i once had a dream.
about her, 
of course. 
who else would it have been?

and she was there --
in front of me
laughing, 
looking so
effortlessly
pretty,
like joy had learnt
how to refract
through her smile.
and she was
my girlfriend.
my
girlfriend.
and her lips --
they looked
like they were something...
between a promise
and a secret.
warm,
and soft.
i smiled
at her.
gosh.
she slowly leaned in,
and i had
plummeted
into waking.

it was just a dream.
not real.
not at all real.
but god --
it felt like solace.

Now the cuts
have faded to pale seams,
from the girl
who left her key on the counter,
and took the why with her,
and the friend
you hadn’t seen in years
but still called brother,
his paintings hanging quiet on walls
in rooms no longer yours.

like the ghost of an old song,
still in key
you rise again
fingernails dark with soil,
burying sunflower seeds
in morning’s cold fog.

The dog needs feeding.
There’s toast to burn,
and leaves to steep.
You carry your small life
like a cracked bowl
that still holds water.

After years bent in ritual hunger,
knees pressed to rice,
tongue dry from vow,
nights lit like altars,
no revelation came.
No divine telegram.
No trumpet of truth,
just the kitchen humming
and the silence after the call.

Only the widow neighbor,
waving through fogged glass.
Only the pipes in the wall
clunking like an old lung.
Only the light
barging in
without your consent.

You believe in coats
with missing buttons,
safety pins where zippers gave,
old threads that never matched
but held anyway.
You forgive the past
not because it asked
but because you need the room.

It builds in your bones
like wind in an empty house,
constant, uninvited,
and full of old names.
Like a tune half-remembered,
only the hum
remains.

Slow us
Lord, that we watch our ways
And about turn
To Your face.

Falling leaves in autumn,
Washing all the sins away.
Crushed under the feet’s rhythm,
Mixing with the soil and clay.

Washing all the sins away,
Headed to fresh new start.
Mixing with the soil and clay,
Fixing the broken heart.

Headed to fresh new start,
Blooming flowers in spring.
Fixing the broken heart,
Like melodies from violin’s string.

Blooming flowers in spring—
Gave me a fresh new start.
Like melodies from violin’s string,
Solace that flowers bring to my heart.

My heart bled until there was nothing left.
Pain was my cradle.
Silence, my only companion.
The ones I trusted
turned their backs,
and I stood there,
small against the weight of their rejection.
I waited for love.
I waited for peace.
I waited for someone to see me,
to stay.
But they never came.
Now I know,
Love is an illusion,
peace a dream that dies on waking.
Every promise,
every connection,
was just smoke in the wind.
And when the illusions burned away,
so did the last pieces of me
that needed them.
I do not ask for hands to hold.
I do not ask for words to heal.
I do not ask at all.
I choose distance.
I choose silence.
I choose the untouched sky,
the endless road,
the vastness of my own being.
Freedom is no longer something I beg for.
It is something I am.
Out of the ashes,
I rise.
untouched,
unafraid,
entire.

Being this way
They say
Is a natural occurrence
                               Certain
                               Predictable

     As when the path of
Worldly planets collide
              A shadow cast
              Upon the other
The dark eclipse
                                Inevitable

How does one soften
Such emotion
When its surface
             Is taught
Like the spine of an open book
                       Placed face down
For ease of remembrance