A soft hand, curled in mine, a hesitant dove finding harbor.
Fingers interlaced, a fragile promise etched against the harsh landscape of expectation and whispered doubts.
Her eyes, a twilight sky, reflecting constellations I never knew existed, galaxies of longing and unspoken dreams. We build our world in stolen glances, secret smiles blooming in crowded rooms.
A rebellion in whispered syllables, a sanctuary found in the curve of her smile. We braid our stories, thread by delicate thread, a tapestry woven on the loom of shared breath, ignoring the looming storm, the disapproving glances, the weight of tradition.
We are wildflowers pushing through concrete, a love song humming beneath the surface, a defiant bloom in a monochrome world. We are brave, we are terrified, we are everything they told us we couldn't be.
But the air grows thick with unspoken fears, the shadows lengthen, and the whispers turn to shouts. The world outside clamors for conformity, demands we dismantle the haven we've built.
We carry their whispers, the ghost of the past, the girls who dared to love when it meant everything, and lost too much. We are their hope, their lament, their quiet victory,
but history hates lovers, doesn't it?

you feel like you have a straight jacket on,
slowly getting tighter and tighter
until you can’t breathe.
they yell, shame, belittle, disrespect,
and then lose their minds when you express the smallest hint of a personality.
they expect you to be grateful for the life they’ve given you, and you are, but you feel so small and alone and angry, you just want to get out. but you can’t. ******* straight jacket.

what would happen if i just let everything stop? let the world go quiet,
the edges fuzzy,
slowly going black?

i am a breathing ghost
drifting through life
getting more and more insubstantial
by the day.
because i can’t anymore.
there is nothing left for me here
and now i just watch,
a spectator to my own life,
as i hurtle toward the end.