🎵livia

"I walk the edge of something unamed, a quiet ache that never loosens it's grip, a burning hunger stitched beneath my ribs, flickering like a candle in endless wind.

"We have the same style, but she has better clothes. You said it like a passing comment, like fabric and thread could measure worth. I laughed it off then, but I've been unraveling ever sense.

"I am the second warmth you feel after her silver fades, a whisper of fire behind her gaze. He calls me bright, but never first. I rise only when she has turned away, my glow a secret he cannot keep; yet one never spoken allowed. She, a pale and constant, wears his name in every tide. The Moon, his rightful orbit; his quiet, faithful gravity. And I, Well, I burn too close to be held, too distant to belong. He reaches for me in flares and storms, brief violences of longing, then returns to her cool certainty. Still, I circle. Still, I shine. A stolen light in borrowed hours, forever the almost. The almost dawn, the almost love, the almost home."

"I laugh when they ask, say I never wanted it anyway, wave it off like smoke that never touched my lungs. I build a life out of other things, name them enough, call them whole, practice the shape of not needing until it almost fits. I learn the language of absence, how to soften every edge of it, how to make a hollow look intentional, like a room left open on purpose. I keep my hands busy with living, fill my days with careful noise, so no one hears the quiet question my body keeps asking me. But sometimes, in quiet rooms, when nothing is asking me to pretend, my body feels like an answer to a question I didn't ask and cannot change."

"In a dislike meadow, where moonlight wanes, A fawn wanders admits the ancient glades. Soft steps grow weary, the night growing cold, As whispers of hunger through the dark wood rolled. From the thickest depth, their eyes aflame, A burning hunger that could not be tamed. Breath like a frost, growls harsh as stone, Claim the fawn, now lost and alone. The forest held her breath in mournful hush, As life was taken and dragged deep into the brush. A fawn's bright eyes dimmed in the night, Beneath the wolves relentless bite, No songbird sang, no flower wept, As the earth's secret, in silence, was kept. So ends the tale in ancient wood, When Nature's law reigns harsh yet good."

"Upon the vernal breath, beneath heaven's wide dome, A fawn is born in a wooded home. Received by soft earth, admist grasses so tall, While winds whisper, telling the tales of it all, The sun, a golden chariot, rides high, Casting his blessings from the clear sky. Small eyes, newly opened to see the world's gentle gleam, A creature of spring, born of nature's dream. The flowers bow their blooming heads low in reverence so deep, The forest awakens from her long winter's sleep. A mother's warm breathe, a doe's care, In the hush of the glade, The smell of life in the air. The birds sing ballads of the days long gone, eternal seasons, and ages past. Beneath the sun's ancient light, Sprang forth a new life."