Morning mist drapes each blossom  
like a bride reluctant to wake.  
Petals fall in silent confession—  
memory’s hush in every drift.  

Roots hold secrets of laughter and tears,  
a debt of seasons owed to shadows.  
Soon, steel will bite bark and bloom  
and these ghosts will scatter on the wind.  




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You think I don’t still feel it? 
The echo never left. 
It’s in the light that spills 
across the floor like we used to—
chaotic, accidental, warm.

Yes, I heard every word 
you didn’t mean and the silence 
that swallowed what we couldn’t say.

Time doesn’t rewind, but it replays. 
Not in full—just flashes. 
Your laugh— like a match 
right before the burn.

I wish we’d argued soft...

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