They come to me, streaming in drop by drop,
so I collect them all, trying to keep them whole,
comforting them with words I wish to hear,

Lacing my words with encouragement,
so others may see the best in me,
but what they see is a character of fictioniality,
a mask woven from gentle phrases,
stitched with threads of borrowed grace.

Yet beneath, a voice still echoes, softly,
of the solace I chase.

The breath of the almighty whispers, telling me to hold on,
giving me more to believe in.

I offer words like fragile offerings,
each a delicate vessel, wondering,
do they bear my truth or simply reflect my hopes?

In this intricate dance,
I stitch together fragments of dreams and fears,
crafting a tapestry that reveals and conceals
a symphony of whispered encouragement,
yet beneath it all, a quiet yearning lingers,
seeking the voice that truly understands.

The breath of the divine fills the spaces in between,
urging me onward, promising that even in silence,
I am profoundly heard.