Way Home
your eyes are (tiny moons) pulling the tides
of my heart,
and your laugh is a comet
flashing across this canvas
of forgotten worlds.
Our talks linger in my mind,
woven with laughter and whispers,
the light things, the heavy things,
all falling into place
like they had always belonged there.
You have this way of understanding
without needing to speak,
a way of holding me
without a single touch.
Waking to the sound of rain on my window, the steady rhythm of drops against the glass, I stir, bone-tired but smiling, grateful for this gentle greeting from the world. The kind of morning where weariness feels like a badge earned, not a burden.
It boggles my mind,
how effortlessly he enters your space,
how your laughter fades,
just enough for me to notice.
You think I do not sense it,
the way your words twist
and reshape themselves around him,
like you are building a different world
when he is near,
one I cannot quite reach.
Sleep, my love,
for in our dreams,
the miles vanish,
and we find each other
where time has no power,
where love,
even in its longing,
is boundless.
Yet every day,
he takes what should be mine,
his presence invisible,
but felt in every word,
every glance,
and I am left here,
waiting in the silence
for the pieces of you
that he hasn’t yet claimed.
The pulse of my heart knows no direction but you,
it beats to the rhythm of your name,
each breath a promise
that there is no space, no time,
that can stretch wide enough
to keep me from you.
Forgive me for loving you so fiercely,
for binding myself to the image of you
that once danced in my dreams.
But know this:
you can wager on the stars,
bet on the turning of the heavens –
this heart will not open its door again.
No, not for you.
I feel its rage resonate with mine,
a shared tempest beneath my skin,
where the calm was never meant to stay.
It’s not the grand gestures I seek,
but the simple closeness,
the brush of lips that says more than words,
a stolen moment that belongs only to us.