One

Gazing through the rain-streaked pane,
I drink in the vast, sprawling expanse.
Countless apartments rise like concrete hives,
Piercing the dark with a thousand flickering cells.


Each blinking dot is a hidden microcosm
A family, a universe, a private storm.
Behind those flashing lights, secrets pulse
Some drowning in debt, some soaring high,
Some cradling sorrow, others ready to die.


Yet who am I to measure their depths?
Reality is born behind the eye
Subjectivity crowns their world.
It is their canvas, their truth, their cage.
But tell me—amidst the chaos and the quiet,
Are they truly alive at the moment?


I am a vessel filled to the brim,
Yet I stand at the edge of this forgotten road, alone.
They said to harvest love within before it could be found,
And so I became my own sanctuary, my own sun.


I mastered the art of loving myself,
Yet no echoes return to this desolate path.
Am I still unworthy of an answering heart?
Must the self-sufficient always walk in twilight?
I am complete, yet entirely untouched.

I seek no flawless, mirrored twin;
Forced perfection only breeds repulsion.
We are jigsaw fragments distinct, jagged, unique
Never meant to dissolve into the other.


To fill the missing gaps is not surrender,
Nor is it a quiet descent into dependence.
It is an interlocking of independent shapes,
Where two solitary pieces become an entirely new horizon.


The final outcome slips beyond my grasp,
I cannot force the universe to yield.
Yet, beneath the surface, a quiet hope distills
A sacred vow backed by unwavering faith.


Which is well wished
By future me
To my present me
To be the future me


To understand or to be understood
Sometimes listening isn't enough
Sometimes stepping into their shoes isn't enough
Sometimes spending days with them isn’t enough
But they will constantly Cherish it

On this journey, I look at the path, not the finish line.
I stay in the moment, moving with the flow.
I let my subconscious take the wheel,
Creating tiny ripples in the quiet
The butterfly wings of my mind.
I do not need to force the future
I just let those small ripples grow into my dreams.

I sit in the dark, computing every permutation,
Analyzing patterns, pre-moving like a grandmaster,
Rationing out my secrets piece by piece.
If they have come this far, they will not judge
But if a monster shares its history,
Humanity loses its luster, and reality shifts.

Change is a choice, not an obligation.
Why manipulate the natural tide based on fear?
To alter the script is to spin a kaleidoscope,
A desperate gamble of fractured illusions,
Destined to fail unless obsession forces the hand.
I must stop playing god with the outcome.


Will they accept the ghost I left behind?
Or see my new skin as a clever lie?
Strangers embrace me because they lack the past,
Loving the book without reading the chapters before.
But if I hide the history of how I broke and rebuilt,

Will they call me a healer, or a master of disguise?
My mind builds a thousand bridges to failure,
Paralyzed by possibilities, terrified of being misread.
I only want to be seen for who I am today.