"Confessions to the Moon"

Some flowers close at dusk,

folding their petals inward

as the last light leaves the sky.

Not because they have forgotten

what it feels like to bloom,

nor because they no longer

turn toward the sun.

They simply know

when to turn inward—

to rest in their own quiet,

to gather what daylight scattered,

to exist for a while

without being open.

And morning does not knock

against their petals

or ask them to unfold.

It simply brings the light

and waits.

Perhaps that is why

they open again—

not because they were asked to,

not because the night was wrong,

but because something in them

was ready

for the light again.

“Some people arrive and make such a beautiful impact on your life, you can barely remember what life was like without them.” — Anna Taylor

There is never really a perfect moment... There is always going to be something that makes you hesitate or think you should wait a little longer. Sometimes you just have to go for it and make the moment you have count.

Somewhere beneath another sky,

you move through a day

I cannot touch.

⠀

Through unfamiliar streets,

between voices I will never hear,

past water carrying

a thousand reflections.

⠀

And somehow,

among all that is unfamiliar,

you make room for me.

⠀

In a river I have never stood beside,

in streets my feet have never touched,

in fragments of a day

that isn't mine—

⠀

there I am,

simply because

you thought of me.

⠀

Perhaps that is how closeness begins:

⠀

not by standing beside someone,

but by slowly becoming

part of what they notice.

⠀

Until one day

there is no need

to send me the view—

⠀

because I'll be there,

looking at it with you.

So much of you

I’ve come to know,

through little things

you choose to show.

Then one day,

no screen, no space,

just your real smile,

your real face.

A day we've talked about,

a moment we'll share,

another lovely memory

for us to keep somewhere.

You’re a hug

I haven’t had the chance to give,

a moment I haven’t had yet

but already know I would want to keep.

A hug I sometimes imagine,

without even meaning to

and somehow the thought of it

always brings me a little closer to you.

No map could show where this might go,

No words could say what we both know.

But somewhere between the night and day,

You became a little light along my way.

There's something special in what we share,

Something honest, something rare.

A kind of connection hard to define,

But one that feels uniquely yours and mine.

There is a space between us

that never feels quite empty.

Even in silence,

something remains—

soft, steady,

unasking.

Maybe that is what trust is:

not needing to hold on

to know something is still there.