Well, the night is long,  
and the silence stings,  
messages like whispers,  
caught on invisible strings.  
How will you know what to do,  
when the truth feels like a game,  
and the words that fall from your lips,  
are just echoes of shame?  

In this world of quick decisions,  
where every glance can deceive,  
the heart wears a mask,  
and the soul learns to grieve.  
A liar’s tongue can spin a tale,  
but the heart knows the score,  
underestimate the shadows,  
and you’ll find you’re wanting more.  

Oh, we’re different features  
of the same old face,  
chasing memories like ghosts,  
in this empty, crowded space.  
Time’s a thief in the night,  
it moves like a restless tide,  
risking everything for a moment,  
when the truth can’t be denied.  

So we reach across the darkness,  
with hands that tremble and shake,  
searching for that flicker,  
in a world that feels so fake.  
And when the morning breaks,  
with the dawn’s gentle light,  
we’ll find the strength to rise,  
and make our shadows bright.

When the blue silence presses,
and absence carves its hollow,
I search for a rare diamond,
a glint of you,
of us,
among the drifting days.

You, all edges and precision,
the logic mind.
I, the artist,
unruly and alive,
painting between your lines.
Together, we unmade the fractures
and called it a whole.

A dragonfly hovered—
fragile, fleeting—
a reminder of your soul
and the weight of what you left.
The brittle smile you wore,
I held it once,
felt the shatter in my hands.

Now, I sketch the absence,
and you map its edges.
Between us,
a quiet collaboration.
No need to name the loss,
no need to claim the light—
we move as one,
carving truth from shadow.