Put your burdens down, right here
Not forever, just for now

Let them know you hear their cries
See the blues under their eyes

Tell them there’s no need to fear
You’ll return to mop their brow

‘Til their tears are running clear


They’ll be waiting low, right here
Biding silent, softly weep

Strike a bargain, leave in trust
Then before they gather dust

Greet them as you reappear
Warm them gently in your keep

Carry kinder, hale and just


You have earned your journey pause
Try to graciously ignore

Any loud imagining
That you could be squandering

Chances that are there because
You are shrugging ache and sore

In your weighted wandering


It’s alright to take a break
Not forever, just for now

You are burden-carry strong
Muscles steel and journey long

Listen to your body ache
Needs a rest, if you allow

‘Til your steady ache is gone

Throughout my journey as a child and as an adult, I have come to realize that trust is not a simplistic or singular decision, but a process. It’s not merely about extending trust to others, but about confronting my inner doubts; both about people and about the plan for my life. I’ve learned that my skepticism and reluctance to trust stem from wounds of the past, and from my fear of what might happen if I let go of control. Trust, I now see, isn’t blind; it’s informed by wisdom, discernment, and boundaries.

There were moments when I questioned not just others, but also the divine, wondering why painful experiences were allowed to happen, and why I was left feeling unprotected as a child and later in life as I defended into young adulthood. The uncertainty bred doubt in my own ability to discern who or what was safe. Yet, what I have gained is an understanding that trust begins not with others, but with a foundational trust in a higher purpose, even when the path forward seems obscure.

I learned that trust is not something to be given indiscriminately or withheld entirely. It is an invitation to vulnerability, tempered by the understanding that discernment is a gift, honed through experience. It has become clear to me that trust is less about guarantees of safety or certainty and more about growth through relational and spiritual stretching. There is wisdom in establishing boundaries, not as a form of self-preservation, but as an act of respect for both myself and those around me. Boundaries do not signify the absence of trust, but rather the preservation of healthy, intentional trust.

The deepest lesson, however, is the recognition that trust requires a recalibration of my heart. It is not my role to control or to predict the actions of others or the unfolding of life’s events, but to trust that each step I take, though uncertain, moves me closer to healing. I now understand that trust is a slow dance between wisdom and vulnerability, one that I must navigate with an open yet discerning heart. The fear that held me captive no longer defines my capacity to trust. Instead, trust becomes a daily practice of releasing control, setting healthy limits, and believing that I am safe within divine protection, even when circumstances remain unclear.

—

In childhood’s darkest corners,
Fear lived behind the front door,
A silence I could not question,
But learned not to trust.

Friends, once anchors,
Became driftwood in shallow waters,
Loyalty lost like whispers,
And I abandoned floating alone.

In a failed marriage, trust was a mirror
Shattered by pretense,
Each shard reflecting a version of myself
That I no longer recognized.

Relationships, at times, felt like betrayal,
A wound wrapped in promises,
Yet in moments of intimacy,
I found trust’s delicate bloom.

Now, trust is a flickering light,
Sometimes dim, sometimes strong,
A compass not for others,
But for the faith I rebuild within myself.

— Sincerely, Boris

Many of my struggles stem not from external forces but from within, from patterns of self-sabotage that I once thought were beyond my control. It’s recently become very clear to me that these moments of inner resistance I have struggled with, these times when I seem to work against my own best interests, are not random. They are my mind and body’s way of protecting me from what feels unfamiliar or too overwhelming to face.

Personal growth, I’ve come to realize, has demanded not only patience but also the courage to confront these barriers inside of me. The obstacles I encounter aren’t meant to be avoided or fought. Rather, they are reminders that within every challenge, there’s an invitation to dig deeper, to look at my doubts, anxieties, and limiting beliefs, and to dismantle them.

This journey of mine is about mastering myself, not in the sense of becoming perfect, but in learning to be compassionate with my flaws, understanding where they come from, and allowing the proper space for my own evolution. I’ve learned that healing and progress come when I stop seeing my emotions as problems to fix and begin seeing them as messages guiding me toward what I truly need.

The transformation comes in the shift from self-sabotage to self-mastery. It requires me to take responsibility, to recognize that I am both the source of my struggles and the architect of my liberation. With this awareness, I can start to rebuild, step by step, by accepting where I am, forgiving myself for past mistakes, and slowly reorienting my life toward what truly aligns with my purpose. Mastery is not control; it is surrender to personal growth.

—

I am the mountain I must climb,
The stone I stumble on is mine.
Not to resist, but to take place,
The path ahead, I must face.

The fear I feel, the doubt I bear,
Are voices calling for self-repair.
In every challenge, a chance to rise,
To meet the truth behind disguise.

The road is long, the path I’ll clear,
With every step I dissolve the fear.
For in each wound, I heal and grow,
My heart learns what the mind can’t know.

