“Just a Simple Text”

“Just a Simple Text”

She lives a life of withered passion,
a love that slowly fades.
“Just a simple text,” she whispers,
“to remind me that you still care,
that you haven’t changed,
that I still have a place in your heart.”

She yearns for reconnection,
for the closeness they once shared.
He watches her from afar,
realizing his heart has learned
to survive without her.
Not because he does not care,
but because caring has taken another form.

Both go their separate ways,
surrendering the future
they once imagined.
Dreams deferred.
Promises undone.
A love that proved temporary.

“She Drew His Smile in the Sand”

My second new poem:

“She Drew His Smile in the Sand”

She left the love she once shared with him
to memory’s keeping.
The silence he carried away
became the language of her grief.
It echoed through the chambers of her soul.
It grew louder than every word
they had spoken.
A love buried beneath the sand.
A lament without an ending.
Even sunlight could not awaken his smile.

Everywhere her feet touch,
she remembers
the scent of his body.
For one last time,
she gazes upon
his soft and gentle face
in a photograph
they once took together.

Upon the beach sand,
she draws the outline of his smile,
so she can see him
once again.
She sheds a tear,
one that becomes
a moment of heartache,
pain,
sadness,
memory blues.

She cries for his return,
for the pain
is too much to bear.
She searches for him
in all the hard places,
for her soul
is colored by lament.

Without hope,
without a guide,
her search lingers…
endures…
unfinished.

“The House Where Sadness Lives”

Below is a new poem I wrote this morning:

“The House Where Sadness Lives”

When the sun goes down,
she enters the loneliness of the night,
where her fears awaken
and the cycle of grief continues.
Sorrow has become her companion,
a permanent resident
she never invited.

Yet she carries a hope in secret:
Fragile.
Vulnerable.
Unmeasurable.

The sadness never leaves her home.
She is restless whenever the sun goes down to sleep.
She worries about losing the little things she has left.
Morning tears greet her when she wakes up.
Night tears never let go
when the one she loves is not around.

She had hope for a better tomorrow,
a life where love would stay
and fear would disappear.
Yet she carried dreams quietly in her heart,
even when the walls around her
whispered despair.

She waits…
She contemplates…
She carries the weight of tomorrow,
the uncertainty of life,
the burden of survival.

Every day, she accepts the tears before dawn,
afraid of losing the little things that remain.

But she still hopes…

With trembling hands,
holding on to memories
she refuses to let go.

Yet somewhere beneath
the weight of her sorrow,
a small flame of courage
still remains.

“Sanctuary from the Storm”

“Sanctuary from the Storm”

Love will choose you again.
It searched for you in all the wrong places,
where lovers lost hope, passion, and direction,
but in me it found a resting place for you.

I have seen your heart tremble.
The wind stole passion,
buried attraction in the sand of forgetting.
You walked away.
Love weakened.

Falling in love does not have to be frightening.
You do not have to hide what your heart desires,
run from what is gentle,
a sanctuary for your love.

I am not thunder,
but a rainy season to calm your storm.
I am right here,
ready to catch you
whenever your heart needs lifting.

I am that sanctuary
when the noise is too loud,
the wind too violent
for your peace.

But before you go too far,
tell me, darling,
what about the promises you made?
Were they only words,
or did they carry the weight of us?

Will you silence your heart,
bury what we were,
pretend our memories did not bind us,
did not shelter us
from the storm of what they said about us?

They bind me still
to your morning smile,
to the quiet way you looked at me,
to your inner thoughts.

Loving you at a distance
was never my desire,
yet I whisper
so that I may love you still,
finding a pathway home.

I can love you like that.
Not loudly.
Not desperately.
But faithfully.

You do not have to leave again
searching for love in all the wrong places
when it already knows your name in me.

These hands will hold you.
This heart will protect you.

And if you grow tired of running,
if love frightens you again,
remember

Love will choose you.
And I will be here.

“The Space Between Goodbye and Return”

“The Space Between Goodbye and Return”

She uses her silence to thunder
a quiet storm signaling
she has surrendered their romance,
the deep passion
that once turned two separate smiles
into one shared gesture of love.

Her gentle turning away
says what silent words refuse:
he is no longer her desire,
her light in darkness.
He becomes the invisible ex,
folded away softly,
like a love note she no longer reads.

Yet her spirit is not at peace
with what her mind insists upon.
Her heart longs for him
like a deer searching for fresh water
to quiet its thirst.

Day by day, her calls grow fewer.
Her messages fade into absence.
Even her quiet watching from afar
becomes rare.
She reclaims emotional control
through distance,
a deliberate withdrawal
of her presence.

But in unguarded moments,
when pride loosens its grip
and longing quietly returns,
she misses him.
She imagines reconnecting—
heart to heart,
smile to smile,
soul to soul—
as they once were
before distance blurred their names.

His calm unsettles her.
His self-control confuses her.
He does not chase.
He does not beg for affection
as when he was lost
in the depth of his devotion,
nearly losing himself
in loving her.

Instead, he walks away in peace.

No fight.
No anger.
No resentment.

Only a return
to his confidence,
his self-worth:
to a love that still shines,
not loudly,
but steady
behind his smile.

