Something clutches my chest—
a ghost-hand, tight as ivy on stone.
My heart, a trembling bird,
flutters at the edge of a storm.

The center of me burns—
a dying sun folding into itself,
pulling all light
into a single, aching point.

And there—
a tide of shadows calls,
dragging me down
where even dreams forget to rise.

I sit on a stone that never softens,
but it’s not my skin that cries—
it’s the storm clawing at my hands,
the weight I cradle in silence,
pretending it’s not there
as it eats through bone.

I am drowning—
not in water,
but in quiet waves that no one sees.
They pull me under
as I learn to move
with pain pressed close—
like a mother who never meant to hurt me.

My smile stretches—
a trembling bridge of porcelain
trying to hold back a wildfire.
It cracks at the corners,
but I keep smiling,
because I forgot how not to.

Anxiety curls like smoke,
slow and poisonous in my chest,
while I stand on a tower of cards—
every decision
a fragile breath away
from ruin.

I dance on the cliff’s edge,
not out of bravery,
but because I was shoved there.
And the wind,
so cruel in its lullaby,
sings a song
that only the breaking can hear.

The alarm cries again—
not to wake me,
but to drag me
back into the fire I call routine.
Each day,
another performance
in the theatre of almost falling apart.

Still, I rise—
not because I’m strong,
but because I haven’t yet
found a soft place to fall.

Once,
the tree was only a whisper—
a dream cradled in the arms of soil.
A tiny seed, trembling,
yet daring to believe in sunlight.

Storms came early.
Winds screamed names it didn't understand.
But it stayed—
letting its roots sink deep
into the quiet ache of the earth.
The soil, ancient and tender,
carried centuries of silent sacrifices.
It held the tree like a promise
never meant to break.

Its branches stretched—
not for the sky,
but for something softer,
maybe hope.
Each knot in its wood,
a story of pain swallowed instead of spoken.
Each resin drip—
a memory stuck in the hollows of its chest.

Still, it stood.
Beasts circled.
Axes whispered through the leaves.
But the soil whispered louder—
“Grow. Even if it hurts.
Even if they try to break you.
Be so strong they forget how to cut you.”

But not every root finds water.
Not every seed feels sun.
Some trees grow in shadows so deep
they start thinking darkness is home.

Some fall.
Not from weakness,
but from carrying too much silence.

And when all that’s left
is a stump in the clearing—
they call it the end.
But beneath the surface,
the roots still hum.
They remember.
They ache.
They whisper the moments
when the tree wanted to give in—
but didn't.
Not yet.

Because it thought of the soil.
The quiet hands that held it.
The love that never asked to be seen,
but was always there.

It wanted to stay.
It truly did.
But sometimes, the rain never comes.
And sometimes,
the weight of invisible pain
is heavier than a storm.

And still—
even as it fell,
it thought:
If I leave,
what will happen to the soil?
Will it blame itself
for a drought it couldn’t stop?

Because trees don’t just die.
Sometimes,
they break their own hearts
to keep from breaking their roots.

Our destinies entwine like the Vallisneria bloom,
Its longing stem rising through waters of hope.
Fate’s quiet currents bear the wandering spores,
Bringing them home to a love foretold.

Love drifts through the air, unseen yet alive,
a silent melody only our hearts can hear.
Raindrops weave whispers upon the earth,
soft sighs urging us closer—
come near, it’s cold.

Beneath the hush of moonlit tides,
I’ll lead you where the waves hum in silver,
where the night cradles our secrets like pearls.
No tide too high, no storm too wild—
I will stand, unwavering, for you.

I am the drone, drawn to your light,
you, my sovereign sun, my queen, my fate.
With steadfast wings, I will serve,
I will shield, I will stay.

The stars hold tight to threads of night,
burning with secrets forged in light.
Comets, like wanderers lost in time,
once bound by fate, now break their line.

One by one, they blaze and fade,
each carving paths the heavens made.
And I, adrift in hollow space,
watched my UFO embrace the chase.

An oracle whispered, bold yet true,
"Their light is theirs, but so is yours too."
It led me where no trail was drawn,
but I alone chose to go beyond.

I would not follow, nor outshine,
but forge a path that felt like mine.
Not just a spark in endless blue,
but fire that burned with something new.

I kiss the air between us, a breeze that lingers,
tracing soft patterns on your skin.
A tiny scar catches my eye—
a story I wish I'd been part of,
and suddenly, I want to protect every piece of you.

I study you like poetry written in touch,
my lips trailing every verse.
I am yours, entirely, undeniably—
and, darling, you have exquisite taste.