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same cycle

different year

here we are again

here i am again

still so easy to fall

still so easy to unravel

just one “hi”

and suddenly i’m pulled back into something i swore i already understood

just one touch

and i forget all the reasons i tried to stay guarded

you have always known how to soften me

and now that i’m falling again,

you grow quiet

deja vu, maybe

deep down, i knew this would happen again

and somehow i still let it

how foolish of me

how susceptible i become whenever it’s you

same cycle

you appear when life starts feeling too heavy i mistake relief for meaning and before i know it, i’m already emotionally somewhere else again

falling too hard too fast too willing to believe this time might feel different

until the silence returns and i remember how easily i lose myself in almosts

The steps were quiet, but steady still,

A path once climbed by sheer will.

Hands once full now softly part,

Leaving not with noise, but heart.

No need to name the weight once held,

Some truths are better left unspelled.

A season ends, not with a sound—

But in the way light leaves the ground.

Warm regards,

PPG

Not This Time

Don’t say you missed me.

You missed the thrill,

not the ache that came after.

You missed control,

not connection.

My body,

not my being.

You disappeared when it mattered.

Now you return with heat,

but not honesty.

Lust in your mouth,

but no apology on your tongue.

I opened the door for a moment—

a moment too long.

But don’t confuse that

with an invitation to stay.

You didn’t miss me.

You missed getting away with it.

What You Came Back For?

You knocked,

not to ask how I’ve been,

but to see if the door still opens.

You missed the echo,

not the voice.

The shape,

not the soul.

I said I missed you—

that was my heart speaking

before my spine reminded it

what silence taught.

You don’t want me.

You want access.

But I’ve changed the locks.

This, too, shall pass.

Lord, I feel tired again today — in body, in mind, in heart. The weight of regret, pressure, and weariness is heavy, but I lay it down at Your feet. Walk with me through this day. Guard my heart when it feels fragile. Remind me that I am not stuck — I am being held. I may not understand why I’m here, but I trust You’re still working. Help me be steady. Help me be kind to myself. And when I feel small or unseen, remind me— You see me. You chose me.

You are with me. That is enough. Amen.

Grace Meets Us Here

There are moments when the Lord speaks, not in the way the world expects, not with thunder or grand signs, but with a whisper that settles deep in the soul. It is not always the word I want to hear. Sometimes, it asks me to let go when I want to hold on, to stay when I long to leave, or to step forward when fear tells me to stay still.

Trusting the unseen is never easy. My heart, so quick to chase comfort, tells me one thing. My eyes, drawn to what is visible, insist on another. But faith, true faith, is learning to follow His voice even when nothing around me makes sense.

There was a time when I stood at a crossroad, faced with a choice that seemed too difficult to make. Every part of me wanted to lean on my own understanding, to grasp what I could see and control. But the Lord had already given me His word, and deep down, I knew obedience would cost me, but disobedience would cost me more.

So I surrendered. I stepped forward, not knowing what lay ahead, only knowing that He was leading me. And in time, I saw what I could not before. His plans were always better. What I feared to lose was never meant to stay. What I struggled to understand was never meant to be clear in the moment but revealed in His perfect time.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6

Grace meets us here, not in having all the answers, but in trusting the One who does.

You know that feeling when God was clearly nudging you to move, to step out, to trust Him—but you hesitated? You stayed when you should have walked forward. Just like the Israelites, who were freed from Egypt but kept looking back, afraid to step fully into the unknown. And now, here you are, regretting that you didn’t move when He told you to. You don’t know what’s next, and honestly, you feel stuck.

But even in this place of uncertainty, there is hope. Because God is still here. He is still leading. Even when you hesitate, even when you doubt, He doesn’t leave you behind. His grace covers the delay, and His plans for you remain.

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” – Exodus 14:14

Maybe you weren’t supposed to stay still forever, but even now, God can still make a way forward.

It’s only January, but it feels like the year has already swallowed me whole. The days are heavy, each one piling onto the next, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. I thought a new year would bring clarity, a clean slate, but instead, it’s just more noise—more demands, more questions I don’t have answers to.

