Girl Kaleidoscope

Tag: Pain

  • I Built a Heart Upon the Air

    I Built a Heart Upon the Air

    I built a heart upon the air,
    Each breath a thread, each whisper fair,
    A tapestry of hopes and dreams,
    A vision born from love’s soft beams.

    With fragile hands I wove each part,
    A fragile thing, a fragile heart,
    Through tears and laughter, joy and pain,
    I shaped it in the softest rain.

    I wove the threads from distant light,
    From hopes that soared, from winds so bright,
    I fashioned it of silken strands,
    A promise placed in trembling hands.

    Each note of hope, a golden strand,
    I wove it high upon the land,
    The breeze it swayed, the stars they sang,
    As joy and sorrow softly rang.

    But shadows rose to steal my dream,
    And whisper words that coldly gleam,
    That hearts of air must fall, must break,
    For nothing pure can ever wake.

    And though I hoped, I knew the sound—
    Of my heart crumbling to the ground.
    Could you see me? Could you know—
    The weight of love, the weight of woe?

    And still, I wait in quiet grief,
    To find some solace, some relief,
    Will you hear my quiet plea?
    Or am I lost upon the sea?

    The heart I built is all but dust,
    It crumbles now, it turns to rust.
    Will love remain or fade from sight?
    Will hearts of air still take to flight?

    I built a heart upon the air,
    Each breath a thread, each whisper fair,
    And though it’s gone, I still believe
    In hearts that soar, and hearts that grieve.

    For even when the threads are torn,
    We rise again, reborn, reborn.
    And though my heart may fall again,
    I’ll build it once—then once again

  • The Weight of Unanswered Questions

    There is a peculiar kind of grief that comes not from what is lost, but from what is never known. The questions that hang in the air, unanswered, unresolved. The ones we carry with us long after the moment has passed, pressing against our ribs, whispering in the quiet hours of the night.

    What if? Why? Did I ever mean as much to you as you meant to me? Were you afraid, or were you indifferent? Was it ever real? Was I foolish for believing?

    Some questions remain because we are too afraid to ask them. Others because the answers would wound us more than the silence. And then there are those we do ask—over and over, in every way we know how—only to be met with quiet, with absence, with the unbearable weight of nothing.

    I have spent years carrying questions like stones in my pockets. Waiting for a response that never came, a certainty that never arrived. I have stood on the edge of my own sanity, trying to make sense of the silence, trying to fill in the gaps with logic, with hope, with desperate justifications.

    I see now that I was not just waiting for answers—I was waiting for closure, for understanding, for something that would make the pain make sense. But the truth is, some questions will never be answered, and some wounds will never be wrapped in neat explanations.

    It is in our nature to seek resolution. We want to understand. We want to stitch the past together in a way that lets us move forward without looking back. But life is not so kind. Some stories are left unfinished, some doors left ajar, some words left unsaid. And we must learn to live with that.

    And yet, despite the weight of all I do not know, I am learning this: I do not need answers to find peace. I do not need certainty to heal. Perhaps, in time, I will learn to set down these stones, one by one, until my hands are free to hold something new.

    C.S. Lewis once wrote, “We can never know what might have been, but what is to come is another matter.”

    So I will turn my gaze forward. Not because the past does not matter, not because the questions do not ache, but because life is still unfolding. And perhaps, just perhaps, the answers I have been searching for will come in a different form—one I never expected.