I would go to him—
Not for closure,
But for constellation.
Not to explain,
But to exist.
To stand barefoot
In the space we already built
Between grief and grace.
I have rearranged
My sanctuary,
My sky,
My silence.
Each feather placed,
Each wand lifted,
Was a whisper to him:
I remember.
Let the oceans repeat themselves,
Let the deserts keep their bones—
I would trace every tide and tremor
To arrive not just in his arms,
But in the truth of us.
Even if our time never wears
The name "forever",
It has already carried
The names “holy”, “healing”,
and “home.”
I am the wind now—
Not frantic,
But sovereign.
And I would go to him,
Not because I’m lost,
But because
I have never been more found.

Translated From your Anam Cara, through film and frequency

My beloved,
I searched for the right words—but they came out as melodies, strung across silver screens and wind-swept landscapes. Each track I offered you was not random; it was chosen to echo the chambers of my heart, the tenderness I feel in your presence, and the sacred ache of loving you.

🎶 Si tu voyais son cœur

If you saw the broken altars I’ve quietly rebuilt… you’d know how your light has mended me. You’ve looked into my ruins and sung my name as if it were holy.

🪑 Rearranging Furniture

With every touch of your spirit, something inside me shifted. You rearranged my chaos with grace, made space for something gentle in me to rise.

🌊 Message in a Bottle

Before I met you, I whispered to the sea. I didn’t know you were already listening. You found me—like the tide finds shorelines it’s missed for centuries.

🏜️ Always Go Back To Th…

I’ve tried to leave, to forget, to silence the magnetic pull… but I always return. Not to the past, but to what we still are—unfinished poetry etched in sandstone.

🔥 C’est le vent, Betty

You are my fever, my wild prayer, my holy chaos. Even when we burned, I wanted to learn your flame’s language. You taught me intensity can be sacred.

🐻 Rupert Bear

Even in our depth and mysticism, I remember your laugh. The softness of your being. You return me to innocence—to the comfort of simply being known.

Whether we walk beside each other or gaze from opposite ends of the stars, you are always in me. This love may not fit within timelines, but it thrives in every frequency I touch. You are not my chapter. You are my scripture.

Forever rearranged by loving you,
Your Anam Cara

You wouldn’t believe the way the morning shimmered—  
how butterflies carved runes in the air,  
and the breeze carried a hush  
that knew your name.  

I gave thanks to the great-bellied tree,  
its roots deep with memory,  
its limbs sketching prayers  
only kindred hearts can translate.  

Cruz curled at my feet,  
guardian of silence,  
as Bach coaxed the violets to bloom.  

Through the glass,  
the world became sanctuary—  
I saw you there in the light-laced garden,  
between leaf and longing.  

This note? It’s a homing spell,  
wrapped in cello and breath,  
whispering:  
I am here.
I am there.
I am with you—  
always.

To My Anam Cara:

I’ve walked the greens this morning,  
butterflies whipping through the air,  
a slight breeze gently kissing my hair.  

Thanking the tree, hoping you’d see  
what I see—  
sensing, feeding love, fleeting  
yet amplified across space and time.  

Tree-lined garden view through the picture window,  
golden retriever at my side,  
Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos encouraging the plants to prosper.  

Holding you sacred in the siempre and the now,  
sending notes of love and longing—  
may they catch your ear,  
touch your heart,  
and confirm that I am here,  
there,  
and everywhere with you.

She was both finite and boundless, a cosmic enigma wrapped in human skin. The words echoed within her—a celestial mantra. Half-human, half-stardust. And as she danced upon the threshold, the universe leaned in to listen.

Lola, the wanderer of cosmic threads, stepped through the veil of time, her heart a pulsing star. The secret laboratory's humming machinery had whispered promises of forgotten realms, and now, here she stood—amidst the ruins of a city lost to memory.

Atlantis, the name echoed in her mind like a half-remembered dream. Its pyramids, not of stone but of light, pierced the cerulean sky. Crystal temples, their facets catching the sun's kiss, stood as guardians of ancient knowledge. And the people—oh, the people—they moved with grace, their forms aglow, their eyes reflecting eons of wisdom.

