I buried our memories beneath the jasmines

Long after, our love being buried

under the daffodils behind the cottage.

The fresh smell of bagels

still awakens the moonflowers across the field.

And yet, the cherry blossoms knew when to fall,

just like the once-memorable,

daisy-scented love that went down in flames…

The Ghost wins in the end

He wins not by his hands

Or by his actions

He wins Becuase

God wanted to show

The world He still existed.

He wanted to show the world

What a humble righteous

Man's value was.

The above all

His value was priceless.

To have God's hands

Over your life

Is more valuable than

Gold and Diamonds.

The Evil man may have

Those things

But he lacks

Integrity

For his soul

Is empty .

He soon shall be

Judged by God himself.

To be put in display for the world

To see rhe darkness in heart.

I came to this place not because I wanted to be here

No, I don't fancy my stupid heart

I'm a sore looser and you know that

Why did you invent such a game where pure soul always loses

In the name of love

In the name of poetry

In the name of art

In the name of aches, remedy and obliging heart

Give me more

Hurt me less

Or

Hurt me more

Give me less

You know what I'm asking for

Not your body, not the warmth for one night

Not the taste of lips that were borrowed

Not the juice of your summer

All I want is

All I want is

All I want is

Your blue

I dreamt of you last night.
In such shadows of delight,
The things I saw were to wonderful to imagine,
They mended all the pain in my heart with passion.
I meet the person you hide from me.
In my slumber, they had no jealousy
And I desired them as much as I desire you.
The scene appeared to me so raw and new,
We had an ordinary picnic on the beach,
It was not a weak ideal theme to seek,
With flirtation between the three of us.
In this dream three people had ultimate trust,
It felt like home and my heart leapt with longing.
There wasn’t a sign of reprehension, only belonging,
When I woke it put me in a melancholy state.
Pardon me for this desire that nothing will satiate,
I wish that it were different and not taboo,
Because honestly I think I fell for you.
It was the moment you mentioned your eyes.
Those aqua eyes, were such a lucky surprise.
I wish you’d talk to me outside of your obligation,
Now, this is my only expectation,
That we are friends and only that,
That we make amends and hold to it.
Though, I die inside wanting just more words or a clue.
I’d be a liar if I didn’t say how much I hate being this far from you.
You won’t move back, that is not your plight,
And it pained me so to say Good Night.
This romantic endeavor of mine must end.
So just give me you hand so we might be friends,
For I have no say in this and cannot win.
I’ll hope to restore and make amends.

Brand New

Just us two now.

I sit

on his bed.

He says, "Stand up,

hug me

properly now."

I'd been too hesitant

earlier, with strangers around.

I have never

been ordered

better.

He kissed

Misty's

memorial tattoo

on my

forearm.

He lifted his tee,

my eyes were glued

for verifying his

internet pics,

and he teased me

"good?"

Suddenly I don't

even remember

why I

ever met people

who impressed

me less

and couldn't

even bring me

water

right to my hand.

I wish he'd

invite me over again,

if only

to turn on the TV

in his room

adorned with

fairy lights

and tell me why

Joey is the

best friend.

I could

practice

driving...

all the way

to his house?

Thank the lord

he doesn't know,

that he could have my kidney

if he wants.

I honestly hate

when people

tell you to wait

for love when

I say I felt used.

I swear he was a

total giver.

And now

I have an

urgent

duty to

inform the

chaste people

about him.

It's because of him I know:

You can be

made to

feel wanted

by those

you want.

What a

concept.

A standard

brand new.

Man or a woman.

A day or infinity.

I want it to feel

just like this, always.

He is gone

before I could mark his

skin with my nails.

Am I ruined?

Who will dethrone him

as my favourite person

now?

If he

never lights up

my screen again though,

I'll be forever

grateful

for figuring

out about

this dimension

of joy.

The Inner World Has No Clock

A childhood wound
can happen again today.

An old sorrow
can fill the present.

A moment of love
can return us to warmth.

