Home with her tastes like honey slipping off a spoon—slow, golden, almost too sweet to be real.

It's coffee brewed just right, dark and bold, but softened by that one perfect splash of cream.

There’s warmth, like cinnamon toast on cold mornings, edges crisp but melting at the center.

It tastes like the comfort of rain against the window, of laughter pressed against lips, of words shared in whispers over late-night takeout.

With her, home is a flavor I can't ever pin down.

It’s savory and tender, a bite that lingers long after it’s gone, filling the spaces where silence

used to settle.

It’s the taste of never having to wonder if you belong.

It's the weight of words left unspoken,

the ache of reaching across miles that swallow sound.

Every night, I send pieces of myself

quiet confessions, invisible threads

hoping they find you whole.

But distance is a thief,

a silent cut I can't name,

and though I hold you close in the hollow of my chest,

I'm haunted by how far love can stretch

before it breaks.

City’s got a way of swallowing sound,

like it knows I’m out here,

knows I’m spilling my guts under flickering lights,

knows I’m calling for you across blocks that don’t care.

I’m walking through a maze of concrete and glass,

hands jammed in pockets, hoodie up,

trying to tune out the sirens,

the subway rumble like some deep heartbeat under the street.

You got me looking for signs in places we used to be,

like every corner’s an open tab,

some receipt for all the words we left unsaid.

The skyline looks the same, but it doesn’t.

You took something with you

that I keep reaching for in every damn reflection.

I keep seeing you in flashes:

on the corner, leaning against the wall,

smoke curling from your lips like a ghost,

that laugh hanging in the air like graffiti.

I know you’re gone,

but the city don’t stop reminding me

you were here.

I’m calling your name to the sidewalks,

letting it spill out in places we used to roam,

fighting like hell not to forget the sound,

the rhythm of it, bouncing off brick,

off the metal of street signs.

I don’t fit here, or anywhere,

just keep pacing the grid,

calling your name into the cold,

into the wind slicing through this city

waiting for it to bring you back home.

When I think of you,

the distance between us melts,

oceans shrink,

and the sky bends closer

to hear the whisper of your name

on my breath.

You mend parts of me

I never knew were broken—

with every laugh, every quiet moment

where we exist together

on opposite sides of the earth

but still feel like home.

Sometimes I wonder

how my hands would feel

on the softness of your skin,

if they could memorize the lines of you

I’ve only traced in my mind.

You,

with your tenderness,

your warmth that wraps around my cold edges

and breathes life into them,

I feel your love—

pulsing like a star,

even when you’re so far away.

How is it possible

that a love like ours

reaches through space,

through time,

and holds me

when you’re not even here?

Setting: Comedy club stage.

Host: Welcome to Political Roast Night! First up, Donald Trump!

[Audience cheers.]

Host: Trump's hair is like his promises—mysterious and probably not real. He tweets more than a bird on Red Bull!

[Audience laughs.]

Host: Now, Kamala Harris!

[Audience cheers.]

Host: Kamala’s so good at grilling people, even her BBQs come with subpoenas. Her laugh? It’s like she knows the date of your next tax audit.

[Audience laughs harder.]

Host: Trump and Kamala—one builds walls, the other breaks ceilings. Together, an architectural nightmare!

[Audience roars with laughter.]

Host: Thanks, folks! Keep laughing and thinking!

[Curtains close.]

When the weight of the world presses against your chest, and the nights stretch longer than the days, find solace in the quiet moments, the whispers of dawn breaking through the dark.

Do not chase after perfection; it is a mirage that leaves you parched and wanting. Instead, seek the beauty in the flaws, the cracks where the light seeps in and heals.

Love fiercely but let go when it’s time, for holding on too tight can break what’s meant to soar. Embrace the shadows within, for they are part of the tapestry that makes you whole.

Walk barefoot on the earth, feel the pulse of life beneath your feet. Let the rain kiss your face, and the wind carry away your sorrows.

In the silence, hear your own heartbeat, a reminder that you are alive, resilient, and enough. Find peace in the chaos, and know that even in the storm, there is calm within.

Remember, you are a work in progress, a masterpiece unfolding with each breath. Be gentle with yourself, for you are deserving of all the love you so freely give.

I've shared my breath with you in moments where words fall short.

I've seen the scars behind your eyes, silent witnesses to your struggles.

I've felt the Universe from your fingertips, a caress that carries the weight of galaxies, a touch that weaves the fabric of time and space.

