in the water, a reflection waits.

it's eyes stab through, not at, me.

they see what is internal and invisible and secret.

they see beyond the outside shell that smiles.

i step into the water and welcome the cold embrace.

it welcomes me.

There are words I never said,

stacked like unsent letters in the quiet corners of my mind.

I wonder if they would have made a difference,

if the air would have carried them gently,

or if they would have sunk, heavy as regret,

into the marrow of another's silence.

I measure time in unfinished thoughts,

half-felt emotions that linger too long,

like a song I almost remember

but hum out of tune.

Somewhere between what I am

and what I pretend to be,

there is a space—

a breath caught between ribs,

a hesitation before a truth too raw to name.

I press my palm against the window,

watching the world move without me,

its rhythm foreign,

its pace relentless.

And yet—

in the hush of my own reflection,

in the weight of my own stillness,

I find something I had forgotten—

I am here.

The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, lined with towering doors, each one sealed shut with iron locks. The man had lost count of how many he had tried. His fingers were raw from prying at knobs, pounding on wood, twisting handles that refused to give.

Some doors bore intricate carvings, golden plaques whispering promises—wisdom, wealth, redemption. Others stood bare, indifferent, offering nothing at all. Yet none would open.

He had begun this search in desperation, fleeing from a past that clung to him like a shadow. He told himself that beyond one of these doors lay escape—relief from the weight he carried. If only he could find the right one.

But as time dragged on, hope unraveled. His strength seeped away with every failed attempt. His knees buckled. He slumped against the cold stone wall, forehead pressed into his hands, whispering a broken plea.

"What else can I do?"

And then—silence.

Or perhaps not silence, but stillness.

In that stillness, he noticed it.

A door behind him—plain, unmarked—slightly ajar.

There was no handle, no lock, no carvings to tempt or promise. It had been there the whole time.

His pulse quickened. How had he missed it?

With trembling hands, he reached forward. The door swung open at the gentlest touch, and warmth spilled out, wrapping around him like an old embrace. A voice—gentle, steady—echoed from beyond.

"I was waiting for you to stop searching… and simply come."

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he hesitated. Not from fear, but from something deeper—an understanding. The struggle, the searching, the doors that led nowhere… they had never been the way.

He stepped through.

And behind him, the hallway disappeared.

Somewhere, in a place he had long since forgotten, a man woke up to a new day. His hands no longer trembled. The weight on his chest felt lighter. The craving—the hunger that had driven him to search for so long—was still there, but distant now.

A breath. A moment.

And then, he rose.

She was born into a world

where black and white marched in step—

shadows on a sidewalk, faces blurred

by the weight of sameness.

Order, like a shroud,

stitched itself to the soles of every foot,

a rhythm no one dared break.

But one day,

small and unnoticed,

her steps faltered.

Not out of rebellion—

just curiosity,

the faintest crack in a shell she didn’t know was there.

She strayed.

They watched,

eyes like iron,

tongues sharp with the burn of condemnation.

She was a stain,

a flaw in the canvas,

a splash of too much in a world where “just enough” ruled.

But she didn’t fold.

Instead, she bloomed.

Color began to breathe in her veins,

a ripple of hues that dared to live.

The gray couldn’t hold her,

not when her skin

tasted sunlight in shades unseen.

And the world—

they were afraid of her first.

The way she turned the air to fire,

how the sky shifted from ash to amber at her back.

But slowly,

quietly,

they watched her long enough

to feel the warmth of her light.

And then they too stepped off the line—

one foot after the other,

hesitant,

but yearning.

Color bled into the streets,

their skin became stories of gold, red, and violet,

and the black and white—

it faded like a dream forgotten

with the dawn.

It wasn’t the world that had changed.

It was them.

And all along, the path had been a lie.

They had the power to stray

to live,

to be.

The sun drips gold,

spilling over rooftops and trees,

fading into whispers of night.

I sit alone,

listening to the hum of the world

slowing down,

as if the earth itself

takes a breath,

pausing in its endless spin.

The sky stretches wide,

a canvas painted with light and shadow,

and somewhere between the stars and my skin,

I feel the weight of time

drift away—

like leaves in the wind,

like words never spoken.

In this moment,

there is no rush,

no past to chase,

no future to fear.

Only the stillness,

only the now,

and the soft pulse of my heart

echoing the rhythm of the quiet earth.

And here,

in the fading light,

I am enough.

1.

Upon the edge of dusk, we drift away,

Where whispers weave the threads of night and day;

In love's soft glow, we find and lose our way—

A fleeting touch, too bright to stay.

2.

Through shattered light, we rise and fall,

In love's embrace, we lose it all;

Yet from the ashes, hearts recall—

The broken pieces still enthrall.

3.

A fleeting glance, a breath, a pause,

In silence, we reflect our flaws;

Yet love, though bruised, reclaims its cause—

The bloom beneath the winter’s claws.

4.

Amid the storm, we chase the calm,

Where broken hearts can find their balm;

In love's embrace, a quiet psalm—

A shattered peace, yet still a charm.

5.

In moonlit haze, we tread the shore,

Where time reveals what love is for;

Though tides recede, they’ll rise once more—

A whispered truth we can't ignore.

6.

In quiet winds, we hear the past,

A melody that couldn't last;

Yet love, though fading, holds us fast—

A gentle echo, deep and vast.

7.

Beneath the skies of endless gray,

We find the words we couldn't say;

For love, though lost, still lights the way—

A broken dawn that leads to day.

8.

Through tangled paths of joy and pain,

We walk the line where hope is slain;

Yet love, reborn, will rise again—

A bloom that flourishes in rain.

9.

