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.

Brown Eyes

Pretty. Don't get enough credit.
Described as mud, dirt, or chocolates. Mundane.

But brown eyes are Gorgeous.
They aren't even brown. I feel it copper blend honey.
Like sunlight through a bottle of whiskey, color of the earth after it rains.
Hazelnuts. Gingerbread men. Chocolate brownies.
It makes me feel wrapped inside a blanket on the sofa having cocoa or tea or coffee.
Feels like Cinnamon, ginger, and cassia.
At times the dust from a horse's hooves.

I've heard people compare eyes to oceans.. galaxies...
But hers reminded me of all my favorite things.
I glance at the cup of coffee in my hands and look at her brown eyes.
I probably feel more awake with her.
It's so beautiful it blows my mind that people think it's common and boring.
Those brown eyes in the sun.
I had never noticed it at first,
but soon I noticed that 'brown' was not what her eye looked like.
It was like those golden rays melting into the eclipse.

Brown eyes are beautiful. They turn into a whole sunset of their own.