To my dear friends I’ve never met,
Who dared to break my solitary gate,
To those still here, and those long gone—
Bleeding ink connected us, not phones.
I am caught between longing and despair,
As though I suffocate while breathing air.
Within the furnace, I mend and hide
My weary face, my grief inside.
For I know nothing of tomorrow,
Yet nostalgia softens all my sorrow.
Though I dwell in darkness and the void,
I wait once more for your voices—
To pull me from the endless ocean
And guide me home again.
JobitaNYC @5232026
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 1:09 AM UTC
To my dear friends I’ve never met,
Who dared to break my solitary gate,
To those still here, and those long gone—
Bleeding ink connected us, not phones.
I am caught between longing and despair,
As though I suffocate while breathing air.
Within the furnace, I mend and hide
My weary face, my grief inside.
For I know nothing of tomorrow,
Yet nostalgia softens all my sorrow.
Though I dwell in darkness and the void,
I wait once more for your voices—
To pull me from the endless ocean
And guide me home again.
JobitaNYC @5232026
