This is the first year
when the tulips grow without you,
and as they bloom my heart bursts

with a kind of melancholy I have learnt to nurse
during bitter cold mornings and ink blank nights
my eyes searching for you at breakfast, your coffee mug still intact

unlike your body, unlike my heart

but the tulips bloom and so too
does something new

peace,
peace settles in my soul

my head stops spinning with
what if and might have been

and those tulips,
those gorgeous silk like
purple, orange, yellow and red tulips

save me

I never asked for tenderness,
just proximity—
to be near you,
even if it meant unraveling quietly
at your feet.

You never hid what I was to you—
a pause,
a body to speak through,
a name you forgot
while I memorized your every silence.

You were never kind,
but you were there.
And I learned
that cruelty is warmer
than being alone.

So I let you diminish me.
Piece by piece.
Until the mirror held someone
who only knew how to love
by disappearing.

It should frighten me,
how much I gave away
just to stay in your orbit—
but it doesn’t.

What terrifies me
is who I’d be without you.
Whole?
Happy?
Unrecognizable.

I’d rather loathe the girl
you’ve made me into
than try to love the one
who walks away.

Because hate, at least,
keeps you close.
And I’ve come to prefer
bleeding beside you
over healing alone.

So take what’s left.
Break it,
discard it,
return only when you’re empty.
I’ll still be here—
the ruin you shaped,
the fool who stayed.

God for all his blessings

Jesus for his understanding

The Holly Spirit for strength and courage

I am the willow bending, lost in winds
that do not whisper to me but to the world—
a rootless prayer, an echo in the dusk,
my leaves trembling, soft as the sound of sorrow’s kiss.

They ask for everything.
Their hands, like rivers, pull from me.
The sap, the marrow, the breath in my bones,
while I am but the hollow echo of a dream
that never took root in my own soil.
I owe them the stars, the moon, the sun’s dying glow,
yet the sky above, I do not claim as mine.

I give them what they seek —
a smile, a warmth, a promise kept in the ache of silence,
but within me, the storm stirs and swells
in a language that does not ask for a name.
For what am I but a leaf that falls,
drifting, never grounding in the earth
that would cradle me if I knew how to kneel?

They speak of love, of duty, of the weight of living —
but what of the weight of nothing?
The weight of giving until the marrow wears thin,
until I am no longer flesh,
but a song that no one sings,
a tear that never falls,
a shadow of something that once was,
but is now forgotten in the night.

The seasons pass and I remain,
an offering to those whose hearts I cannot touch.
A hollow tree standing tall in someone else’s forest,
my branches stretch toward the skies,
but I am not their sky to reach.
I am the earth —
but not my own earth.

And the forest knows me not,
for I am a whisper without voice,
a breath taken by someone else,
a thought lost in the wind.
and I owe them everything—
all that I was, all that I could have been —
and yet, nothing of me remains.
Not even the memory of the sun,
as it sinks beneath the weight of all that I’ve given.

I am only a flicker,
fading, never to be remembered.
And in the quiet dark of endless sky,
I give until the stars forget to shine.

everything is changing.
youve changed.

you dont talk to me now.
i cry over you every night.

sometimes i wonder if you think about me
as much as i think about you.

then i remember
you left me because it hurts

i was too much like Her.

and you replaced me.

that hurt the most.