#lastvalentine
Wǔxíng Category: Earth (土)
3-xx
The red of the roses is a dying hue,
petals wilting in the stagnant kitchen air.
The rhythm of the house is out of sync,
lost between the labor and the cradle's rock.
A timepiece measures out the empty space,
ticking through the silence of the evening meal.
Unspoken words are etched in every wall,
while sleep remains a luxury long forgotten.
Is it the weight of the silence that I feel,
as this shattered vessel carves its line between our hearts?
The echo of the same old war returns to us,
shaking the foundations of the life we built.
We are branches reaching for a separate sun,
ignoring the roots that choke beneath the soil.
The everyday grind has dulled the edge of joy,
leaving only embers where the fire once burned,
as the world presses down upon your weary shoulders.
The winter mist obscures the garden path,
signposts pointing toward the separate woods.
The mundane ritual wears the spirit thin,
a grey erosion of the will to try.
One path leads back to the flicker of the lamp,
the other vanishes into the biting cold.
A lawyer’s option waits within the desk,
a sharp alternative to the slow decay.
I look upon the shards of the evening tonight,
knowing the shattered vessel is no longer worth the doubt.
Is love a constant, or a bloom that fails,
requiring care that we can no longer provide?
The shadows of anxiety cloud the inner eye,
as the ultimate question hangs heavy in the air.
I stand at the fork of a road I did not choose,
wondering if the flame is worth the desperate breath,
or if the bond has finally broken beyond repair.
刘嘉文
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Feb 10
Feb 10, 2026 at 11:39 AM UTC
Is it the silence that stretches between us,
a chasm carved by unspoken words?
Or the echo of arguments,
reverberating in the empty spaces we inhabit?
Did the rhythm of our lives fall out of sync,
when the new job demanded more than just time?
Or when the baby arrived,
and sleep became a forgotten luxury?
Does the weight of the world,
press down so heavily on your shoulders,
that there's no room left for me?
Or is it my own anxieties,
that build walls between our hearts?
Have we grown in different directions,
like branches reaching for sunlight,
oblivious to the roots entwined beneath the soil?
Or has the fire of intimacy dwindled,
leaving only embers of what once burned bright?
Are there needs I haven't acknowledged,
a yearning for something I can't quite name?
Or is it a weariness of the soul,
a longing for a peace I cannot find?
Could the shadows of depression,
or the whispers of anxiety,
be clouding your perception of our love?
Or is it simply the mundane,
the everyday grind that dulls the senses?
Is this distance a temporary detour,
a bump in the road we can overcome together?
Or a signpost,
pointing towards separate paths?
Is Valentine's Day just a reminder,
of the closeness we once shared?
Or an opportunity,
to rekindle the flame that flickers low?
Is love a constant,
or a fragile bloom,
requiring constant care and attention?
Or is it a choice,
a daily decision to stay,
even when the road gets rough?
And the ultimate question,
hanging heavy in the air tonight,
as the scent of roses mingles with uncertainty:
is this love worth fighting for?
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 10:24 AM UTC