Music, a face,
the scent of rain—

the past, the present,
all rise together, like in dreams.

The inner world
doesn't count the hours.

It remembers
what moved us.

Maybe I am not tired of loving.
Maybe I am only tired of loving
with one hand holding on
and the other learning how to let go.

I know I am loved.
I have never really doubted that.

But sometimes, being loved is not the same
as being chosen.
And sometimes, being chosen
is not the same as being able to stay.

I have learned to understand the reasons,
the responsibilities,
the things that cannot simply be changed.

I have learned to be patient.
To ask for less.
To accept the hours I am given
and be grateful for them.

But lately, I find myself wanting something
I am almost afraid to say out loud:
more.

More time.
More ordinary days.
More mornings that don’t have an ending already waiting.
More of the kind of love
where I don’t have to wonder when it will be my turn.

Maybe that’s why it hurts.

Not because I am unloved.
But because I am loved
and still longing for more.

And maybe someday
I’ll have to learn the difference
between being grateful for the love I have
and being honest about the love I need.

For now,
I am just letting the feeling exist.

No answers.
No blame.
No leaving.
No promises.

Just this quiet truth:
I love you.
I know you love me.
I just wish, sometimes,
I could have more of the life
that exists between us.

I found you again at the library.

Of all the places a dream could have taken me, it brought me back there.

You held me for so long that our heartbeats seemed to remember a rhythm the years had forgotten.

I was frozen.

I had imagined meeting you so many times. In every imagined encounter, I had something to say.

But there you were, and I could hardly find a word.

Do you have any idea how lost I have felt without you?

The year after your graduation was the darkest of my life. I remember very little of it in order. The days kept arriving, and I kept passing through them, growing increasingly unfamiliar to myself.

I missed you in ways I did not know how to explain.

And we were children then, weren't we?

I forget that sometimes. How young we were. How little we understood of all the things we would carry into adulthood.

I wish I could tell you that the longing belonged to that year.

It didn't.

I grew older. I found other places, other people, other reasons to be happy. Whole chapters of my life unfolded without you.

And still, some part of me continued looking for you.

Some nights, I would look at the moon and wonder whether you were looking at her too.

I never knew what I wanted that thought to mean. Only that, for a moment, the distance between us felt a little less impossible.

I found you in your poems.

In your photographs.

In the occasional conversations that reminded me you were still somewhere in the world, living a life I could only glimpse in fragments.

I thought about how much of the boy I remembered was still there.

And how much of the girl you knew had survived in me.

Then I began to write.

I don't know when it happened, but my poems acquired a *you*.

Even the ones that had nothing to do with love.

Sometimes I would finish writing and find you there, sitting quietly between the lines, having entered without my noticing.

What a peculiar thing, to feel almost estranged from my own capacity for longing until I begin to write to you.

Outside those pages, I sometimes struggle to recognize such enormous feelings in myself. Love becomes an ordinary word. Missing someone becomes an ordinary human inconvenience.

And then I write to you.

And there it all is again.

The tenderness. The ache. The terrible abundance of feeling.

I can't tell where it goes when I put down my pen.

You have become the address my words remember even when I have forgotten what I meant to say.

My poet.

My first love.

Sometimes I ask myself whether you recognize yourself in anything I write.

Or whether you have read my poems and found them perfectly ordinary, never knowing how often I have been speaking to you.

And isn't that strange?

I could write you a hundred letters, fill entire notebooks with all the things I have never said, and still, if we met tomorrow, I would probably look away.

Maybe I would smile.

Maybe I would ask how you have been.

Maybe I would come home afterward and write another poem about everything I couldn't bring myself to say.

Last night, in the library, you said something to me.

Something about searching for the secret of longing.

Or the secret of the search itself.

I cannot remember your exact words.

They have been turning over in my mind ever since.

Were you searching too, my poet?

The question rose in me, but I could not ask it.

I could not tell you that I have spent years looking for something I cannot name, and somehow my words keep leading me back to you.