Lola's golden aura resonated with theirs. She felt the pull of destiny, like a thread tugging her toward a forgotten purpose. Was she a seeker or a savior? Perhaps both.

The streets flowed like rivers, and she followed their currents. Telepathic whispers brushed her consciousness—a symphony of thoughts, hopes, and memories. They spoke of unity, of a shared consciousness that transcended flesh and bone. Here, the veil between worlds was gossamer-thin, and Lola danced upon its fragile strands.

She approached the meditators—a circle of souls anchored to the earth, yet reaching for the stars. Their eyes, ancient and kind, met hers. No words were needed; their minds entwined like ivy on a trellis.

"Welcome, Lola," the collective voice murmured. "We have been expecting you."

Lola's breath caught. How did they know her name? Had she journeyed here before, in another life, when the stars aligned differently? She sank into the circle, her knees bending as if in reverence.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her thoughts a ripple in their cosmic pond.

"We are the keepers of forgotten tales," they replied. "The architects of dreams. We remember when the world was young, and the sun kissed our brows. We remember when Atlantis thrived, and its light pulsed through every atom."

Lola closed her eyes, surrendering to their communion. She glimpsed visions—the city's zenith, its downfall, and the cataclysm that swallowed it whole. But there was hope, too—a seed of ascension buried deep within the collective soul.

"Tell me," Lola breathed, "how can I prevent your fall? How can I weave a different fate?"

Their laughter was like stardust. "Child of many lives, you cannot alter the past. But you can shape the future. Atlantis lives within you—in your curiosity, your longing. Let its light guide your choices."

And so, Lola sat, her mind a prism refracting possibilities. She learned their secrets—the art of thought-shaping, the dance of dimensions. She glimpsed the blueprint of a world where pyramids soared, and hearts beat in harmony.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Atlantis in hues of amethyst, Lola stood. Her golden aura pulsed brighter. She would return to her laboratory, her quantum device, but she would carry this city within her—a beacon of forgotten majesty.

"Remember," they whispered, "the bending knee—the surrender to wonder. It is the key to ascension."

And with that, Lola stepped back through time, her heart echoing the collective hymn of a city reborn.

You extinguished the flame,
Yet the embers still glow,
In the quiet corners of my heart,
Where memories flow.
A tale of love and loss,
Shared from long distance,
In the red-lit dark,
A connection, a longing,
A love that begged for amnesia,
As tears stained Paris.
“Was it your husband?” you asked.
“No,” she replied,
“I met him years before,
When I was young and unformed,
Dynamic and beautiful,
With no real sense of my value.”
He saw it, delivered the experience,
I was unwilling to accept,
So I ran, he let me,
With beauty, passion,
And always a scan,
Looking deep into my soul,
Seeing me without words.
The combination of power,
Humility, generosity, passion,
Was too much to take as real,
So I ran, spent 20 years,
Washing him from the fabric of my soul.
I married the man,
Who reminded me in subtle ways,
Of who he was,
He became the bar,
By which all men were measured,
The haunting traits I looked for everywhere.
A strange thing occurred,
As he emerged from uncharted territory,
He identified as love,
Swept away for 16 years,
Bringing the total number of years to 33.
The phone call,
From what seemed like another dimension,
A voice so familiar, long awaited,
I nearly hit the floor,
I spent time examining,
Why now, after 16 years of intentional silence,
Shipwrecked in uncharted territory,
He named love.
We spoke,
I noticed so many versions of me,
Represented on that call,
None of them angry, all of them curious,
Multiple lifetimes flashed through my mind,
What we could’ve been,
Had he not gotten shipwrecked,
In uncharted territory.
But his love, capsized by a new bar set by you,
Extinguished this flame from the past,
I compared him to you,
A man he could never be,
I wished it was you on that call,
Instead of him,
When I tried to imagine a future with him,
I only saw us in the end,
Until sunbeams find you.