This anonymous heart

Sunshine

October 13th, 2026

My soul calls out across the distance,
as it has a thousand times before.
But this time,
yours echoes back.

You hear the ache beneath my quiet “fine.”
You see beyond the stoic face,
past the walls I’ve carefully built,
past the smile I wear
when I would rather cry.

You see the hidden places of my heart,
the dreams I seldom speak,
the things I hold most dear.
And somehow,
you understand without my having to explain.

With you,
I need not measure every word
or guard the fragile parts of me.
You know my faults and fears,
yet I never fear your knowing.
I can lay my armor down
and simply be me.

When burdens threaten to crush me,
you help me bear their weight.
When the world turns against me,
you stand by my side,
unafraid to fight.

When sorrow fills my heart,
you share its heaviness,
and let me rest within your embrace.
And when happiness comes calling,
you take my hand
and dance with me.

We wander through conversations
as deep and boundless as the sea,
sharing our hopes,
our wonderings,
the things that stir our souls.

Then laugh at silly nonsense
until tears run down our cheeks
and our bellies ache.

We could wander mountain paths,
watch waves break against the shore,
or sit beneath a sky full of stars,
and find ourselves equally content
in conversation or in silence.

For there is no need to entertain,
no need to impress,
no need to become
someone other than who we are.

You are the sunshine
that finds its way
through the cracks in my walls,
warming places
I had long forgotten.

But you are more than shelter
from the storms of life.
You are the one I want beside me
when the skies are blue,
when the road stretches endlessly ahead,
and the world is full of possibilities.

My fellow traveler,
my kindred spirit,
my dearest companion.

The answer to a call
I thought no one could hear.

My friend.
Solitude

September 30th, 2026

_{Sometimes I need to go so far
that I no longer hear my name.}

_{Into the redwoods,
where the trees soar above me,
holding up the sky,
and every footstep
is swallowed by the duff.}

_{There,
the silence is not absence
but fullness.}

_{It gathers in the spaces
between the branches,
in the damp breath of the earth,
in the hush that hangs in the air.}

_{I want to stand there long enough
for the noise inside me
to finally grow still.}

_{Sometimes I need the mountains—}

_{the sharp, crisp air,
the long, exhilarating climb,
the world stretching endlessly at my feet.}

_{I want to reach the top
and feel the wild wind around me
without having to explain myself.}

_{No answers.
No conversation.
No need to be useful.}

_{Only sky
and stone
and breath.}

_{The strange relief
of being small
in a place so vast.}

_{Sometimes I need the sea—}

_{to stand on the high cliffs above
and watch the white water
break against the rocks.}

_{To feel the salt wind on my face,
to hear that deep, thunderous rhythm,
and let something inside me
loosen with every crash.}

_{The ocean asks nothing of me.}

_{It simply rises,
breaks,
and begins again.}

_{There are days
when the soul needs quiet.}

_{It needs a forest
that does not interrupt,
a mountain
that asks no questions,
an ocean
that speaks in thunder
without waiting for a reply.}

_{Sometimes I need to disappear—}

_{not because I am lost,
but because I have lost
too much of myself.}

_{And somewhere
beneath ancient trees,
or high above the clouds,
or standing over a restless sea,}

_{the silence calms my restless heart,
little by little,
until I can feel
my own soul again.}

_{If you call for me
and I do not answer,
wait a while.}

_{I will be there soon.}
Promise

September 30th, 2026

I loved you once
like morning glories love the sun,
opening without being asked,
letting everything in.

Now I love you
like a vow written in ink
I cannot bring myself to cross out.

There is no cruelty in it.
No slammed doors.
No final scene.

Just years
settling quietly between us
until love became
less like falling
and more like carrying.

You leave,
and I do not count the hours.

You return,
and I do not run to meet you.

I listen first,

to the way you close the door,
the sound of your voice,

trying to understand
what kind of evening
has come home.

Sometimes I save things for you
because there is no one else
to give them to.

