And so, it begins or it ends.

The day I killed you from my mind,

You filled my time…accompanying my thoughts,

Then it became apparent your thoughts are elsewhere

But I stayed stuck,

Stuck on this feeling…

Not you

Just the illusion.

Never arrives with fanfare —
no drumbeat, no trumpet of change.
Sometimes, hope slips in
through the seams of a boring day.

It hides in the breath
between pause and reply,
before the next season
silently rewrites the air.

Hope never rushes.
It knows that time is not the enemy —
but the patient gardener
of what we dare to believe in again.

It waits relentlessly with you,
not for what once was,
but for what might still become
when the heart has found its home,
and the ache has folded
into wisdom.

So always have faith that the clock keeps ticking
not to remind you of what’s lost —
but to bring you closer to what finally will be.

Chasing this feeling.

It is permanently fleeting.

It is perpetually temporary.

The craving is unrelenting. It is constantly there.

It is what dreams are made of - if you have those dreams.

We passed each other over two decades,
not like strangers,
but like pages
from the same familiar torn book—
fluttering in opposite winds constantly.

You arrived
a season too early,
or maybe I bloomed too late.
We kept meeting in the middle
of almost everything, orbiting the same cities, same spaces.

There was a knowing—
 a catch,
like two lanterns
blinking once, always at the same time.
But then time,
time was not kind.

I had roads to conquer,
You had wounds to tend.
And though our shadows
brushed
as we moved through the same light,
we kept walking in different directions.

I always wonder
what would’ve grown
if I had lingered,
if I had turned towards you instead of away.
But even in passing,
you always left a warmth—
a reminder that you were worthy
but I couldn’t stay.
I just couldn’t see us in the same place.

Leading the Legacy

In the shadow of your guiding presence,

A strong legacy of optimism,

An attitude of forever abundance,

With your gentle laugh but stern wisdom,

You shaped our world and brought our future.

Now you’ve passed, the torch to me,

To lead with conviction and ample abundance,

The values of humility you instilled so deeply,

In my heart, forever keep.

Each decision, each step I take,

It is for the legacy, for your sake.

With honor, truth, and steadfast grace,

I strive to lead, to hold your place.

In moments of doubt, I feel your presence,

Assuring me,

Your pride, I seek - relentlessly

As I walk this path you paved,

With courage and unrelenting hope engraved,

Your spirit lives within my soul,

Your legacy is my guiding goal.

For in my heart, you’ll always be,

A beacon of kindness,

In the heavy legacy that I had no choice but to lead,

Your pride is what I forever seek.

Time, a consistent silent thief,
A ghost that dances on nostalgia,
It slips between our routine sighs,
And leaves its shadow in our eyes.

The moon remembers every glance,
In all its phases like a slow dance,
Yet even stars must fade and die,
And roses bow their heads and cry.

You glanced at me and the world stood still,
A trembling hush upon a upward hill.
But clocks resumed, and large shadows grew,
Their ever long lament between us two.

Melancholy wears your name,
Etched in hours I cannot ever, ever tame.
The catchy song is in tones of dusk and rain,
A song of longing sneakily dressed in pain.

Still, I would trade the light of day
To hear your heartbeat fade away —
Not into silence, but into sweet rhyme,
Where love always survives the end of time.

So love me now, and love me slow,
Before the heavy winds of winter blow.
For though the night may claim our fragile skin,
I always let time fall helpless within.

No rushing just to race for the sake of it,
but there’s this space, this certain place—
a very specific space only you can occupy,
a physical space where you finally belong.

Longing for quiet contentment,
a voice that knows just when to stay,
a kind of laugh that folds and bends
around the edges of an ordinary day—
and complements mine.

In between the fairy tale and the grandiose forever,
there is this place where you simply belong
with your person.

They say it comes when least you seek,
but that’s when you become the most hardened.
Still—
hope exists, in ache,
in always half a song.

Building is not the same as dreaming,
just like a match
is not the same as the flame.

To walk beside,
to share ambitions,
to sleep well.

Be open, ready, real, and true—
never chase to fill a greed,
but wait, softly.

It didn’t come when I wished it—

It didn’t come when I called it,
the stars couldn’t align in time,
the miles between us felt unkind and unfair.

It came quietly, in between time zones,
in voice notes at dusk and dawn,
in the way your voice softened me.

We didn’t begin in the usual way—
no coffee dates or sudden glances—
just words stretching across oceans,
and hearts adjusting to absence.

You arrived not too early,
to catch me not ready,

I pushed you too early,

Then you were too late.

You came when I had learned
to sit inside silence without folding,
when longing no longer ached.

And still, we are bonded
by something sweeter than time—
the possibility of us,
through months of maybe,
through maps that never aligned.

They say timing is everything,
but I think it’s the way you stayed—
despite the delay, despite the distance—
that made this connection feel
exactly on time.

I wake with to-do lists,
a dawn already overdue.
The coffee cools,
the school lunch is packed—
my precious morning flies.
Time slips past, aloof, askew.

The clock is a petty thief;
it trims my day.
I lunge at quiet moments of peace,
cling to the fleeting seconds
that slip like threads through my grip.

“Every day is the rest of our lives.”
But what if the future comes too early,
omitting the past,
too keen to feel the present?

To breathe in hours,
feel the minutes,
and appreciate the seconds
with each sunset.

The sun is there,
as always promised,
and then—
it disappears.
Because forever
is not promised.

We met, once, almost.
It felt like a breath too late,
a glance kind-of misread,
a yes that came
just after my no.

We lived parallel lives—
your laughter trailing down streets
I would walk the next day and also laugh,
your voice echoing in rooms
I’d just left behind within hours.

Somewhere, a door
kept sliding shut
just as one opened—
like fate had a sense of humor
and timing
it never quite mastered for us.

We had the same taste in music,
knew the same songs, read the same lines,
loved the same cities
but never at the same time.
I left as you arrived,
chasing me but never reaching me.

There were versions of us I obsessed on,
we were perfect, and I know—
in some softer universe
where we could get on the same train,
and if timing was kind we would have had a chance.

But in this one story,
we were two sylos,
told in syncopation—
rhythms off by a beat,
hearts misfiring
at the edge of maybe, maybe.

Still, sometimes I recant the echo
of what could have been—
not as a wound,
but as a whisper
that sometimes
love exists
in the almosts too, almost.

I miss you,
but you’re right here.
I miss who you sold me you could be
I miss that future you talked about,

My eyes still find you,
but they don’t see.
My hands still move,
but not toward you.
And your words—
they land like dust
on spaces we no longer inhabit.

You smile,
but it's practiced.
You stay,
but not truly because you know I’m gone.
And I sit beside the ghost
of what we used to be,
what we promised each other, speaking to the silence
that now wears our union.

The loneliest kind of missing—
not when someone’s gone forever,
but when they're fading
right in front of you,
unable to capture their potential, like ink in rain,
like stars at dawn.

I continue to reach for you, the version of you I want,
in invisible ways—
in pauses,
in half-laughed jokes.

But you're already on the other side
of something I can’t comprehend,
leaving me
with the strange ache
of missing someone who's here
and is yet to leave.