Among the stars, we search for grace,

In fleeting moments, heartbeats race;

For love, once seen, can’t be erased—

A fleeting glance that leaves its trace.

10.

In shadows cast by fleeting sun,

We learn that love is never done;

Though journeys end, they’ve just begun—

A whispered promise still to come.

11.

Upon the breeze, a soft refrain,

Where joy and sorrow intertwine;

For love is found in loss and gain—

A fragile thread through time’s design.

12.

In fleeting dusk, our hearts collide,

Where broken dreams and hope reside;

Yet love endures the ebbing tide—

A quiet strength we cannot hide.

13.

Beneath the weight of skies untold,

We seek the warmth when nights grow cold;

For love, though fragile, we still hold—

A burning ember in the fold.

14.

Beneath the weight of silent stars, we breathe,

Where time, like shadows, slips through fingers frail;

In fleeting moments, truth and sorrow seethe—

For love is both the anchor and the sail.

15.

Of all we hold,

it's love we lose—

a fragile flame,

yet worth the bruise.

It was the hour when the sea wore its bruises,

Dark and rippled under a sky cracked with lightning.

And he stood, solitary, at the water's edge

Where the tide slipped in, whispering secrets

Like a sigh caught in a lover’s throat.

His gaze searched the yawning horizon

For a promise that never promised to hold him.

In the trembling silence of the restless waves,

Where the stars bled silver across the void,

He sketched out the shapes of vanished ships,

Lost in the deep like bones of giants.

The night wrapped around him like a memory—

But its hold was thin,

A presence without warmth.

Still, there was a spark beyond.

A glint, a ripple, a fading thread of light,

Hovering at the edges of his longing.

It called to him—

Not like a beacon of hope,

But a whisper trailing the fringes

Of his darkest fears.

And he moved.

Through the swell of unseen currents,

Through the pull of depths unknown and cold.

His hands, scarred and trembling, reached forward—

Each stroke an offering to the indifferent sea

That cradled him with cruel care.

He had traced this journey in his dreams,

Felt its ache etched into his heart.

Yet still, the light lingered.

Far off, the glimmer—

Always beyond the curve of his reach,

Dancing on the verge of surrender,

Drawing him with its fragile burn.

And he knew, as he swam through the heavy stillness,

That the light would never yield,

Nor he relent,

For they were bound in a quiet dance,

Locked in a tension that would never fade.

So he kept swimming,

A shadow beneath the shattered sky,

Eyes locked on the distant shimmer

That shone not for him,

But through him,

Both caught in the endless drift

Of a world that had forgotten dawn.

A spark that never sleeps,

burning in the marrow,

flickering in the night.

It dances on the edge

of yesterday's ashes,

whispering secrets to the wind,

chasing shadows,

but never catching them.

Each breath is a flame,

each heartbeat, a spark—

igniting dreams that won't die,

even when the world is cold.

We are embers,

fanned by the hands of time,

refusing to fade,

to be anything less than fire.

Forever glowing,

in a world of dim lights,

we blaze,

unafraid to consume,

unafraid to be consumed.

We are the fire,

that never burns out.

It was the hour when dusk shed its skin,

Rough as slate, under a bruised horizon.

And she stood, distant, within the darkness

Where shadows grew thick and soft,

Like breath heavy in a winter throat.

Her eyes wandered far, searching for the pulse

Of a light too faint to claim her.

In the deep folds of the blackened earth,

Where the wind hummed secrets against hollow bones,

She traced the outlines of forgotten paths,

Carved into the silence like phantom arteries.

The night curled tight around her like a lover—

But its touch was cold,

An embrace without memory.

Still, there was something ahead.

A glow, a flicker, a trembling thread of flame,

Pressed against the farthest edges of her sight.

It called to her—

Not like the beckoning of salvation,

But a whisper barely rising above the noise

Of her unlit hours.

And she walked.

Through the mazes spun of midnight blue,

Through the weight of shadows thick as wool.

Her feet, bare and raw, never faltered—

Each step an offering to the darkened world

That held her with relentless affection.

She had known this journey too well,

Felt its rhythms hum deep in her bones.

Yet still, the light hovered.

Afar, the glimmer—

Always just out of reach,

Dancing on the precipice of belief,

Drawing her in with its delicate pulse.

And she knew, as she moved through the quiet chaos,

That the light would never grow closer,

Nor she dimmer,

For they were twinned in a silent orbit,

Bound by the distance that would never break.

So she kept walking,

A silhouette etched in the night’s heavy hand,

Eyes fixed on the faint shimmer

That burned not for her,

But with her,

Both trapped in the slow spin

Of a world that had no need of dawn.

We stand on the edge of everything,

a horizon stretched wide,

where the road is endless,

and the night hangs heavy with stars.

There is no map, no compass

that can chart the course ahead,

only the pulse of the journey,

a rhythm that beats beneath our feet.

The earth shifts, whispers

in the language of wind and dust,

each step a dialogue with time,

a conversation with the unknown.

We walk, not in pursuit of arrival,

but in the presence of the path,

where every mile reveals itself

in the unfolding of moments,

a quiet unveiling of what is and what could be.

Here, we are travelers,

not lost, but wandering,

carrying the weight of possibility

in the soles of our shoes.

The road is long,

and the sky stretches out before us,

an endless expanse of hope

with a billion miles left to go.

We are not alone in this vastness,

but together in the solitude,

a collective breath of those

who dare to move forward,

to seek beyond the visible,

to embrace the distance

as both a challenge and a gift.

And so we walk,

not with the urgency of arrival,

but with the grace of the journey,

knowing that each step forward

is a step deeper into the unknown,

and that the road, though endless,

is where we find ourselves,

with a billion miles left to go.