The collection
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.
I rise, not just to the day, but to the thought of you, carried in the morning breeze, in the song of the birds, in the fresh promise of the hours yet to unfold.
Shall I call myself a fool, for letting my heart lead where reason would not go, for wandering in a dream of you, where every step takes me deeper, into the gentle madness of love?