Yesterday is a ghost —
a fading breath we cannot hold.
“Forget it,” they say,
“It already buried itself in silence.”
Tomorrow is mist —
A shape beyond the horizon.
“Don’t wait for it,” they warn,
“It may never come the way you dreamed.”
But today...
Today stands with open hands.
So we rise,
we walk,
we carry what we can
The future remains unwritten —
a blank sky
aching for stars we haven’t named.
Still, we press ink into it
with trembling hearts.
The future is still a mystery,
But it is ours to shape.
To mold with the trembling strength of now.
After joy that made us sing,
After nights of silence,
After loss that hollowed our ribs,
After missed chances, closed doors, misfortunes endured and roads that turned away —
A voice, quiet and golden,
still finds us.
It tells us gently:
Whatever comes,
whatever breaks,
whatever blesses —
It is ours.
It is all fortune.
--- Quinn ✍️✨
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 2:57 AM UTC
Yesterday is a ghost —
a fading breath we cannot hold.
“Forget it,” they say,
“It already buried itself in silence.”
Tomorrow is mist —
A shape beyond the horizon.
“Don’t wait for it,” they warn,
“It may never come the way you dreamed.”
But today...
Today stands with open hands.
So we rise,
we walk,
we carry what we can
The future remains unwritten —
a blank sky
aching for stars we haven’t named.
Still, we press ink into it
with trembling hearts.
The future is still a mystery,
But it is ours to shape.
To mold with the trembling strength of now.
After joy that made us sing,
After nights of silence,
After loss that hollowed our ribs,
After missed chances, closed doors, misfortunes endured and roads that turned away —
A voice, quiet and golden,
still finds us.
It tells us gently:
Whatever comes,
whatever breaks,
whatever blesses —
It is ours.
It is all fortune.
--- Quinn ✍️✨
© 2025 Quinn. All rights reserved.
