, as if even the air has forgotten where love was supposed to go.
It waits at the crossroads, alone, with its ribbon tangled in yesterday.
Cars go by.
Footsteps stop for a moment.
No one takes the promise that was once made with bright eyes.
It sways—it's not dancing anymore, just going with the flow, not knowing where it's going.
And maybe it knows what all weak things learn in the end: that air that lifts can also thin.
One day it will pop, not with anger or noise, but softly.
Letting go of what it once was, love dissolving into the air and going back to the sky that first taught it how to rise.
And somewhere, someone will take a deeper breath without knowing why it feels like February again.
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 10:36 AM UTC
Two hands traded a heart on the fourteenth. It wasn't flesh, but breath, blush, and a promise that would last forever.
It grew between them, a red vow sewn with whispers, a balloon of promises with a knot at the end of a shaking thread.
It is in the middle of the road today.
The wind pushes it around without care, moving it from one uncertain direction to another, as if even the air has forgotten where love was supposed to go.
It waits at the crossroads, alone, with its ribbon tangled in yesterday.
Cars go by.
Footsteps stop for a moment.
No one takes the promise that was once made with bright eyes.
It sways—it's not dancing anymore, just going with the flow, not knowing where it's going.
And maybe it knows what all weak things learn in the end: that air that lifts can also thin.
One day it will pop, not with anger or noise, but softly.
Letting go of what it once was, love dissolving into the air and going back to the sky that first taught it how to rise.
And somewhere, someone will take a deeper breath without knowing why it feels like February again.
15th cant be same as 14th of February...love too has become commodity