The calendar stares back at me, blank and endless, and I don’t know whether to see it as hope or a threat. There’s too much to do, too much I haven’t started, and already I’m behind. The mornings feel rushed, the nights restless, and somewhere in between, I’ve lost sight of what I’m even running toward.

Maybe February will be better. Maybe it won’t. For now, I’m just here—overwhelmed, untethered, and trying to figure out how to keep moving forward.

Run

This is the end, the final line,

No more verses of you and I.

The chapters we wrote, I’ll leave behind,

For I choose freedom, a clearer mind.

I’ve carried your name like a heavy stone,

But now I walk this path alone.

The ink has dried, the story is done,

I’ve turned the page; I face the sun.

No longer bound by what we were,

I’ve found myself, a soul secure.

The wounds may ache, but they will heal,

For I’ve chosen truth over what I feel.

So here I stand, pen in hand,

Writing a future I can command.

The past will rest, its weight withdrawn,

Today, I rise—I’ve moved on.

Surrounded by a field of colorful flowers, there’s a simple joy in pausing and leaning into the moment. The blooms seem to stretch toward the light, soft and unassuming, yet full of life. There’s something peaceful here—a quiet reminder of how beauty often finds us when we slow down and take it all in.

Life moves like a quiet tide, ebbing and flowing with its own rhythm, pulling me into moments I cannot always hold onto. The hellos come like the sunrise, warm and full of promise, while the goodbyes linger like shadows, soft but heavy. In the span of these fleeting moments, I have learned that each goodbye is not an end but a weaving of the tapestry God has set before me.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 whispers to my soul, “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” It is a reminder that the chapters of my life are not written by chance but by divine intent. The faces I’ve met, the hearts I’ve loved, and even the pain of parting—each has been a teacher, each has been a gift.

There is depth in the leaving and arrival, a holiness in both the embrace and the letting go. I see now that it is not the permanence of these moments that matters, but the way they shape my spirit, softening it, strengthening it. And so, with every step forward, I carry gratitude—not for what was lost, but for what was given, knowing that His plan is perfect even when I cannot see its end.

You left without a warning, just a fading sound,

A silent exit, no word, no ground.

I poured out trust, so open and true,

And watched it spill, staining blue.

I searched for you in midnight’s chill,

In whispered memories that won’t stay still.

Your laugh, your words—each ghostly trace,

Now haunt the quiet, empty space.

You took the warmth I thought we shared,

Left me hollow, lost, unprepared.

A coward’s way, slipping through the seams,

Shattering love and quiet dreams.

An asshole move, so cruel, so cold,

To ghost the heart you tried to hold.

You took what’s easy, fled the weight,

And left me reeling in your wake.

It’s hard, this ache I can’t express—

A silent hurt I can’t confess.

No words can hold this kind of pain,

No voice can call you back again.

I carry scars that no one sees,

Buried deep like hidden keys.

Maybe someday, I’ll be whole,

But for now, I grieve what your silence stole.

DC 2.0

There was a time we drifted apart,

a quiet chill settled deep in my heart.

But seasons turned, and so did we,

finding warmth where cold used to be.

Now in your eyes, a spark remains,

rekindled love, no longer strained.

The distance faded, lost to the past;

in your embrace, I’ve come home at last.

Lingering Dust

There was a time you haunted me,

a specter slipping through my days,

a shadow stitched in memory

that lingered in the smallest ways.

You left with silence, sharp and clean,

no echoes of a soft goodbye,

just vanished like a waking dream—

a quiet ache, a muted sigh.

I mourned your loss like faded light,

a wound that healed but left a trace,

till one day, in the crowded night,

I saw again your hidden face.

A tug, a pull—a fleeting ache,

but softer now, like whispered air;

I’d grown beyond what we once made,

and found a peace I couldn’t share.

I miss the ghost you used to be,

not who you are, nor who I’ve grown—

a trace of something sweet and free,

but one I’m glad to call unknown.

We were never ours to keep,

just a moment, light and brief.

Like a breeze that touched the skin,

then faded, soft as grief.

No bitterness, no regret—

some love is not meant to stay.

I release you with the wind,

and quietly walk away.

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