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We need to believe that love can last forever. In youth, we chase after it—aching for a quiet conviction we can carry in our chests like breath. And when we find it, even if we never say it aloud, we begin to build a life around it. One glance, one moment, becomes memory—etched deep, like a photograph tucked into the pocket of your favorite jeans. Precious. Always there. Only later do we learn how delicate “always” can be. How even the strongest threads fray, not all at once, but slowly—pulled by silences, by the weight of time, by all we meant to say and didn’t.

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Beautiful Together

You were beautiful together. But now the lines blur in your hand. You stare at the image and try to line it up with the words you once heard, the promises once made. But something’s shifted. Maybe everything has. And then come the questions—loud, insistent: What happened? When did it crack? How did we not see it? You speak, not to connect, but to hold your place in the story. Denial makes the memories louder. Meaning becomes urgent. You struggle to find the shape of what was good. And in that quiet fracture, you’re left holding the tenderness that has nowhere else to go.

If I Call You

Answers don’t come gently. Sometimes they tangle in rage, want, desperation. You reach for the other in the middle of the night. The scent, the image, the skin-memory—still hold the door open. You hope it will all come back and walk in. But confusion does. You speak, not to connect, but to keep something from vanishing. Every part of you remembers the thunder inside. Still haunted. We ask, reach out when we know we shouldn’t. Love or lust? You’re not calling for answers—you’re calling because your animal instincts have teeth. Your heart starves. Your mind drowns. You want a one moment of sheer— risking your reign, numbing your mind.

In Between

It doesn’t feel like falling anymore. You’re floating. Spinning? Somewhere between what was and what might be? The silence is louder here, but nothing feels quite real. You wait for clarity, but it doesn’t come whole—just shards of light. A chord you forgot you loved. A name in a dream. This is where you learn to sit with the not-knowing. It does not feel good, but it’s not killing you anymore. Somehow, cutting through the stillness, something answers: Love, take me away from here. Love, make it disappear. You’re reminded that you’re still sound. Still whole, even if cracked.

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Like a Watermark

We may never get back all the things we lost. But we still have dreams that stay with us—like a whisper stitched into the fabric of everything. The wreckage doesn’t erase the beginning. Or the learning. Or the one that was. And the flame, though changed, still flickers. Even in silence, you hum. What began as a love story became a reckoning, and the echo lingers across seasons, uninvited but known. But what fell apart gave you back to yourself. You sing—not to forget, but to remember fully. To stay alive. To carry the weight with grace, even with everything you once wanted still echoing in the distance—like a watermark.

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Heroes

Is this how the story ends? Or continues? With your feet on the ground, your heart still beating. The ache didn’t undo you—it changed your shape. But now you move with intention. No one needs you perfect. But if anyone needs you, they need you real. Braver. Kinder. Steadier. Someone who feels it all and still shows up. You remember what broke you, and you embrace it and carry it as proof. You remember the pain, the confussion, the silence, the void. And still—you kissed like nothing could fail. You’re not just surviving anymore. You’re choosing. You speak from the scar, not the wound. You’ll do whatever it takes.One day at a time, it might just be enough.

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