The nightingale loves the rose,
but its love is fragile...
The sky folds heavy like a broken wing
I chase the echoes of the songs we’d sing...
The cracks are showing faint but clear
Like whispers in a shattered mirror...
I compare our love to the rain
But not at all like a storm...
The memory of your laughter
devours the miles...
Your lips—
my shelter...
I dream of myself,
for that is where...
When you are full of feathers,
full of flight...
Relationships like pages, where most begin blank
And start at the first page of the book...
First Glance
Everything...
No one stands
for truth anymore...
The morning sighs in softest hue—
the sky has saved its gold for you...