Tomorrow comes no matter what,
Whether or not you worry about its arrival.
Is it worth it to worry about moving forward?

I want a love that lifts, not weighs,
that lights my soul, not dims my days.
A love that walks, that dares, that tries,
not one that waits with downcast eyes.

I want to feel a burning spark,
not just a whisper in the dark,
a steady hand, a voice so clear,
a man who knows, who draws me near.

I want a presence bold and true,
a heart that beats with mine in view.
No chasing shadows, no silent plea,
but footsteps strong that walk with me.

I want a fire, fierce yet slow,
not flames that fade or cease to glow.
A love that lasts, that won’t demand
the life I hold in open hand.

I want desire, not just a thrill,
but something deep that grows at will.
A passion free, yet firm in space,
not fleeting highs, but strong embrace.

A man whose strength is warm, not cold,
whose love is sure, whose hands will hold.
Who stands beside me, not behind,
with fearless heart and steadfast mind.

I want to move, unchained, unbound,
no weight to pull me to the ground.
No debts to pay, no roles to fill,
no love that drains my heart’s own will.

I want a life where joy runs free,
where voices dance in harmony.
Where love is given, strong and pure,
not earned, not fought for, but secure.

And so I stand, my heart made new,
no love half-lived, no path undue.
No less than this, no dreams denied,
I trust the path, let life decide.

Don't stand there staring

at the horizon, but look --


where you are and go.

Look up, look beyond

the point where you stand, the stars --


will show you the way.

They say that you are the future generation of the Earth,
you are the ones who will change things.
But they don’t say that things will also change us.
And we come into the world ready to change things,
but not ourselves.

But what if we can’t?
What if our souls can’t take it all?
Because we are the first ones to see beyond—
beyond the edge.

What if we just sit and watch our Earth dying,
like you do now?
We are the future generation,
just as you once were.

So, are you ready for change?

I wonder how I would've turned out
if I lived a different life
one without childhood trauma
and mental illness
one without severe anxiety
and self-consciousness
would I be happy
and carefree
how would I feel
would I have lots of friends
because I wouldn't be scared to talk to people
would I eat healthy
and not feel guilty when I have a sweet treat
would I be grateful to experience life
I don't know
but I can try to make it a reality now
I can't change what I went through then
but I can change what I'll do now
and in the future

As days age and sink beneath the Earth,
my friend he walks with confidence in his work.
And we work together, worlds apart,
a mind of methods and honest hearts.
Stood as frame to scenes of wonder
and together we'd press through rain and thunder,
the will of gods and wrath of planets
and together we form constructive habits.

Witness of a world asunder,
and under the impression that there is more to be done
we have fun, on the run from the eyes and the engines
that pursue the constant contention, driven
by the sad ambitions of those around us,
but our friendship will ground us, from mountain to river.
And a unique brand of faith shall deliver
the voice that is still worth hearing,
as the time of rest is nearing,
I hope we can work together on our many optimistic feelings.

Who am I? Which of me is real? The man I was, the man I am, or the man I will be?
Perhaps none. Perhaps all.
Or perhaps I am only a shadow, stretched thin between them,
never truly existing at all.

The past—ah, the past! How foolish he was!
He thought he understood life, believed in things—love, hope, meaning.
He was naïve, reckless in his convictions, blind in his desires.
He did not yet know what it means to kneel before regret,
to feel the slow, merciless tightening of time around his throat.
I hate him for his arrogance, and yet—I pity him.
For he never knew the weight that awaited him in the years to come.

And my future self—what a stranger.
Does he pity me, or does he curse me?
He waits somewhere ahead, silent, watching,
knowing already what I will choose,
what I will lose, whom I will betray.
I cannot see him, but he is there,
a judge I can never escape.

And then, there is me—the wretched creature caught between them.
I am neither innocent like my past nor wise like my future.
I am only the sum of mistakes not yet forgiven,
of choices not yet made,
of a life that unfolds with or without my consent.

Tell me, if they met—past, present, and future—
would they recognize each other at all?
Or would they simply turn away,
each ashamed of what the other has become?