Life walks softly, barefoot in rain,
Trailing the echoes of love and of pain.
We build with hope, then watch it decay,
As time steals the colors and carries them away.

Hearts once whole are scattered like dust,
Shattered by promises broken in trust.
Eyes that once dreamed now quietly grieve,
Learning too soon how the tender must leave.

There’s no warning when joy turns to ache,
No gentle farewell when foundations break.
We reach for tomorrow, but it slips through our hands
A ghost in the dark that no soul understands.

The road bends often where we cannot see,
And asks us to walk where we’d rather not be.
Each choice a question, each answer unclear,
Each heartbeat a whisper of love or of fear.

Yet even in sorrow, we rise once again,
Cradling grief like a long-lost friend.
For pain is the price of the love that we knew
And life, in its silence, still carries us through.
23.06.2025

They asked, “Who broke your heart?”  I smiled,
As if the wound had healed a while.
But silence pressed behind my teeth,
A name I buried underneath.

Not one, I said   but many things:
The way she left, the way hope clings,
The way a laugh turns into mist,
The way you ache for lips you kissed.

It wasn't just her voice gone still,
But how the world grew cold and shrill.
It was the songs that made me cry,
The empty space when love says goodbye.

They asked again  “Was it her name?”
And still, I couldn’t place the blame.
A heart breaks slow, then all at once
Not just by loss, but lack, and months.

So who? I whispered to the night.
“I broke it too  by holding tight.”
11. 06.2025

I wrote you a letter
Not with pen, but with breath on glass,
Where my longing fogged the silence
Between your world and mine.

Each word, a whispered echo
Of the nights you live inside my ribs
A cathedral of unspoken touch,
Where I kneel before your absence.

I folded the paper of my soul,
Sealed it with the gravity of your gaze,
And sent it on the wings of hours
That refused to move without your name.

I wrote you a letter
Because I could not unlove you
Even in stillness, my heart
Keeps writing where you once touched.

You are the ink that stains my sleep,
The unwritten vow in every pulse.
If love is a language,
Then let this poem be fluent in you.
8.06.2025

You left.
And the silence you left behind
became my classroom.

I sat in the wreckage,
pen in hand,
writing you out of my system
one aching line at a time.

Every poem was a lesson.
Not about you—
but about me.
How I break,
how I bend,
how I bleed ink
when I can’t cry.

They call it heartbreak.
I call it a syllabus.
Each verse a bruise,
each stanza a scar
stitched into wisdom.

You thought you were leaving.
But you stayed
in metaphors and metaphysics.
In the rhythm of my regret.

And now strangers read your shadow
on my page,
and feel less alone.
Funny, isn’t it?

You became my greatest teacher
by being the wound I had to write through.
So thank you.
For walking away.

I graduated with every goodbye

05.06.2025

They will forget our names.
The world will swallow our stories
like shorelines pulled back by a thousand tides.
But once—
you and I
were here.

We touched time,
bare hands against the pulse of now,
fragile and burning,
like we thought forever was ours to command.

You laughed under stars
that died before we were born.
I held your face like it was prophecy.
We were dust in defiance,
trying to matter.

Centuries will not remember us.
Your letters will yellow,
my voice will vanish,
and the things we broke
will outlast the things we built.

But if somewhere,
a girl finds a scrap of our story—
a poem, a breath caught in ink—
and reads the way I loved you,
maybe,
for a moment,
we will exist again.

Not as we were.
But as a feeling.
As a flicker in the marrow of someone
who aches the way we did
at the edge of a millennium
we couldn’t hold.