Night Weaves cold threads over my shoulders,
The wind wanders like a letter with no address.
Something dim flickers in my chest,
a small candle
that forgot how to burn.
The sky hangs in a quiet suspension,
a lake without ripples,
Yet beneath it
feelings fall one by one
like leaves that never said goodbye.
Slowly,
something eats away the space inside me -
not a storm,
but a patient drizzle
carving holes into stone.
I do not collapse all at once,
I fracture quietly,
like glass holding its breath
behind its clarity.
And silence,
is not absence -
It is an ocean without a boat,
where feelings swim
without arriving
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 1:40 AM UTC
Night Weaves cold threads over my shoulders,
The wind wanders like a letter with no address.
Something dim flickers in my chest,
a small candle
that forgot how to burn.
The sky hangs in a quiet suspension,
a lake without ripples,
Yet beneath it
feelings fall one by one
like leaves that never said goodbye.
Slowly,
something eats away the space inside me -
not a storm,
but a patient drizzle
carving holes into stone.
I do not collapse all at once,
I fracture quietly,
like glass holding its breath
behind its clarity.
And silence,
is not absence -
It is an ocean without a boat,
where feelings swim
without arriving
A small poem about quiet nights and the feelings that live in silence. Sometimes the heart carries things that words cannot hold
