I am just an image,
Like a flickering candle waiting to die
Like a glimpse of the sun on cloudy days
Like dead roses on my mother's grave
Like dried plants in the flower vase
Like the reflection in my lover's gaze.
I am just an image,
Like summer evenings spent on your porch
Like the first kiss that never happened
Like the scent of your perfume
Like the first time I saw you
Like one sided love and hopeless dreams
Like days that never end and nights that end too fast
Like thoughts that scare me
Like withered and dried sunflowers on my grave
Like my coffin's reflection in my mother's gaze
Like the life I wanted.
But at the end of the day
I am nothing at all.
I am just a  flickering candle waiting to die,
Just an image.
But all these memories that make
Me me are like fleeting winds
That pass away too quickly,
Sometimes too short for my liking.
Without all these moments, I am nothing
But just an image
In someone's eyes.

you can go back to the past
but no one will be waiting for you there
what's done is done
and you have to live with that

I lost a count of days
As they passed, one after another
A continuous seam blurring together.
As the flowers bloomed and the sun rose,
I forgot that summer was still too long, never ending like one single giant happy day.
A little bittersweet, mostly filled with silence.
Summer afternoons are never ending.
The trees are covered by a yellow hue, not a soul awake
As the shadows of children dancing on grass dances on the walls.
That used to be long ago,
Now afternoons are not an escape to have mischief your way rather dull and boring.
But the nostalgia of Summers long ago is exciting
It keeps me awake, sometimes the tears or a sad smile,
As I lose count of my days,
Waiting for the summer afternoon to pass
As the earth breathes and the birds rest.

On empty streets where shadows roam,
I see your face in every soul.
It’s been four months since our goodbye,
Yet the ghost of you still grips my mind.

Your smile, your laugh, that careless spark,
The paths we wandered, the dreams we shared
No song can drown the storm in my mind
No matter how loud, you always arrive.

I miss you, but I don’t long for you—
Yet every step, I stumble through.
In every shadow, every flickering light,
I’m haunted by the ghost of you

I tell myself I’ve let you go,
But deep down, I think we both know.
It’s colder now, these nights I roam,
Even the stars have lost their glow.

Joyous moments I bore witness to,  
To my happiness or utter sadness,
I will cherish deep inside.
They will keep me up at night,  
Robbing me of peace and calmness of my mind.  
Your warmth and wounds you wrought upon me,  
Slowly rising from my bed,  
Can I hold it just for five more minutes?  
This wish is granted by my ghostly caregiver.  
In time, I shall forget all but one thing:  
A blurred image of your face  
In a haze of moments we both witnessed.

I collect memories like
Grains of sand in my braids

Silken tides usher in new eras
As old ones fall in piles on my floor
Here an epoch, there an age
Unity in treasured obsolescence

Mausoleum of the time I under-loved
It lingers in my bedsheets
Burying the wooden floors
I track through, leaving mislaid
Heartbreaks, scattered days
In castle shapes
They wait

And with the winds of change
The desert flies into my face,
My eyes;
And salt springs forth
It greets the grains again
The ones I thought were boulders
Half a thousand years ago.

I'm an athlete.
I can throw and catch,
and run in the sun-
all shiny and bright.
And you just sleep, sleep, sleep.
Look at me, mama.
I'm a writer.
I do poetry and stories,
all pretty and pink,
and all you do is,
sleep, sleep, sleep.
Look at me, mama.
I can dance.
I'm lonely,
I'll move to France,
meet a woman, get married.
Look at the ants crawl through
the spilled red juice on
the grass; nature everywhere,
as you sleep, sleep, sleep.
Look mama,
look at me, mama!
I have children now,
all good and wise,
you're a grandma.
Why don't you wake up?
Please look at me, mama.
I'm lonely and afraid.
I'm old now, and cold,
and you still,
just
sleep, sleep, sleep...

why does nothing feel real,
until it happens?

am i that sceptical of good things happening,
that i convince myself they won't,
until they do?

i don't believe it will happen
till i am there
experiencing it.

and even then,
it all feels like a dream.

or something on the edge of a memory,
something i can't quite hold and live in.

like the concert i was sure i wouldn't get tickets to,
or the holiday i thought i wouldn’t get to take.
or next year.
or tomorrow.

how can i live in the moment,
when the moment doesn't even feel real?