Your Heart is a Balloon

Your heart is a balloon, 
floating on gentle winds, 
lifting with every smile, 
and drifting through the night. 

Fragile as a dream, 
it flutters in the breeze, 
but with one sharp prick, 
it may fall to its knees. 

Yet it floats, 
untouched by doubt or fear, 
finding new skies, 
new winds to carry it clear. 

It holds hope, strength, and love to spare
— unpredictable, precious, a burst of light in the air.
 

Brew him a love potion

In the quiet corners of the night,
I gather threads of candlelight,
A pinch of warmth from autumn's air,
And whispers soft as a prayer.
 
I pluck the stars from evening skies,
And weave them into secret ties,
With petals from a rose in bloom,
To fill his heart and light the room.
 
Touch of laughter, shy and true,
A trace of all the things we knew,
And honeyed words, both sweet and soft,
To lift him when his spirit's lost.
 
I stir with care, with gentle hands,
A potion born of time's demands—
Not magic spells, nor witch’s art,
But every beat of my own heart.
 
For love, I know, is not a brew,
But still, I’ll make this gift for you—
A sip of trust, a taste of grace,
To remind you of my warm embrace.
 
And when the world feels far and cold,
May this potion make you bold,
To know that, always, love is near,
In every whispered word you hear.
 
 

Endless Echoes

Loss fades, day by day,
like footprints on a shore,
washed gently by the tides of time.

Yet love—love lingers, unwavering,
a whisper in the wind, a warmth in the dark.

We fold our grief into quiet corners,
tucking it between laughter and light,
but love—love remains, unshaken,
woven into the fabric of who we are.

They say time heals, but love never needs healing.
It does not wane, it does not wither.

It stays, even when hands no longer hold,
even when voices become echoes in the air.

So, we let go of sorrow, piece by piece,
but love—love, we hold forever.