I don’t know what went wrong. Everything started out fine. Like morning light slipping through an open curtain, or like laughter that didn’t have to try.
Building in soft colors; like pastels beaming through the water, fingers brushing like shy confessions. Promises folding into the quiet air. As if it all was to be kept safe.
I don’t know when the air decided to change. When warmth thinned into the coldness. When words grew into sharp edges and silence learned how to shout into the distance.
Maybe it was in the pauses. You know the ones that made you hear your own heartbeat. The walls didn’t fall all at once. They eroded overtime. A grain here, a fracture there. Until it all slipped through our fingertips like sand.
Now I stand in the outline of what was. Sunlight pouring through the roof that’s no longer. Trying to remember the sound of what was once here.
I don’t know what went wrong. Everything started out fine. And somehow, without warning, I was the dust after all.
--Second Poem to this one--
They say,
it’s supposed to get easier
with time.
The same routines,
the same hands folded in prayer.
Yet each day
feels different.
I wrote a poem earlier —
Memories of Dust.
But I never said
what it was about.
The mind is a powerful *****
until it weakens.
until it forgets.
until it fades.
Today Pastor said,
“From dust we were born
to dust we shall become.”
And I thought,
how beautiful that is,
the God knelt in the dust,
from something so small,
He created us.
But when I look at you,
the one I grew up believing
could never break,
I see
how fragile dust can be.
The mind is powerful
until it isn’t.
And love
learns how to hold
what is slipping
through its hands.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 1:11 AM UTC
I don’t know what went wrong. Everything started out fine. Like morning light slipping through an open curtain, or like laughter that didn’t have to try.
Building in soft colors; like pastels beaming through the water, fingers brushing like shy confessions. Promises folding into the quiet air. As if it all was to be kept safe.
I don’t know when the air decided to change. When warmth thinned into the coldness. When words grew into sharp edges and silence learned how to shout into the distance.
Maybe it was in the pauses. You know the ones that made you hear your own heartbeat. The walls didn’t fall all at once. They eroded overtime. A grain here, a fracture there. Until it all slipped through our fingertips like sand.
Now I stand in the outline of what was. Sunlight pouring through the roof that’s no longer. Trying to remember the sound of what was once here.
I don’t know what went wrong. Everything started out fine. And somehow, without warning, I was the dust after all.
--Second Poem to this one--
They say,
it’s supposed to get easier
with time.
The same routines,
the same hands folded in prayer.
Yet each day
feels different.
I wrote a poem earlier —
Memories of Dust.
But I never said
what it was about.
The mind is a powerful *****
until it weakens.
until it forgets.
until it fades.
Today Pastor said,
“From dust we were born
to dust we shall become.”
And I thought,
how beautiful that is,
the God knelt in the dust,
from something so small,
He created us.
But when I look at you,
the one I grew up believing
could never break,
I see
how fragile dust can be.
The mind is powerful
until it isn’t.
And love
learns how to hold
what is slipping
through its hands.