You are the wind that circles me—unseen, yet deeply felt.
I marvel at your dance, like leaves caught in your rhythm.
You were the first ripple on my still waters—
a fleeting droplet that stirred my quiet sadness into something like joy.

You were the distant star I traced with wonder,
your brilliance making my gaze flinch,
yet I kept looking, drawn by a silent hope.

You are the lone pearl gleaming in an endless ocean—
the only one I ever wished to hold.
You are the forest where I long to rest,
your canopy my refuge.

The sunlight that filters through your branches—
those are the moments that touch me,
warm and golden, brief yet eternal.

My love is an ocean—
not for sailing, but drowning.
Each wave bears the weight of ache,
salted with longing and reverence.

Rivers of devotion spill from my ribs,
carving your name into stone
with hands that bleed faith.

And if time grinds it down to sand,
let it become a sacred shore—
where our echoes shape the tides,
where memory breathes in seafoam,
and only we remain—
bare, eternal, mythic.

Your hair’s cropped, bare enough
for me to memorize the shape of you—
my hands don’t wander; they return.

With your glasses, you glimpse the world.
Without them, you’re mine—
the blur becomes me,
and I become everything you see.

The bruise I left was no accident—
desire marked you because words couldn’t.
It bloomed like a secret only we could touch,
a dark petal over your skin

The ocean is jealous;
it will never know the depth I’ve fallen into you.
I’ve fallen into you so deep,
even gravity would beg for mercy.

You’re not a habit—
you’re a need.
I vape your scent like it's the last breath I'll take,
not to live, but to burn.

We met in the mist,
but that was no coincidence.
I called for you before I even knew your name.

And now,
I don’t just love you—
I ache to keep you,
every second,
in every breath,
beneath every bruise.

Is it raining too much tonight?
Is the thunder giving you a fright?
No, my love, don’t fear the sky—
The Almighty’s just passing by,
Taking pictures with every light,
Of the masterpiece in His sight.

He moves like moonlight spilled on tired streets,
A hush in the chaos where softness repeats.
Eyes like dewdrops on windows at dawn,
Holding stories that ache but still carry on.

He is a sketch left half in charcoal and gold,
A canvas of silences tenderly bold.
Not thunder or fire — he is the breeze,
That touches your soul then leaves with ease.

A book with no title, a line never said,
He’s coffee gone cold that still warms your head.
A lighthouse that waits with a gentle light,
Though no ship may come — he stays through the night.

He speaks in pauses, in glances, in air,
A poem unwritten but floating somewhere.
He is not yours, and may never be,
But he lives in the corners where dreams run free.

So you sit with your heart pressed against a screen,
Loving a shadow that feels serene.
For not all love must touch or stay—
Some simply glows and walks away.

With each tick of the clock, seasons quietly bend,
Every storm that came and went, left behind a friend.

The sunlit land now shivers under snow’s command,
Where warm winds once whispered love, silence now stands.

Golden leaves spoke softly, of life and its tide,
Even fruits lost their sweetness, as time passed by.

Once smooth and tender, their skins now cracked and dry,
The days grow shorter, and love asks why.

If only I had sown a garden, with these fleeting days,
Cradled each moment softly, like colors in sun rays.

Had I only watered the leaves, kept them green with care,
Saved them from curling dry, held them in prayer.

I should’ve tasted the fruit, while it still held light,
Wrapped it in shade, before it faded from sight.

In age or youth, I’d hold them close and tight,
Cover them in warmth, before the cold took flight.

Just once more, I wish time would be kind,
Let us dance, sing, leave the past behind.

For this life was never mine alone to see—
It was always ours, our shared destiny.