I hurry. I hammer beneath the ribs. I count the seconds like loose coins. I forget where the pause went. I skip — a rumor. I pound — a weather. I crowd the throat. I press like a stranger’s palm. I whisper alarm into the ears. I tap-morse: danger, perhaps, or
Love is not neat, it spills, it breaks, it shouts in storms and bends till aches. It’s tripping over words unsaid, and dancing through the tears we've shed. It’s tangled sheets and half-told truths, late-night drives and reckless youths. It’s “leave me” screamed in angry
I was there when the night grew heavy, when the world turned its back and walked away. I held you up with hands unshaking, though no one ever thought to stay. I listened when silence stretched too long, when your burdens spilled, and tears ran free. I never asked for
Crisp cold air, a gentle bite, rosy cheeks in morning light. Laughter rings, so pure and bright, as children chase with all their might. Scarves flung loose, boots stomping loud, joy erupts within the crowd. A mother sniffles, wipes her nose, watching where her young one goes. From school they
Beneath the hush of silver skies, the world grows still, Soft winds weave whispers through the meadow's gentle spill. A river hums in tender tones, both steady and slow, Cradling the soul in a calm only silence can know.
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