Dear seven year old,
Yes, there is a monster
But it’s not under your bed

The monster is in your head
But maybe it’s not even a monster
Maybe it’s just buried pain
Because they told you not to cry

Dear seven year old,
Yes, you should keep crying
Otherwise the tears will build up and flood your insides

The tears do not care for being stuck
They need to be released
Into the stars

Dear seven year old,
Yes, your plea for better times are being heard by the stars
They always will
Keep wishing on them

Wish on 11:11 too
Because to wish is to know what you want
And knowing what you want
Telling it
Makes it so much more likely to happen

Dear seven year old,
Yes, you still feel like the kid sitting under the slide and just observing life
And you’ve come to appreciate it

Observing, looking, watching
Make all the difference
Almost as much as writing

Dear seven year old,
Write.

I planted seeds of love in your eyes,
Tended the garden, with a lover's sighs.
I nurtured every bloom, every tender shoot,
But now the garden's overgrown, and I'm lost in its fruit.

The vines of passion, once so carefully pruned,
Now choke the beauty, that our love had tuned.
The flowers of hope, that bloomed in every place,
Now wither, like my heart, in this desolate space.

I watered the soil, with tears of devotion,
But the garden's grown wild, and my love's in motion.
It's a jungle of what-ifs, a tangle of pain,
A beauty that's lost, like the love that remains.

In this garden overgrown, I'm searching for a way,
To prune the heartache, to clear the path each day.
But the more I tend, the more it seems to grow,
This garden of love, that I nurtured, and now can't let go....

27.02.2025