Your smile brightens the room,  
like morning light spilling  
through open windows,  
chasing shadows into corners.  

It weaves warmth  
into the fabric of the day,  
each laugh a gentle ripple,  
softening edges of worry.  

In that glow,  
the world feels smaller,  
and hope sways  
like a flower dancing in the breeze.

You don’t have to rise like the sun each day—
some mornings, it's enough just to open your eyes,
to sit with the silence,
to feel your heartbeat and whisper, “I’m still here.”

You are not the storm that passed,
nor the ruins it left behind.
You are the seed under the soil,
waiting for the right rain,
the quiet miracle of a soul not giving up.

Let no one shame the pace of your healing.
Let no voice drown out the hush of your trying.
Because surviving is not small.
And breathing, on hard days,
is a kind of bravery the world forgets to praise.

So rest, dreamer.
You don’t need to shine tonight.
You just need to stay—
soft, alive,
and wildly worthy of tomorrow.

I miss watching your words,
always carefully chosen,
light up my screen.

I miss your laugh,
the way it was slightly different,
when you were talking to me.

I miss your face,
always carefully controlled,
even when I knew you were itching to smile.

I miss you.

city becomes us ill
and buildings rise and fall
in laboured breath

used to walk around
the city at night
with nothing on my feet
except myself