Almost Light I’m not healed. I’m not whole. But some days, when I open the curtains, the room fills with light and I don’t flinch.
By Jane4 months ago in Poets
Almost-Father Sometimes you laugh, and for a moment, I see the man I always wished for— warm, open, someone I could lean against.
My Mother’s Eyes I began to notice the way her eyes dimmed, like candles burning out. She smiled less, laughed less,
The Girl Who Survived The small girl who waited by doors, by windows, by absent calls, is alive inside me still. She is not broken.
The Legacy You Chose Your father’s death was not your fault. But how you carried it— that was. You could have let grief
The Man Who Was Never Home Even when he was there, he wasn’t there. His body in the chair, his mind somewhere else.
The Last Turning I cannot stand here forever, with my feet buried in dust, watching his back as if it will turn, watching her hand as if it will loosen.
At Eighteen Now he comes again, words rehearsed, "I want to fix this." But the years have carved a quiet caution in me.
Fragile Infinity The kiss was not loud— not fireworks, not a storm— but an infinite fragile thing, a single pulse of eternity
A Father in Fragments The memories I have of him are not whole. They are fragments— a laugh one evening, a rare kind word,
Breath Held We stood closer than the world allowed, and yet it felt as if the universe had shrunk so that only we existed.
The Kiss It was not loud, not a firework, but a quiet implosion— two worlds folding into each other. The weight of your lips
