we are not meant to linger
in endless sunrises
nor chase infinity
through unyielding nights
our bodies crumble
our hours slip like sand
through impatient fingers
and yet
we live forever in the laughter
we leave behind
in the stories whispered
long after we’re gone
and in the way
someone remembers
the light we scattered
into the world
Tag Archives: thecreativechic
Happy Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving has a way of slowing life down just enough for us to notice the beauty in the little things, the laughter that drifts across the room, the comfort of a familiar dish, the quiet moments that remind us we’re not alone.
I’m especially grateful for the people who bring light into my life, those who check in, share a story, lend a hand, or simply show up in the small, steady ways that matter more than they know. Whether your table is full, your home is peaceful and quiet, or your celebration looks a bit different this year, I hope you feel surrounded by warmth, kindness, and a sense of belonging.
Thanksgiving isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence. It’s that soft moment when you look around and think, “This is enough. This is good.” And it truly is.
Wishing you a day filled with comfort, gratitude, and the simple joys that make your heart feel full.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Love,
Jennifer ❤️
Unpromised
we move through hours
that were never promised
soft tenants of a world
that keeps no names
each breath is an ember of light
slipped into our unready hands
dawn on loan, shadows rented
still we press our footsteps into dust
still we dare to lift our fragile flame
as if the dark were negotiable
as if borrowed time
were ours to spend
and if the sun won’t one day
ask for everything back
Once Aligned
they drifted across the dark
like two forgotten constellations
each carrying its own story
its own ache of light
once and only once
their orbits crossed
the stars leaned in to listen
and the sky held its breath
for a moment
their light touched
a map redrawn
a myth undone and made again
then time shifted
as it always does
and the distance between them
filled with silence and memory
and still
on certain nights
they search the horizon
for a shimmer
that feels like recognition
the faint impossible pulse
of what once aligned
and never will again
Untamed
daydreams drift
like sunlight through water
soft
weightless
untamed
they blur the edges of reality
painting what could be
in colors the waking world forgets
for a moment
we live between breaths
where hope feels effortless
and everything feels possible
Ordinary
daydreaming is the art
of slipping quietly
through the cracks of the ordinary
a soft surrender
against the ticking clock
the mind drifts
painting sunlight
on impossible skies
letting clouds speak
in forgotten languages
somewhere between
breath and blur
the world loosens its grip
and for a moment
everything that could be
is almost real enough to touch
Unwritten
I am the breath
between the lines
not the hand that writes
the poet reaches for me
but I slip through their grasp
a shadow they cannot name
a pulse that does not wait
I am the thought
before it forms
the silence after it fades
the pause that lingers
between what’s spoken
and what’s felt
a ripple in the air long after
the words have settled
I am the poem
unspoken
unwritten
and still
Seasons change
I miss you
in the quiet moments
no one else can see
folded into morning light
and woven through
the hush between words
the world spins
but I feel your absence
like a thread
tugging at the edges of my day
fragile yet constant
a quiet ache that never quite fades
I miss you in the way
the light hits the window
the way the air shifts
when the seasons change
and I am reminded
time moves but you still live
in the corners of my heart
Gravity
I counted the light-years
between your voice
and the silence that followed
even the constellations
turned their backs
as if the sky itself
could not bear witness
but a star collapsed in my chest
gravity is a stranger now
and I am learning how to stand
in a room made only of your absence
The waiting
an old tree stands
a cathedral of branches
draped in emerald lace
the sun is a hidden jewel
that bleeds through the moss
casting long shadows
across the empty pews
they wait patiently
rows of silent sentinels
for a story to begin
or perhaps one to end
beneath the silent blessing
of this ancient witness
a still pond reflects a beautiful sky
holding the breath of the moment
a promise hanging
in the quiet air
the grass glows
a whispered secret
of what’s to come
and what has already been
The Creative Chic 