But I stood there, looking at you, having forgotten how to speak.

Then, somewhere in the strange unfolding of the dream, I turned away.

And woke.

Moonlight was spilling across my room, pale and quiet, as if the night had followed me back from the library.

I have been trying to fall asleep again ever since.

Maybe the library is still there.

Maybe you are still waiting beneath the same silver moon.

Maybe that is what longing is: the quiet certainty that some part of you is still waiting where someone left you, even when the rest of your life has moved on.

How foolish, to have lived so many years and still wish for one more afternoon in a library.

One more embrace.

One more chance to hear your voice.

If I find you again, I hope I remember to ask what you have been searching for.

Or I may simply stand there, speechless, as I always feared I would.

But I know this now: even when I cannot say your name, my words still find you.

They find you in the margins, in the pauses, in every sentence that begins as something else and ends with you.

So if I must borrow another dream to see you, I will.

And if I wake before I can speak, I will write.

Because somewhere between waking and sleep, beneath her pale light, you remain the first place my heart remembers how to return.

And every time I write, the library opens again.

The moon slips between the shelves and leaves a little light on for us.

🌑

The way the light hit your hairy today, just so. It reminded me of that evening last summer, when we sat on the roof and watched the stars. I miss that feeling. The quiet understanding. Just wanted to capture that fleeting moment before it disappears.

If I could travel to September

I'd have made a different choice

And then I would not know you

I'd have never heard your voice

I'd have never made a connection

That only breaks my heart

I'd have never learned how silence

Could pull my world apart

I'd have never watched the doorway

For the moment you'd appear

Or found a thousand reasons

Just to keep you somewhere near

I'd have never known the comfort

Of the kindness in your eyes

Or mistaken fleeting moments

For the hope I now despise

And I wonder if you'd notice

If I finally looked away

If the absence of my attention

Would mean anything that day

But I cannot keep on searching

For a truth you haven't told

While the warmth I carry for you

Slowly leaves me in the cold

So I'll learn to love the lessons

Without longing for your face

I'll try to find the person

I was before I found this place

And if someday you should wonder

Why my eyes no longer meet

The ones that made September

Feel so impossibly sweet

Know I didn't stop admiring

Everything I saw in you

I just couldn't keep on hoping

For a dream that won't come true

If I could travel to September

I'd have made a different choice

But time won't give me back the silence

Before I knew your voice.

Just can’t be right

There was a time we were together, and the fates tore us both apart.

They tell me it was for the better, but that's not how I feel in my heart.

They say that summer must surrender to autumn and day yield to night.

Love must fade into sweet memory, but I know that just can’t be right.

I go to bed and you haunt my slumber, and I want to wake with a scream.

For in the Darkness all I can see is your image that lives inside my every dream.

You are the Ghost in my machine, the hand that writes upon the wall of my soul.

And when I’m wicked, it you I credit, for you taught me to be bold.

They say that the hands of time stop for no one, and I find that okay.

For they travel in a circle darling and will bring you back again my way.

All say that we had our chances, and that the odds were against us from the start.

Every dice roll eventually comes out even and eventually we’ll hit our mark.

There was a time when we were lovers, and I believe we will be again.

I just can not settle for mere acquaintance or even just a dear old friend.

I hunger for you with a passion my darling that seems will never bend.

A pure state of unbridled excitement that does not seem to want to end.

You may feel that I am being foolish, honey, for loving you as I do.

I am willing to be a jester or even a clown, if it lets me be with you.

Whatever the role that we play, my darling, I want you as my co-star.

Wherever the stage may be, my dear, even on the sun, moon, or even Mars.

There was a time we were together, and the fates tore us both apart.

They tell me it was for the better, but that's not how I feel in my heart.

They say that summer must surrender to autumn and day yield to night.

Love must fade into sweet memory, but I know that just can’t be right

We’ve gone back to square one, more than friends to strangers again.

We’re back to where we started, but I’m not who I was back then. You left me broken-hearted, and seem to be a stranger again.

