The collection

thefatpoet

  • Hopeless Romantic

    Hopeless Romantic

    Do not think I exaggerate. Love is exact. It measures the distance between two chairs, counts the seconds between one message and the next, knows precisely how much silence a heart can carry before it breaks like a plate dropped on a kitchen floor.

  • Coffee, Croissants and Quiet Mornings

    Coffee, Croissants and Quiet Mornings

    And here I stand, between house and horizon, between what England has been and what this morning is briefly willing to promise, content to witness, to make no speech grander than this simple fact: The light arrived. It found me ready.

    ,
  • Pause

    Pause

    When you were with me, you spoke more honestly, laughed more freely, as if you knew even then it wouldn’t last forever, loved more bravely, and believed, if only for a while, that tenderness could survive in this world.

    ,
  • Embers

    Embers

    Perhaps one evening, when the blue hour has fallen like a soft cloak over our shoulders, we will find ourselves in that quiet center, the sacred hinge between day and night where breath takes the shape of prayer.

    , ,
  • Crucible

    Crucible

    If you come my way, you do not choose me, you choose you, the you that has been calling from deep inside the dust, the you that has waited like a slow dawn unfurling behind the fog.

    ,
  • Rapids

    Rapids

    A man fights many things in his life, but the river inside him is not one to break with fists. You watch it. You learn the shape of its current. You drink your coffee and breathe.

    , ,
  • Obsession

    Obsession

    I cannot decide whether I am following you or being followed by the thought of you, but the distance between us shrinks and stretches like a corridor that refuses to stay one shape.

    ,
  • Beloved

    Beloved

    I am only a man learning to love you the way the world loves the seasons: completely, hopelessly, forever.

    ,
  • Lady of the Quiet Rain

    Lady of the Quiet Rain

    You are the serenity that travelers mistake for chance, the whisper a forest keeps in the folds of its leaves. There is a constellation tucked into your gaze, a patient flame, not burning, but glowing, like a truth that refuses to shout.

    ,