English Heartlines

Joy is not a destination;

it's mango juice running down your wrist in May.

Old friends are like old sweaters:

a little stretched,

still the warmest thing I own.

We were never strangers,

just two people who hadn't said hello yet.

I left the porch light on for years.

Turns out, I was the one

who needed to come home.

I kept your voice notes

long after I stopped keeping you.

The rain doesn't ask permission,

and neither did missing you.

Home is not a place on the map;

it's the kitchen light my mother leaves on.

Healing isn't forgetting;

it's remembering without the ache.

I smiled so well today

that nobody noticed I was saying goodbye.

You were my cup of tea,

but I drink champagne now.

Be gentle with yourself;

you are still growing roots in the dark.

Some hearts aren't broken,

just tired of being brave alone.

Her laugh still lives

in the corners of every room she left.

Some days, getting out of bed

is the bravest poem I write.

You don't need a crowd to feel full;

one person who listens is enough.

Be careful who you open up to.

Only a few people genuinely care;

the rest are just curious.

The moon doesn't compete with the sun;

it simply waits for its turn to glow.

Not every ending is loud;

some just stop replying.

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness;

Some people arrive like the monsoon:

suddenly, completely,

and the whole land remembers.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

I wandered lonely as a Cloud

That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden Daffodils;

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;