Before the silence comes...

I had forgotten the ecstacy that writing gives me until this morning; I'm writing and writing about everything and nothing its like my thoughts are just rushing out...journaling is one thing but writing poetically is another OH-MY the happiness it brings me.

 Why have I buried it this long and why have I been depriving myself of that joy...

 I look in the mirror... 

a kaleidoscope of identities fracturing and merging, 

each reflection a universe unto itself. 

 Mother. Lover. Woman. Healer. 

Fragments of an identity too vast to be contained,

too fluid to be defined.

I am the ocean within a droplet, 

the universe breathing through fragile human skin. 

Who are we, really? 

Caught between what we are and what we might become,

suspended in the gossamer threads of possibility. 

Life—oh, life... not a promise, 

but a whispered challenge. 

One moment, we are here: vibrant, alive, electric. 

The next, 

an empty rocking chair creaks with memories, 

echoes of conversations never spoken, love letters written in silence. 

We are two souls... 

intertwined yet perpetually distant, 

bodies mapping each other like ancient cartographers, 

discovering continents of intimacy. 

Your hand on my skin: a sailor's first glimpse of unknown shores, 

my body—a landscape of uncharted tenderness. 

We speak in the languages of almost: Sighs. 

Glances. 

Touches. 

Words trapped between heartbeats. 

You, combing my hair as I drift in your arms to a world made only for us...

a neverland in a sense. 

Me, tracing the topography of your scars, each on telling a story of a life lived. 

Love—always hovering in the periphery, never bold enough to step into full light.  

Why are we so beautifully, 

tragically human? 

Afraid. 

Hesitant. 

Waiting. 

But life— life does not wait. 

It crashes. 

It transforms. 

It obliterates. 

In a breath, everything can become nothing. 

In a moment, nothing can become everything. 

And here we are: Vulnerable. Incomplete. Infinite.