Whimsical Forest Of Peace

to trace tomorrow in the curve of its call,

to be told that everything…somehow..meant something.

But fate did not answer.

Instead,

you found me…

the Crow of Despair.

No prophecy in my throat,

no future folded beneath my wings,

only the quiet ruin of what could have been,

and the weight of things that never found their way.

I do not deal in destiny.

I deal in endings that never felt finished,

in questions that rot without answers,

in dreams that learned how to fall without making a sound.

So if you stay…

know this:

I will not guide you forward.

I will only sit beside you

in the dark between choices,

where hope grows thin…

lanterns glowing where the dark forgets its name,

cutting through the quiet violence of the waves…

and somehow, you always find me

when I’m already sinking.

You are an oasis in the endless deserts,

cool water cupped in trembling hands,

a place where breath returns to the body

and the ache of distance softens….

where I remember what it feels like

to not be alone with the heat.

You are a tree platform in a jungle maze,

high above the tangled uncertainty,

where the air is still, and I can finally see…

paths I missed, paths I feared,

and the one that always led back to you.

And I…….

I am the storm, the wanderer, the lost thing in motion,

crashing, searching, breaking against everything

that isn’t you.

But you never ask me to be less wild,

never ask me to be found before I arrive…

you just stay,

steady as light,

quiet as shelter,

certain as something worth returning to.

And maybe that’s the miracle of you…

not that you save me,

but that you exist

in all the places I thought

where wild thoughts crash like midnight tide.

Where reason breaks on jagged dreams,

and storms of feeling pull me deep inside.

Let me ride the waves you try to hide,

through thunder, through the endless blue.

For in the madness of your mind,

The moment it was offered.

In an instant, every time…

I chose the wrong hand

because it was offered first.

Not because it felt right—

because it felt certain.

I was tired of waiting,

tired of almosts and silences,

tired of wondering if I was invisible

to the one I hoped would speak.

So when someone stepped forward,

I stepped too.

I mistook movement for meaning,

attention for alignment.

Then you found your voice.

Not loudly—

just clearly enough

to break something I had already sealed.

Bad timing has always been my best skill—

deciding at the edge of fear,

locking a door

seconds before the knock.

I didn’t betray love.

I misunderstood patience.

I thought choosing something

was better than trusting truth.

Now I live in the echo of what might’ve been,

not angry,

not resentful—

just aware.

Some lessons don’t come

from losing the right person,

but from realizing

you chose wrong