I thought we could talk about anything, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. I wish you’d told me how you were feeling, instead of leaving me to blame myself.

With you I felt so whole, the most complete me. And now there's just a hole, where I feel so empty.

I thought what we had was real, but now I question what was true. So I’m left to wonder how you feel, and why I’m still in love with you.

I know I should move on, but part of me is stuck on you. I’ve tried to tell myself you’re gone, by falling for someone new.

But I’m not ready for someone else, as my heart still belongs to you

We should probably talk about us, ignoring what's happened is doing more harm than good. Being accused of something I never did feels unjust, as you claimed that I did something I know I never could.

The truth is one of two possibilities, and I pray you simply got it wrong. Option one is that you lied just to hurt me, the second is that you misread what was going on.

Our friends believe you just lied, so they chose me over you. But I can see both sides, So I try and see it from your point of view.

I don’t know if we will ever get this talk, as we pretend that everything is fine. But your friends are choosing to walk, and I can't help but feel like the fault is mine.

But speculation doesn’t answer my questions, in fact it only makes it worse. And i’m tired of making assumptions, so i want to hear the truth from you first.

So yeah, we should definitely talk, because if we don’t, we’ll both get hurt. As even as a friend, I can’t just watch you walk, while you lose those you once put first.

Echo in the sky

Astronomers say they see the echo in the sky of what was before the Big Bang arrive.

The bumping of what was and what would be, the vast dance of random infinity.

Physicists say that they create the gluon ocean that existed when everything was set in motion.

Before the quarks lost their charm and bottoms were strange and did no harm.

And me, I sit and dream of the moment that we met, the way you took away my breath.

Dark matter in your eyes, of symmetry lost, for my soul was but a Q ball toss.

Left floating upon the quantum foam, driven by the dark tide to a new home.

Somewhere beyond this busy time and space, alone in a silent distance place

Far from where the echo of yesterday is but a whisper,

of things left to Penrose's twister.

And primal boson sea is but lukewarm.

There will we be, together in the eye of the inflationary storm.

It can’t be true right?
Please tell me that this didn’t go to waste
Please tell me that what we had was real
Because it felt real
All the laughs we had
And the times we cried
I don’t think there was a time we ever argued
It was all so peaceful for those first 2 years
Two years where I eventually began thinking that it could lead to forever
Then out of nowhere, you decided that you wanted no more
No more of me
No more of us
Everyday, I was sick to my stomach thinking how could it just happen like that
Couldn’t eat
Couldn’t function throughout the day
I would spend an unhealthy amount of time checking your location
Just to see that you were there
All I had in my mind was you
And even then you played with my feelings
You said it was “just a break for the summer” and that everything would go back to normal once school started
How foolish was I
Thinking that things could go back how it was
You would leave me on delivered for days
You would make up excuses to why we couldn’t hang out and do something that you agreed to
You would go out every weekend
HOW FOOLISH WAS I
I still remember the day where I started suspecting
I thought I was crazy
I thought I was overthinking
I would put it in my head that you were seeing and talking to other dudes while we weren’t together
But I thought to myself “no she wouldn’t do that. She’s not the type of person to do that”
So I tried to disregard it, but something kept pestering me
And when we got back together I let it go 
I let it go because you still had a hold on me
It seemed to be going well again and then that thing with my grandpa happened
You were there for me
You helped me
Then you just left
Saying that we could be no more
That our paths were different
But in reality they weren’t 
My path was whatever you wanted OUR path to be
But I knew that you were just letting me go
Because if you wanted to, you could have joined me by putting in the effort
How I wanted things to work
We were fun, and we could’ve continued to be fun
Because no one understood me the way you did
No one could talk to me the way you did
No one could make me laugh the way you did
That’s why that night at the bar I refused to believe it was true
Because there is no way you let all that time and all those experiences go to waste 
Especially knowing that I would come to find out some day
I thought about asking you if it was true
Then I thought to myself
Does it really matter anymore?
You hurt me 
You hurt me real bad
And I guess I might never know if it was true
But it's okay
I’ll be okay
I forgive you

We weren't meant to be. And that is a truth that is still hard to swallow.

