Vodka Cranberry

You meet someone

And somehow in the middle of their mess and yours, 

you know them…

The way their silence feels familiar.

The way their presence feels like a memory.

But life? 

Life doesn't bend for love.

It brings deadlines, wounds, distance, and just like that, you both become known strangers.

Not quite lovers.

Not quite nothing.

A connection too real to forget, but too mistimed to stay.

And what's left behind?

A life caught between two souls…

One that could've been something rare, if only time had been a little kinder.

You don't hate them.

You just carry them in moments- in music, in dreams, in the quiet spaces where love once asked for a chance…

but never got an answer.

Red Thread

They met at a time when love had no space to grow, when hearts were entangled elsewhere, and timing was the kind that only allowed passing glances, not permanence.

They didn't share holidays or promises.

What they had were stolen pauses between chaos, a lingering eye contact in a crowded room, a laugh remembered days later,

a moment that said everything without a single word.

He never asked her to rewrite her story.

She never asked him to burn his bridges.

Because some love is too rare to be caged.

Too sacred to be dragged through decisions.

They weren't a tragedy.

They weren't a betrayal.

They were a quiet knowing.

A bond that lived in the spaces between choices.

A love that didn't scream to be seen

It simply existed like 

A soft ache.

A familiar song you hear in someone else's car.

A "what if" that never really fades.

A love too tender to touch.

Too real to deny.

And too fragile to survive the weight of the world

Redwood

 

...you brought me right back to the night you took my kiss away from me. I took yours too…. then I lost you…

You opened my eyes to my passion, my love and I probably blew you away with the force of it.

Oh the silence of a noisy heart... but I’ll think of you everyday.

Terminal Lucidity

 “Idle hands are the devil’s playground.”

All I want in life, is for this pain to seem purposeful. There are wounds that never show on my body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds. 

a tourist attraction

The train kept rolling. 

She remained seated. 

He took the next stop.

The clock kept ticking.

The time kept passing. 

He appeared in her dream and asked softly, “How do you see me now?”

She hesitated, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “A known stranger” she whispered.  “A stranger my heart cries for. A stranger whose absence feels louder than his presence ever did. A stranger whose voice still echoes in the corners of my mind, haunting me like an unfinished song.” 

Her voice trembled, but she continued...

“A stranger I now spend my time with, through memories that refuse to fade, through silent conversations with the night, through every moment where I pretend I’m okay and that I’ve moved on but deep down, I know I never have.” 

Norman fucking Rockwell

She loved him at the wrong time… did he as well?

his heart was already spoken for, hers in shambles.

…and the world had labeled them as known strangers, 

but their souls knew better.

They didn't have late-night calls or anniversary dates.

They had brief encounters that stretched into lifetimes

…a shared song, a look across the room, a silence filled with everything they couldn't say.

He never asked her to stay.

She never asked him to choose.

Because some love is too sacred to ruin with reality.

So they carried each other quietly, like a hidden scar that didn't bleed, ….but never fully healed.

It wasn't betrayal.

It wasn't confusion.

It was love that found its home in the in-between.

A love too deep to let go.

But far too complicated to hold.