You were an enigma to me.
The one I always wanted,
But could never have.
Then, I got you.

The regret I feel...
is a shadow gnawing at the edge of every memory.
You weren't what I dreamed,
or maybe I wasn't who I thought I'd
be
standing beside you.

We smiled,
but it was muscle, not heart.
We touched,
but it was surface, not soul.
I mistook the silence between us
for a special thing,
but was really for a funeral I hadn't been brave enough to attend.

Now, when I think of you,
I think of winter,
bare trees clawing at a paper sky,
and a wind that doesn't care who it leaves behind.

Maybe we were meant to break.
Maybe some stars only burn long enough
to teach you what darkness really is.

I don't hate you.
I don't love you.
I simply remember,
yet even my memories are
tired now.

The ceiling peels in slow spirals,
not from neglect,
but from how long I’ve stared at it,
counting the flake’s hesitation before it drops.
The clock ticks without punctuation,
dragging each second like a dull knife
across something soft I used to need.

My limbs forget they’re mine
unless I remind them,
a muscle twitches,
a shoulder reconsiders its weight.
Even my name feels unstitched,
like a coat I keep meaning to throw away
but wear because it still remembers my shape.

Outside, birds call to each other
like they’ve never been tired,
like morning isn’t a decision.
Inside, I steep in low-level static,
a hum no one else hears,
thick as wool,
soft as resignation.

The walls still hum with what was said,
not in words, exactly,
but the way her eyes held silence like it was sharp.
I walk the length of the hallway barefoot,
each board creaking like it’s trying to confess
something I already know but won’t admit.

There is a hollow behind my ribs
where the idea of "us" used to echo,
but now it just folds inward,
a place not even memory wants to visit.
The kids slept through it.
Or maybe they didn't.
Either way, they are reasons and weights,
stars I orbit, unsure of my own mass.

I pour water and watch the surface still.
It doesn't feel like peace, just quiet.
Sometimes that’s enough.
Sometimes it’s not.
I don’t know which tonight is.
I just know I’m tired,
and tired doesn’t mean I’m done.

I remember the graves, the hush of the rain
Soft as a whisper, sharp as our pain
We wandered through rows where the cold marbles slept
And sorrow, like ivy, around us had crept

You walked beside me, apart yet the same
Two leaves on a stem no storm could reclaim
We spoke with our silence; the sky read our script
Gray as the truth that we both tightly gripped

I’d loved you for years but silence I wore
A coward’s confession behind a closed door
That hush was my thunder, my shadowed regret
For I saw in your stillness what you never said

Your burden was deeper, your youth left behind
To cradle your brothers, to steady their minds
Your father a ghost with a bottle for breath
And you, the lone lantern fending off death

We sat by the well, cracked stone and decay
A ruin forgotten by sunlight or day
And somehow, your hand found mine in the dusk
As soft as a prayer, as quiet as trust

We looked at each other, no questions, no schemes
Just truth in a moment that softened the seams
You smiled, I smiled, and time lost its thread
Then we kissed where the living still speak to the dead
And nothing existed beyond what we knew
That sorrow had brought me forever to you

We sat in the rain as the silence returned
But softer now, like the ache had been learned
No words were exchanged, yet something had grown
We felt a bit lighter, a little less alone

Love calls the heart to trust and grow,
Love is fresh, it’s always new.
Let go, be free, embrace the unknown,
For love is felt when hearts are shown.
And love will bloom eternally.

You call them forth with gentle lies,
But I am truth behind their cries.
You urge them on to leap and trust,
While I remind them—dreams turn dust.
And I will guard them, eternally.

While you tempt with promises so fleet,
Love guides them to truths, slow and sure.
Love, not illusion, makes hearts complete,
And blooms eternal, deep and pure.

You paint with light, with colors bright,
But I am shadow veiled in night.
You sing of joy, of hearts unchained,
Yet I recall what loss has stained.
And I will linger, eternally.

Love may rise where doubt still lingers,
Soft as whispers, light as fingers.
Through night and shadow, hearts will fight,
For every loss still births new light.
And love will stand—unyielding, eternal.

I saw you not, yet knew you in the air—
A hush between the turning of the day,
As if the light, grown tired of bright display,
Withdrew to shape your shadow from its flare.

The stars stood still, as if they too would stare,
And time, disarmed, let silence have its say.
The world grew soft; all sharpness slipped away—
I found your soul in everything, and there.

No rose more patient bloomed, no wind more kind,
Than what I felt in thoughts I could not speak.
You taught the stubborn earth how to be meek,
And showed the blind the language of the blind.

Love, unnamed, unseen, and yet so whole—
You were the fire that finished making soul.

Love moves like wind that stirs the silent trees,
It bends the bough but never breaks the stone.
It whispers truths in rustling melodies.

It pours like rain that falls on trembling seas,
Then leaves as sudden, and we stand alone—
Love moves like wind that stirs the silent trees.

It burns like sun through winter’s brittle freeze,
Then hides in clouds where shadows chill the bone.
It whispers truths in rustling melodies.

It grows like moss in darkened symmetries,
A quiet bloom where none had ever shone—
Love moves like wind that stirs the silent trees.

It carves through time like roots in centuries,
Reclaiming all we thought was carved in stone.
It whispers truths in rustling melodies.

So heed the hush of nature’s mysteries:
The heart is earth, the soul is overgrown.
Love moves like wind that stirs the silent trees—
It whispers truths in rustling melodies.