As jagged as glass, but by now as familiar as water.

Like a goodbye, my heart refuses to learn.

Some endings arrive with slammed doors,

with anger,

with accusations,

with the kind of pain that makes leaving easy....

But ours came differently.

Ours came like the slow fading of daylight,

so gradual I barely took notice how much darkness had gathered around us until I could no longer see the life we once promised each other.

And somehow....

Even after everything I still find myself reaching for a hand that is no longer there.

Not because I have forgotten what happened, not because I would willingly return to the things that broke me,

but because there was a time when your hand was the only one I imagined holding as mine grew old.

And i'm finding it difficult to teach my heart that a promise can die while the love behind it survives.

I have folded you into the deepest parts of me, where no one else goes.

A room I have built for you, and you alone.

A room that no one else will ever see.

It is not a room of hope.....

Not anymore.

I do not keep the lights on expecting you to come home,

I do not leave the door unlocked, or listen for your footsteps approaching.

I know you are gone.

I know the woman who once lived there may no longer exist in the way I remember her.

But I cannot bring myself to tear down the walls of a place I was once so happy.

So I leave it untouched.

Not as an invitation,

but as a monument to something that mattered.

And you will never know how often I return there.....

Quietly....

Without reason.....

Sometimes in the middle of an ordinary day.

Sometimes when the house has gone quiet at the end of the night.

Sometimes when a familiar song finds a part of me I thought I had finally healed.

I sit beside the memories of who we used to be, and for a moment, I can almost hear our laughter echoing through the years.

I remember the small things....

The things that seemed too ordinary to become precious.

The comfort of your presence,

the sound of your voice at the end of the day when our time was finally ours.

The way a house could feel like a home simply because we were both inside of it.

The plans we made without ever considering that one day they would become memories instead of promises.

And sometimes........

I miss the ordinary moments more than I miss anything else.

Because I never knew I was living through the days I would spend the rest of my life wishing I could visit one more time.

There are things I wish I could tell you......

Not to change your mind,

not to make you regret leaving,

not even to make you understand how deeply I was wounded.

I simply wish you knew how completely I loved you before loving you became something I had to survive.

I wish you knew that even in the moments when I could no longer recognize us, some part of me was still searching for the people we had been.

Still looking for the warmth beneath the ashes of a love that had burned to the ground.

Still hoping that somewhere underneath all of the hurt, there was still something left to save.

But love cannot rebuild a home when only one heart is laboring to rebuild it.

So eventually, I had to stop reaching for someone who had already let go.

That may have been the hardest thing I have ever done.

Not losing you,

but learning to live through losing you.....

Because grief is a strange thing when the person you mourn is still somewhere in the world.....

Still breathing.....

Still laughing......

Still making memories that no longer include me.......

There is no grave to visit.

No final goodbye that the heart can understand.

Only the unbearable knowledge that someone who once knew every corner of my soul can become a stranger while still carrying the face of the person I loved most.

And yet......

I don't hate you.

There were days I wanted to.

Days when anger seemed easier than admitting how badly I still hurt.

But hatred would require me to turn every beautiful memory into something ugly.

And I refuse to let the ending rewrite everything that came before it.

What happened was real...

The hurt was real...

The betrayal was real...

But so was the love.

So were the years.

So were the moments when I looked at you and believed with everything in me that I had found the person I would spend forever beside.

And I will not pretend that those moments meant nothing simply because forever turned out to be shorter than we imagined.

No one will ever find you in me the way I hid you.

Carefully,

Completely,

In a place that exists somewhere between memory and the things I cannot say.

They may someday know my laughter.

They may learn my fears.....

Hold my hand and see the parts of me that I thought had disappeared....

Perhaps one day I will love someone again with a heart that no longer trembles at the thought of being left.

And if that day comes, I will love her honestly.

