Whispers

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READ ABOUT:

THE SPELLBINDER

Rooted in quiet places, I craft worlds from glances, ghosts, and growing things.
I write from somewhere in the middle; not quite here, not quite there.
This is where I leave the door slightly ajar.
Welcome to the hush behind the veil.

WHISPERS

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The clock whispers that every second is an echo

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The quill says it prefers the sound of silence

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The ring says it knows the secret to infinity

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The bed says it isn’t the place where dreams end

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The plant insists it knows the sun’s name

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The pillow says it holds more than just your head

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The carousel keeps turning

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The map insists it knows where you’ve been

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The moon says it never meant to be the nightlight (2)

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I only pretend to forget. It’s easier that way

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Sometimes, I hum nonsense, just to check if I still exist.

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I thought it was a dream. Until it apologized.

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Beautifully touching the ocean

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Big beautiful flower pot

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He said 'forever' like it was a flavor.

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No one noticed when the clocks began to whisper too.

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They left the door open, but I still knocked.

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The walls don’t listen. They remember.

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That’s not what I meant. But it’s too late now, isn’t it (1)

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Staring at painting of the cosmos

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