— Sincerely, Boris

Love, in all its varied forms, has shaped me. It is through love that I have discovered the complexities of friendship, the exhilaration and heartache of romance, and the beauty of self-discovery. The years have taught me that love is not confined to the romantic ideals we often hold in our youth, but rather, it permeates every facet of life; friendship, family, and, perhaps most importantly, the love we cultivate within ourselves.

Through friendships, I learned the art of companionship, the silent language of loyalty, and the sharp pain of betrayal. Friends are the scaffolding upon which the architecture of my life has been built, and though time may weather those bonds, I understand now that each connection serves its purpose; either to uplift or to teach.

Romantic love, for all its allure, often presents itself as a mirror reflecting back our deepest insecurities and desires. It is within the pursuit of love that I have faltered, my heart at times shattered by misplaced trust or unfulfilled promises. Yet, I have come to see that the true tragedy of love is not its ending, but the missed opportunities to grow alongside someone who enriches you, rather than diminishes you.

In the midst of seeking external validation, I realized that the most profound relationship is the one I have with myself. Self-love, often overlooked, is the foundation upon which all other forms of love must be built. It is in moments of solitude that I have found clarity, understanding that I must first learn to stand alone before I can truly stand with others.

Life’s most valuable lessons are delivered not in grand epiphanies, but in the quiet moments; through friendships that evolve, through relationships that end, and through the resilience we muster in solitude. What remains is the awareness that love, in its many forms, is less about perfect outcomes and more about the journey; the vulnerability, the joy, and the inevitable pain that accompanies it.

Each encounter, whether fleeting or enduring, has etched itself into the fabric of who I am. And from this, I have learned that love, above all else, is a choice; one we must make with grace, courage, and, perhaps most of all, with a deep sense of compassion for ourselves.

—

Before I stand with you,
I must stand with myself;
In quiet corners of solitude,
Where no hand holds mine,
And no voice echoes back my worth.

I must be whole,
Not seeking refuge in another’s eyes,
But rooted in the soil of my own soul,
Blooming from the love I give within.

Only then,
With steady hands and open heart,
Can I walk beside you,
Not as half seeking whole,
But as one who knows how to love;
By first loving me.

— Sincerely, Boris

Raising a daughter has been an unparalleled journey of learning, reflection, and growth. Through the stories of others, I’ve found wisdom that resonates with the deep responsibility and profound love that comes with being a father to my beautiful daughter. One of the greatest lessons I have embraced is that fatherhood is not about control but about nurturing independence. It’s about standing alongside her as she explores the world, offering guidance when she seeks it, and always making sure she knows that my love is her safe place, no matter where life leads her.

I’ve also learned that my role is to model emotional vulnerability. To show her that strength is not in silence, but in expressing her thoughts and feelings with clarity and confidence. This is especially important in a world that often tries to diminish the emotional depth of girls, pushing them to conform to shallow expectations. I want her to understand that her feelings matter, that she is not only allowed to take up space but encouraged to do so fully and unapologetically.

Patience, too, has revealed itself as a critical virtue. I’ve realized that our time together isn’t always about monumental moments but is instead composed of the quiet, steady presence I offer her. She doesn’t need me to be perfect; she needs me to be present. In those small, everyday interactions; the mundane conversations on our walks and on the swing sets, the shared laughter over a meal or movie; our bond grows, and so does her understanding of what a loving relationship looks like.

Finally, I’ve come to appreciate that teaching her resilience is perhaps my greatest duty. Not the kind of resilience that hardens, but the kind that allows her to rise after each fall with grace and strength. I want her to know that failure is never final, that setbacks are simply stepping stones, and that her worth is never defined by the obstacles she encounters. It is in her ability to rise, to face the world with compassion for herself and others, that she will find her true power.

As a single father, I strive to be the kind of man who mirrors these values; not just for her sake but for my own growth, too. Fatherhood is not a journey with a clear destination but a continuous process of becoming. I know that as I guide her, she is guiding me, both of us evolving together in this shared, sacred relationship.

—

I once believed my strength was my own,
Built through hardship and endurance.
But in you, I’ve realized
It’s your presence that keeps me moving forward.

In your laughter, I find hope,
And in your compassion, I understand
That kindness is where real strength lies.
You may be young, but you guide me,
Teaching lessons I didn’t know I needed.

You’ve shown me how to listen,
How to stay patient, and how to nurture growth.
Your resilience is clear in every challenge you face,
You get back up without hesitation.

I’m proud of how independent you’ve become,
Of the way you meet life head-on.
Watching you grow into your own
Is the greatest gift I could have.

You’ve given me strength I never thought I’d need,
And I’m better for having you by my side.

— Sincerely, Boris

Trust begins within. It is an intimate act of self-awareness, a journey of learning to listen to the voice inside, of refining intuition until it feels like an unshakable compass. To trust others, we must first cultivate trust in ourselves; a quiet confidence that our choices, no matter how uncertain, are guided by something deeper, something true. This self-trust is the foundation upon which all other connections rest.

