Carry only a backpack into the future’s embrace,
Leave behind the luggage of yesterday’s trace.
It costs dearly to drag what’s past,
Travel light, for freedom holds fast.

abraded sky  scabbed
      by winter fluctuation
much uncertainty

what do we mean when we say "I miss how things used to be"?
is it a question you'd like to answer yourself
or let float in the air of uncertainty we all live in?

is it a specific period of time we miss or the people in it?
or are we just grieving long-lost opportunities?
from love to occupation, we long for the days of demonstrations.

do we simply miss days when we still had options?
when the doors were wide open and the ground more solid?
when we were giants and moved without caution
when we didn't mourn the feelings we buried

As I swim through the Ocean Breadth,
A Turtle—or the like—
Who fears a Few but not of Death—
Returns The Caller's Hike.

It passes by a kindly Wave—
A gently smiled nod—
Perhaps it grieved a Deed unsaved—
A Sorrow left uncaught.

I make my way to grab its Tail
and question what it knew—
It merely turns its Head to wail:
I am not of the Few!

What more of us should Timing take—
When things were never sown—
But heading backwards has a Stake
of never having Grown.

The space between us is not just miles—  
it’s the ache in my ribs when I breathe,  
the way my hands forget their purpose  
without the weight of your hips to hold.  

I am a house with no windows,  
a room where the light refuses to stay.
  
The world feels like a poorly written script—  
everyone else is laughing, but I can’t find the joke.  

I want to kiss you so badly it feels like a crime,  
like the universe has locked your lips in a glass case  
and hung a sign that says Do Not Touch.
  
But I would break every rule,  
shatter every law of physics,  
just to feel the warmth of your mouth on mine.  

I miss the way your voice wraps around my name,  
how it sounds like a prayer I didn’t know I needed.
  
I miss the way your laughter spills into the room,  
a symphony I’d trade my silence for in a heartbeat.  

I want to marry you—  
not in the way they show in movies,  
with the white dress and the perfect vows,  
but in the way that feels like coming home,  
like finding the missing piece of a puzzle  
I didn’t even know I was solving.  

Without you, the world is a grayscale film,  
a song played on a broken piano.
  
I am a shadow of myself,  
a half-finished poem  
waiting for your hands to write the ending.  

Come back to me.

Or let me come to you.
  
Let me close this distance,  
this unbearable, infinite space  
that feels like it’s swallowing me whole.  

I am not whole without you.
  
I am not anything.

The sun is broad above the forests,
intoxicating, blinding bright.
A moment of perfection, flawless,
a quiet place, almost a rite

of passage for transcending all
the measly binds of blood and flesh.

I lie beneath the sun, I crawl
the veins of this subastral trench.

I gaze upon how far I've come,
I weep upon what's left to creep,
whoever hikes a mountain lone
will feel it's hillside twice as steep.

Alone with thoughts there's nothing better
than doubting your way to the peak.
Sometimes I wonder, would I ever
walk paths, not knowing where they lead.