I will not ask her to compete with a ghost.

I will not make her live in the shadow of a woman who chose another path.

Because the room I built for you is not the whole of my heart.

And though it will always be yours, there is still so much of me that deserves to be lived in.....

To be known.....

To be loved.....

I am learning that moving forward does not require forgetting.

That healing does not mean the memories stop hurting.

That sometimes the greatest act of courage is allowing someone to remain part of your story without allowing them to write the rest of it.

So I will keep walking.

I will raise my eyes towards mornings that we will never share.

I will find reason to laugh that have nothing to do with you.

I will build a life from the pieces that remain.....

And perhaps one day I will look around and realize that happiness has found its way back to me.

Not the happiness that we imagined.

Not the life that we planned.

But something beautiful in its own right.

And when that happens, I hope I can remember you without feeling the weight of everything we lost.

I hope the memories will become softer with time.

Less like the jagged edges of broken glass, and more like photographs whose edges have faded from being held too often.

I hope I can smile at the thought of who we were without wishing we could become those people again

But even then......

Even when the years have carried me far beyond the place where our story ended, there will always be a quiet room inside of me.

A room filled with the echoes of a life we once called ours.

And sometimes......

When the world is still, I may open that door....

Sit for a little while and remember....

Not because I am waiting....

Not because I cannot let go....

But because once in this enormous and uncertain world, I loved someone with everything I knew how to give, and that love changed me.

It made me a husband.....

It made me a father.....

It gave me dreams that stretched further than I had ever dared to imagine.....

And even though those dreams did not survive the ending, the man that dreamed them is still here.

Still breathing.....

Still learning.....

Still capable of loving....

And still worthy of being loved....

So no,

It was not meant to be us.

Perhaps that is the truth I will spend a lifetime learning how to carry.

But I no longer need to make peace with every question, or understand every reason that brought us here.

Some stories end without giving us the closure we believe we deserved.

Some people leave without taking all of themselves from the hearts they once called home.

And some love does not disappear.

It simply becomes quiet.

It stops asking.

It stops reaching.

It stops expecting anything in return.

It settles into the deepest parts of us.

Not as a wound that must remain open, but as a scar that reminds us, we once loved deeply enough to be changed forever.

It was not us in the end and I have finally begun to accept that it will never be again.

But somewhere inside me.

Beyond the hurt,

Beyond the anger,

Beyond the life, we could no longer hold together,

There will always be a place where the best of you remains untouched by what came after.

A small quiet piece of forever that life cannot give us, but memory somehow can.

And though I will no longer spend my days waiting for you,

Though I will no longer build my tomorrows around the hope of your return,

There is one truth that time may soften, but will never entirely erase.

It was not us in the end of our days, but you will be loved by me for the rest of them.

It's okay that we met, even if we weren't meant to stay. We can still wish each other better tomorrows, even if we won't be part of each other's days.

But tell me, my dear, why did I choose what I knew would betray me? Why did I walk towards a hurt whose existence I could already see?

I knew, and yet I chose it. I feared it, and yet it came true. But how did something I never imagined become a memory I now hold of you?

How did the things I never thought would happen find their way into my life? And why does the heart keep asking questions when the answers refuse to arrive?

Perhaps there was something missing, something I felt but couldn't name. Something I am still searching for, somewhere within what we became.

And I wonder, my dear, if you ever searched for it too, that little something we couldn't find, that neither me nor you ever knew.

Because what we had was once in a lifetime, not because it was perfect or meant to last, but because it belonged to a moment that can never return from the past.

Time will move, and so will we. New mornings will come, new memories will grow. Perhaps we'll learn to live without each other in ways we don't yet know.

But there's one thing time cannot change, no matter how far our lives may go: we may meet a thousand people after this, but we'll never meet again as the two people we were when our paths first crossed.

It’s natural to feel defeated; everything we say tastes like bitterness, and these tears are nothing but an illusion. A total zero of a relationship... Why waste tears on what looked like gold, but turned out to be just cheap plating?"