you are the only one
who knows how to unfold me
without tearing the pages
you find the places
I have kept carefully creased
the corners I tucked away
from everyone else
you learn me slowly
with fingertips that never rush
finding the language
beneath my silence
you know where I am soft
where I am guarded
where years have taught me
to close myself tightly
and somehow
with you
I don’t have to hide
between the lines
you unfold me
until there is nothing left
but the truth of me
in your hands
Still water
you hold them carefully
the way a library guardsÂ
its late-night quiet
iris pulled tight around a dark
unwritten center
I look
and the room tilts
there is a city under your lashes
wet asphalt reflecting traffic lightsÂ
that blinked out twenty plus years ago
there is a boy standing on a sea wall
looking down at his watch
that never leaves his wrist
learning how silence feelsÂ
when it fills a room
a million little ghosts
wearing the clothes you used to wear
living in the spaces between your blinks
I see the map of every turn you took
and the quiet side streetsÂ
you wanted to walk but didn’t
triumphs no one clapped for
a hard word held back
a morning you choseÂ
to pull the curtains open anyway
heartbreaks that never bled out loud
just turned to salt and settledÂ
at the bottom of your throat
you blink
and the light shifts
a chapter closesÂ
another page turnsÂ
over in the dark
you ask me what I’m looking at
and I want to tell you
I am standing at the edgeÂ
of an entire ocean
watching the tide bring in everything
you thought you had forgotten
Everything unsaid
there is a heavy geometry to silence
a physics of all the sentences
we swallowed to keep the peace
they settle in the marrow
dense as lead
turning quiet rooms
into glass jars
a whole geographyÂ
lives in the throat
unsaid apologies
the truth that arrivedÂ
five minutes too late
the sparksÂ
that could have lit the path
or burned it all down
we carry themÂ
through ordinary days
their anchor-weightÂ
tethered to our ribs
our lungs adaptingÂ
to the smaller room inside us
learning the art of moving forward
under a sky we built from silence
but how free we would be
if we let go of the unsaid
Everywhere you are
your atoms are the essence
of every scattered dandelion seed
I have ever blown into the wind
I want you alive
in every strange corner
of the world
in the warmth
that settles against my skin
on summer afternoons
in the gold
that spills across the grass
just before evening
in the tiny white parachutes
lifting from a dandelion
when I breathe against them
and watch them disappear
because maybe
they aren’t disappearing
maybe they’re carrying you
your atoms are everywhere I look
threaded through the flowers
sleeping beneath the soil
floating through the air
between my fingers
and maybe mine
are somewhere inside you too
maybe when you laugh
some part of me is already there
a molecule of my existence
moving through your lungs
becoming breath
becoming warmth
becoming you
I like thinking
that we’re not as separate
as we pretend to be
that the space between us
is only an illusion
made by distance
and skin
because everything is borrowed
from everything else
the stars gave us
the elements in our bones
the earth gave us
the minerals in our blood
the wind carries
pieces of flowers
from one field into another
and somehow
out of all the infinite ways
the universe
could have arranged itself
it made you
it made me
so I blow the dandelion
and watch its seeds rise
not as wishes
but as little pieces
of the same universe
that made you
Her favorite color is blue
her favorite color is blue
maybe because the sky
has always known
how to hold something beautiful
without ever asking it to stay
she looks up and there it is
that endless shade above her
the same blue that somehow
makes her think of him
and wonder
if he sees the same shade
maybe that is why
she loves the ocean too
not just for the way it moves
or how the waves
keep reaching the shore
even after being pulled away
but because
somewhere inside all that blue
she can still feel him
the ocean reminds her
that some things can be far away
and still feel close
blue lives in the little things now
the quiet of Saturday morning
the late night dreams
the confessions shared
in the moments
that seem so ordinary
and somehow in everything
he is the first person she thinks of
blue is the color of almost
almost touching
almost saying what they felt
almost closing the distance
and maybe that’s why
she never stopped loving it
because blue doesn’t remind her
of something she lost
it reminds her
of someone she loves
of the way certain colors
can carry certain feelings
of how one shade
can make an ordinary moment
feel a little more like him
so when someone asks
why blue is her favorite color
she smiles and says
i’ve always loved blue
and leaves out the part where
blue was never just a color
it was the sky
that made her think of him
the ocean that somehow
feels a little more beautiful
because it reminds her of him
the quiet color
that found its way into her heart
long before she realized why
and maybe that’s all blue has to be
a color she loves
a feeling she can’t quite explain
and a little reminder
of him
wherever she finds it
Endless poetry
your love does not fit
into neat stanzas
it refuses the cage
of a rigid rhyme scheme
it is the sudden
breathtaking metaphor
stumbled upon in the dark
the kind that makes the chest ache
with a quiet undeniable truth
you are the cadence
of a late-night thought
the deliberate pause
between heartbeats
where everything unsaid
finds its perfect resonant weight
I do not need
to count the syllables
of your laughter
or measure the meter
of your breath against mine
like the best lines ever written
you simply exist
raw
untamed
and beautifully alive
we are a living draft
written in the margins
of ordinary days
turning the mundane
into something sacred
no rules
no boundaries
just the effortless poetry
Read me
read me
the way a poem is written
without hurry
without trying to force beauty
where it already exists
learn the pauses
as carefully as the words
let silence have its own language
and let every touch arrive
like a line that knows
exactly where it belongs
leave pieces of yourself
between the verses
and I’ll leave pieces of myself
between the spaces
and when morning finds us
there will be no final stanza
only two hearts
still reading each other
as though love
was never meant to end
only to be written
again and again
New light
gold spills low
across the tide
where sea foam
catches the dying light
and turns to liquid embers
the sky
a canvas stretched thin
between twilight blue
and burning orange
brushed with wild
feathered clouds
at the edge of the world
the ocean lifts the sun
from its sleeping horizon
in a soft rushing whisper
it’s as if the morning itself
cannot help but remind
me of you
because everything beautiful
always does
Love remains
*Picture is my own*
I leave flowers on your grave
soft offerings for a silence
that never answers
their petals stir in the wind
as if they too are trying
to speak your name without breaking
I kneel beside
the earth that keeps you
wondering how something so vast
can fit inside a handful of memories
the flowers will wither
the seasons will turn
but grief has its own roots
growing deeper each time
I come here looking for you
in a place that can only
hold your bones
and never the light you left behind
and still
I bring them
not because you can see them
but because love has never learned
how to arrive empty handed
I tell myself that somewhere
beyond my understanding
you knew I was here
that every bloom
is another way of saying
I have not forgotten
one day my hands
will stop bringing flowers
but until then
they will keep blooming
where my heart still insists
you are only sleeping
Untold stories
I often wonder
in moments
of untold stories
waiting to be read
how many words
will need to be written
until we find our way
back together
how many pages
must the heart turn
before the ink dries
on the distance between us
and our story
begins again
how many chapters
must time quietly unfold
before your name
finds its way
back into mine
and how many endings
must we survive
before we understand
we were always
the beginning
The Creative Chic 