And somewhere
in the quiet space
between goodbye and return,
they both remain.

“Suspended Moments”

“Suspended Moments”

My mind remembers those suspended moments we created,
those instances when we surrendered to become one,
the hours we lived inside each other’s dream
to stop time.

You said to me:
make love to me—
so I may embrace tenderness and gentleness,
so I may savor your kiss,
not just the climax of love,
I want our bodies to experience the passion of our soul,
the attention of our hearts,
as if we fill our senses
with a thousand flavors of love.

When we kiss, our lips fuse.
Our tongues hesitate,
silence speaks
as if time helds its breath
stretches of stillness and eternity
between passion and knowledge
before exploring the depths of each other,
and the dream of becoming one.

“Where Your Steps Meet My Eyes”

“Where Your Steps Meet My Eyes”

The way I look at you
when your feet begin moving toward me
is not a casual glance.
It’s as if time slows just enough
for my eyes to receive you fully.
I catch every movement,
every subtle gesture,
and somehow each one feels unforgettable.

My eyes meet your steps halfway,
as if there is a quiet understanding between them.
Each movement you make
arrives before you do.
Every turn you take feels inviting —
not loud, not forced,
just a gentle pull.

When you walk,
there’s a natural cadence to you,
a rhythm that doesn’t try,
yet commands attention.
A quiet confidence.
A steady grace.

You carry yourself in such beautiful alignment
that your whole body seems to move in agreement with itself,
nothing out of place,
nothing uncertain.
There’s harmony in your shape,
unity in your stride,
balance in every intentional step.

I find myself watching,
gently,
tenderly.
It is presence,
companionship,
unity.

My eyes lose control,
not just because you’re beautiful,
but because the way you move feels
meaningful,
resonant,
eternal.

And in that space
where your steps meet my eyes,
everything quiets,
everything aligns,
and I am fully present with you.

“Roses Remember the Vow”(A Poem for Valentines)

I wrote this poem for you and your valentine. Whether you share your life with someone special or not, you still can celebrate the beauty and goodness of love. Happy Valentine’s Day to you!💘

“Roses Remember the Vow”
(A Poem for Valentines)

Last night I dreamed
the moon leaned down and caressed our bodies,
while our eyes rested gently upon each other,
as if time itself stood still.

The river by the lake reached outward,
joining hands with nearby dancing birds,
and all of nature seemed to smile,
blessing the quiet miracle of us.

We watched the world move softly around us,
breathing the fragrance of two dozen roses
waving gently in the wind —
a reminder that this was the moment
our hearts first melted into one,
the moment our souls became inseparable
when we whispered, “I do.”

We laughed like lovers discovering a hidden treasure,
we danced as if the night itself played our first song,
and we remembered the first promise,
the first vow spoken in trembling joy,
and the kiss that sealed
our very first Valentine.

“The Man Who Lives in My Night”

“The Man Who Lives in My Night”

After he leaves her for another woman,
after he teaches her to believe
she is no longer worthy
of love,
of being chosen,
of being his first smile at dawn,
or the quiet echo before his morning thought.

She replaces him with pain,
an old companion,
someone who whispered her name in the dark.
It stays with her through the long nights,
faithful in ways he was not.
She does not trade it for sunlight.
Pain knows her address,
memorizing her phone number.

She learns to stand with the ache.
Not despising its qualities.
a familiar presence in quiet moments,
an inescapable force in her dreaming hours.
She learns to live with it,
learning new rhythms,
carving quiet spaces between the two.

He is the only one who did not leave.
She keeps the hurt like a vow.
not because it is holy,
but because it is familiar.
In her world,
he is the lover who stayed,
faithful as the ache,
her only inheritance of the night.

Every smile she borrows,
every drop of joy,
does not truly belong to her.
Temporary,
a gift borrowed from a daylight,
nor imagine another future.
She settles into the deep darkness,
not wishing for the light,
nor even the peace that follows the ache.

Her pain lives in the silence.
She carries its weight as if it were
her name,
her identity,
her inheritance,
and somehow,
it becomes her freedom,
folded inside the ache.

He is the man who lives in my night.

“Pain Is Not My Name”

“Pain Is Not My Name”

Pain has become her identity.
Yet hope remains beautiful,
even when misplaced,
even when it keeps old wounds breathing.

She gives meaning to her romantic pain,
turning heartbreak into a sacred story.

She does not date with her heart.
She bonds with her soul.
She carries her own pain
and the pain of the one who left
without a goodbye.

Still, she remains emotionally on call for him.
Her body misses attachment.
Her heart misses familiarity.
Yet she resists the truth:
he no longer chooses her.

She loved without limits,
without the boundaries romance requires.
She lingered in pain too long,
until she became the wounded lover,
until sorrow stared back from the mirror,
until depression began to feel like home.

But she will learn:
loving does not mean enduring.
Love does not require self-erasure.

Love can change form.
Love does not have to become a prison.
If love is not serving her healing,
if it is not feeding her soul,
she must release it.

She must choose freedom over memory,
emotional growth over attachment,
future over familiarity,
life over loss.