Joy is a sunflower in bloom,
a burst of yellow laughter in the throat of dawn—
it dances barefoot through fields
where even the scarecrows smile.

Sadness seeps in shades of blue,
an ocean swallowing lullabies whole,
waves cradling broken boats
and the moon’s reflection—shivering.

Anger is a match lit red,
flickering like a war drum’s pulse,
a wildfire in the chest,
burning bridges before they’re crossed.

Fear creeps in gray,
a mist dragging its feet through alleyways,
whispers behind curtains,
the silence before a scream.

Love is crimson spun with rose,
a heartbeat wrapped in silk,
sometimes soft, sometimes savage—
a fire that kisses and consumes.

Peace wears the hush of lavender light,
a hammock beneath wind-whispered trees,
a breath drawn slowly,
unfolding like petals in spring.

Hope is the color of sky brushed gold,
a sunrise you almost missed,
a window cracked open
in a room you thought was locked.

Loneliness is the aching indigo,
stars you can see but never touch,
a winter coat with no one inside,
quiet as a room full of eyes.

Jealousy glints a poison green,
a vine curling where it’s not wanted,
something sour behind the smile,
a mirror cracked just slightly.

Gratitude glows in soft orange,
a hearth with arms,
warmth that hums
even when the fire’s low.

Shame is a dusty blush of muted brown,
an old coat you never meant to wear,
muddy footprints you try to clean
before anyone sees.

Confidence roars in emerald and royal violet,
a cloak stitched with thunder,
feet firm on the earth
as the sky bends to meet your eyes.

the trees hum in slow green syllables,
and the wind—
soft as breath against sleeping skin—
slips between the spaces we leave open.

cloudlight spills across your shoulders,
a whisper of morning in hues of mist and mint,
and somewhere, the world forgets its weight.

a petal trembles
on the surface of the pond—
not sinking, not floating,
just… waiting.

you don’t speak.
you don’t have to.
the silence fits
like moss in the shape of your name.

everything softens:
the hours, the outlines,
the ache you thought would stay forever.

here,
time is water.
you are the shore.

No one noticed when we slipped beneath the tide,
our bodies weightless, swaying slow,
the world above a distant hush—
only the hush, only the glow.

Seahorses curl like secrets in the deep,
golden spines bending with the waves,
we let the water braid our hands,
a quiet promise, softly saved.

The current hums a lullaby,
your voice dissolves into the blue,
I turn to you, you turn away—
what else is there for us to do?

No one noticed when the sky let go,
when salt became the air we breathed,
the ocean held us, gentle ghosts—
and never asked if we would leave.

The sky does not always thunder,
some days it only hums—
a low lullaby in pastel blue,
resting on your windowpane.

There is beauty in stillness,
like dew-beads clinging to a spider’s thread,
fragile, glimmering, unseen
but alive.

You are not late.
The garden blooms when it’s ready—
not a moment before.
Even the moon takes its time
to become full.

So let yourself be tired.
Let the ache sit beside you.
It will not stay forever.
It knows you’re learning,
and learning is slow.

One day, the breath in your chest
will feel like enough.
The dawn will no longer feel
like a beginning you’ve missed.
You’ll sip morning light
and say,
I made it.

Not with fanfare,
not with fire—
but with soft feet
on soft earth,
and a heart that chose
to stay.

The walls don’t echo anymore.
The sound of your voice
used to cling to the corners
like dusk settling in the seams—
now there’s just
stillness
that chokes.

I say your name
like a dropped plate
shattering in an empty hallway—
and you
don’t
flinch.

The space between us
is crowded with things
you’ll never say.
Your silence is a scythe
trimming down
my worth.

Every glance you avoid
draws a chalk outline
around the version of me
you no longer see.

I water the air with apologies
that never bloom.
You offer nothing,
and still,
I bend
like sun-starved vines
toward the warmth
of nothing.

How loud you are
without a single word.