Instagram DMs

In the quiet of the inbox, a message appears,
but instead of warmth, it stings and deceives.
Words like daggers, aimed to wound,
trolling in DMs, leaving hearts marooned.

Behind the screen, emotions churn,
tears flow silently, while trolls taunt and spurn.
In a space meant for connection, they sow discord,
leaving scars unseen, hearts longing to be restored.

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Our love, like brewing coffee, began with patience.
A slow process, allowing flavors and emotions to meld.
In the quiet moments, it simmered, gaining depth.
Until it filled the cups of our hearts.

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In the olden days, one used to wait for pigeons.
Now one waits for tweets.
Love's changing feathers.

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Limited Edition
Chapters penned, proofread, then sent to print,
after nine months, the book is released.
Characters act as scripted by the hand,
perfect scenes, flaws, life's shifting sand.

Wins and losses paint life's varied hue,
until the last page turns, the end in view.
Breath, a limited edition script, each page a day,
use it wisely, for once spent, no replay.

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you're stuck on me




but I'm not gum

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we need not
always express
what's in our hearts,
even unspoken
words find
understanding,
weaving silent arts
(Captioned)

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the wife finds money in her husband's shirt pocket while doing laundry and returns it.
Husband-

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shared dreams that could not flourish

(Captioned)

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you're waiting for someone to come out of the bathroom, and the struggle becomes too real

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Waiting for Sunday be like

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