Love Evaporated
When you’ve already let go on the inside. You just haven’t left yet.
When you’ve already let go on the inside. You just haven’t left yet.
A quiet morning commute where the sun hits just right, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.
When you’re in a rough stretch and joy shows up anyway; unbidden, unearned, and exactly on time.
Many of us carry wounds from childhood long into adulthood. This is for the version of you that still needs to hear it’s okay.
Life rarely follows a straight path. But the fire in you doesn’t go out just because the road turns dark.
My father’s words echoed for years before I understood what he meant and what it actually costs to become your own boss.
Sometimes all it takes is a glance upward. The city disappears, replaced by something much older and quieter.
Even the strongest bonds can dissolve quietly. Not with a fight, but with a slow fade neither person planned.
Time is both a measure and a mystery. This poem sits inside the kind of moment you wish you could hold still.
Not every cage is made of iron. Some are built from habit, fear, and the slow weight of other people’s expectations.