But trust with others is more delicate. It is earned slowly, built through small acts of consistency, vulnerability, and presence. It is fragile; a currency of the heart that requires both patience and persistence. Yet, in the blink of an eye, it can vanish. A single lie, a fleeting betrayal, or even the weight of silence can shatter what took years to nurture. Like glass, once broken, trust rarely returns to its original form. Even in the painstaking process of rebuilding, the cracks remain visible, forever altering its shape.

There is another way trust fades: the slow erosion caused by distance. In time, even without betrayal, trust can slip through our fingers, lost in the space between absence and silence. The image of the person we once trusted morphs, shifts, and no longer resembles the one we held close. Distance, both emotional and physical, can sever the bond, leaving us questioning the very foundation of what was once certain.

Trust, then, is more than a feeling; it is a sacred state of mind. It is a neural symphony, signaling when to lean in and when to step back, when to open our hearts and when to protect them. It shapes our behavior, guiding our actions like an invisible hand.

Cherish the trust you place in others as if it were a tender flame, vulnerable to even the softest breeze. Protect it, nurture it, and do not fear letting go when it no longer feels safe. Your trust is precious, a reflection of how you wish to be held in this world. Trust your instincts; they are the guardians of your soul’s deepest desires.

—

Your words once bloomed in light, sincere,
A stream of truth we both could hear.
Now they shout, of whispering cries,
Drenched in dishonesty, not afraid to lie.

You spoke with heart, each word I’ve longed,
Honesty, bold, unbroken, and strong.
But when did deceit begin to rise?
When did truth crumble beneath the lies?

The lies wear honesty’s disguise,
Sweet poison hidden in your eyes.
And with each word, you drift away;
A stranger now, who once vowed to stay.

Trust is a fragile thing to break,
A bitter pill I’ve learned to take.
Now silence lingers in its wake,
For all that’s left feels cold, and fake.

What’s left to say, when the truth is gone?
The dialogue between us now feels wrong.
So here I stand, beneath your lies,
Watching trust fading, as it dies.

— Sincerely, Boris

In life, I find that meaning comes not from the pursuit of happiness as a singular goal, but from the journey of seeking something greater than myself. I’ve come to understand that a quest; whether grand or humble; is what gives structure and intention to life. It’s not merely about what I achieve but about the way in which I push my boundaries and challenge my comfort. The richness of life is woven through this constant pursuit, where the process itself brings fulfillment, growth, and, ultimately, a deeper sense of purpose.

I’ve learned that quests are personal, and they vary from person to person. For some, it may be an exploration of the world, for others, an internal journey of self-mastery or spiritual enlightenment. What matters is not the specific nature of the journey but the fact that it demands something of me. A quest calls for sacrifice, resilience, and a willingness to embrace discomfort in the name of something meaningful. It teaches me to value perseverance and to cherish progress as much as the outcome.

In my experience as a divorced single father, I’ve found that even in failure or setback, there is an immense value in the effort. Each step forward, each obstacle, and each victory, no matter how small, brings clarity. I learn more about myself, about my limits, and about the world around me. This process has shown me that I am capable of more than I often imagine.

The most profound lesson I’ve come to understand is that life is more than the routine we fall into. It’s about actively choosing a path that resonates with who I am at my core. The choice to embark on a journey that allows me to live intentionally, to craft a story that is uniquely mine, and to pursue a legacy that matters; not necessarily to the world at large, but to my soul and for my daughter.

In seeking a quest, I’ve come to realize the importance of listening to the call of my heart and not the expectations of others. What is most true and beautiful in life is discovered through action, not merely contemplation. The quest is not about perfection; it is about daring greatly, facing fears, and allowing passion to guide me toward something meaningful. And through this pursuit, I find not just a fleeting sense of happiness, but a life that is rich in purpose.

—

I walk the path, alone, not lost,
A father’s heart, the cost embossed.
With one eye gone, I see more clear,
The wounds of home, the quiet fear.

Through surgeries, through love undone,
The quest began when I was young.
Not in the joy, but in the pain,
I found my strength, I learned to reign.

A daughter’s light, my guiding star,
Through a broken past, we’ve come so far.
This life, my journey, ever fast;
A quest for peace, for love that lasts.

— Sincerely, Boris

People have told me
       not to look
back because if you look
back you won’t be
       looking                      forward.
     So, I’m                       forward
       facing and trying
       not to look
back because what if
         I look
back and my wheels
         start rolling
back? And what if
I look
back and I loose sight
of what is forward?
But you cannot
look forward
always. You
        need to look
back sometimes or else
       you might crash.
         Looking
back doesn’t always mean
stopping.
         Looking
back can show  you
       what is                       forward:
        who might be coming,
advancing, whether
you need to slow
down or speed up.
Sometimes it’s
        necessary
to look
back in order to go forward.