I've tasted the light and darkness from your lips, a bittersweet symphony of emotions where love and pain dance on the icy rings of Saturn.

You are a mystery, a paradox wrapped in the guise of a mortal, and in your presence, I find a love that defies explanation.

Ah, William Shakespeare. The unrivaled grandmaster of the English language. Or, as I like to call him, the original king of overrated.

Yeah, it is true that a lot of his works became a fundamental part of literary history, but come on – this man sure came up with a lot of tragedies. I mean, if he ever wrote a rom-com, it would likely conclude with everyone stabbing each other.

And the guy’s character name skills… “Romeo Montague” and “Juliet Capulet”? After hearing these names, you cannot tell me that he did not let toddlers play Scrabble. And “Othello”? Please, even his handkerchief was crying. Then his dramatic streak… who else could come up with “To be or not to be”? Whoever came up with this probably should find a new hobby – one that does not ruin life for everyone else in his play.

That being said, though, I have to thank him for all the timeless quotes he gave us that became the foundation of our modern life. “All the world’s a stage” – yeah, makes sense considering that his plays are pretty much reality tv shows. Well, whoopty doo, Shakespeare – thank you for drama, tragedy and countless high school essays.

In the soft luminescence of the train compartment, the world outside blurred into streaks of twilight colors, you awoke to a sight that inexplicably seized your heart. Across from you, flanked by two stern-faced guards with holstered guns, sat a person whose eyes seemed to narrate a thousand untold stories. Despite the grimness of their situation, shackled and evidently on a journey back to face a dire fate, there was a captivating allure in their gaze, a silent scream for a life unlived.

Your eyes locked, and in that ethereal moment, time seemed to dissolve. You knew, with an inexplicable certainty, that the person before you was whom your soul had been searching for. And as your gazes intertwined, you felt the mutual recognition, a shared heartbeat in a world gone still.

In the quietude of that connection, your lives unfolded in a series of silent communications, transcending the spoken word. You imagined your first date, a clandestine meeting in a small, dimly lit café where the rest of the world faded into the background, and only the two of you existed. There were shy smiles and hesitant touches, the air charged with the electricity of newfound love, yet shadowed by the unspoken knowledge of its fleeting nature.

The train rattled on, a relentless reminder of the journey's end, but in your shared silence, you lived a lifetime. You envisioned stolen moments of passion, where every touch was imbued with the desperation and intensity of lovers condemned by fate. These moments were your rebellion, a defiance against the merciless tide of destiny.

In their eyes, you saw the life you could have had together. A small, sunlit home filled with laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet, days spent basking in the simplicity of love's comfort, and nights wrapped in the warm cocoon of each other's arms, safe from the world's harshness.

But the cruel reality crept back in as the train neared its destination. The armed guards shifted, a silent assertion of their control, and the future you had woven together unraveled thread by thread. You were powerless, a spectator to the unfolding tragedy, your heart shattering with the silent cries of what could have been.

In those final moments, as they were led away, your eyes met for one last time, a silent farewell. There were no words to capture the agony, no screams loud enough to echo the pain of your sundered souls. You were left with the bittersweet aftertaste of a love as profound as it was transient, a haunting melody of 'what if' lingering in the silence of the train's whistle.

Thus, you lived a lifetime in a single journey, a love story confined to the silent words and shared glances between two souls, briefly intertwined by fate's cruel hand, on a train bound for the end of everything.

You stand amid the ashes, beautiful in your rawness,

a phoenix cloaked in shadows,

dirt smeared across your cheeks like war paint.

Gritty resilience etched in every line of your face,

you are the embodiment of both storm and sanctuary.

You've danced with the flames, haven't you?

Let them lick at your scars, turning pain into power,

fear into fuel.

Each ember, a soft, fluffy touch

against the hardened layers you’ve worn like armor.

In the fire's embrace, you find purity—

a cleansing so profound,

it strips away the veneer of your past selves,

leaving only the essence of your being,

dark yet dazzling.

Set it alight, let the flames rise,

watch them consume the doubts,

the past whispers of 'never' and 'too much.'

In this conflagration, you are reborn,

not from the ashes, but from the blaze itself.

Beautiful, dirty, gritty, dark, fluffy—

you are all these things and none,

transformed by the inferno's kiss,

a testament to the power of fire

to cleanse, to change, to liberate.