JOURNAL 4

There are nights when silence hums too loud,

when the heart remembers every vow,

and dreams drift close but not quite near,

like stars that shine yet disappear.

I carry warmth within my hands,

from fires I built in shifting sands.

Each flame, a memory half awake,

each tear, a truth I had to break.

Still, the dawn returns, soft and slow,

to paint my shadows gold and glow.

And though my voice may tremble low,

it learns again which way to go.

For love is not a fleeting breeze,

but roots that whisper through the leaves

a quiet strength, unseen, yet real,

the tender way that time can heal.