A funny thing.
A strange thought.
Something beautiful
I noticed in the middle of an ordinary day.

And sometimes,
before I finish,
I can already feel
that you are somewhere else.

So I stop.

You are tired.
Or busy.
Or distracted by something
I cannot see.

And the story folds itself
back inside me.

I have become very good
at carrying unopened things.

Perhaps that is why
I know how to carry this.

I said I would love you.

So I do.

I said I would stay.

So I stay.

But somewhere along the way
love became something
I do
instead of something
I feel.

It is in the dinner made,
the question answered,
the forgiveness offered
before it is asked for.

It is a thousand small acts
performed faithfully
by a heart
that no longer rushes
toward the sound of your name.

And sometimes
I wonder what it would be like
to love without having
to remember that I should.

To hear a door open
and be filled with joy.

To have someone’s name
rise inside me
for no reason at all.

To miss them
before they are even gone.

To see something beautiful
and ache
because they are not there
to see it too.

To love someone
deep in my bones.

Not because I promised.
Not because it is
the right thing to do.

But simply because
my soul reaches for theirs.

I used to believe
love would feel like that.

A reaching toward.

Something instinctive.
Something alive.

Like morning glories
turning themselves toward the sun
without ever being told
where the light is.

I think that is what I miss most.

Not passion.
Not romance.
Not a fairy tale.

Just the turning.

The part of me
that once opened
without being asked.

I kept the promise.

But somewhere
between then and now,

I stopped turning
toward the light.
The Things I Keep

September 1st, 2026

I know when the golden evening light
spills through the cherry trees
enchanting the soul that stops to notice.

I know which window
holds the sunset longest,

where the weeds grow flowers
painting forgotten fields with color,

and which puddle keeps the moon
long after the others have gone dark.

Once I would have shown you.
I would have called your name
and asked you to walk beside me.

I would have pointed
and shared the wonder.

I know better now.

Some people look at a wildflower
and see a weed.

Some hear a bird in the quiet
and complain of the noise.

Some can stand beneath a sky
draped in silver lights
and never look up.

Once I showed you my world
and you scoffed.

So, I have become careful.

Not because the flower needs defending,
or the moon can be wounded,

but because once I have shown you
where I keep something beautiful,

your voice may follow me there.

A careless word
can live a very long time
inside a lovely place.

I keep certain sunsets to myself.

I pass the little flowers
without calling anyone over.

When the light finds some forgotten corner
and makes it sacred for a moment,

I stand there alone.

Let the world think
there was nothing there.

Let them walk past.

There are beautiful things
that survive because no one notices them.

And there are beautiful things
I will not risk
by asking you to see.

So, I keep them.

Not hidden,
not guarded,
just mine to notice.
The Distance Between

March 30th, 2026

We stand side by side
On ground that feels complete
Almost close enough to touch
But somehow, we never quite meet

You think this is what closeness feels like
Easy, quiet, undisturbed
Like nothing is broken
Because nothing is ever heard

But you don’t see the valley between us
How it opened slowly over time
A journey of a thousand miles
Hidden in the space between your heart and mine

I tried, in the beginning
More than I knew how to say
I crossed pieces of that distance alone
Hoping you would meet me along the way

I waited for you to notice
To turn, to step, to try
But you stood where it was comfortable
While I kept walking, wondering why

And somewhere along that journey
I grew tired of calling your name
Tired of hoping you would hear me
Tired of carrying the weight of us the same

So I stopped

Not all at once
But quietly, the way distance grows
I learned how to stand beside you
Without expecting to be close

Now you see peace where I feel absence
You see fine where I have gone still
You do not hear the silence in me
Because it never felt real

Could you cross the distance between us
Perhaps
If you ever felt it there

I will not walk the road between us
But I have not turned away
I am somewhere along the distance now
Waiting, without asking you to stay
In Silence

March 24th, 2026

I see the smile you use
to keep the world away,
a careful mask you’ve learned to wear.
But deep behind your eyes,
a storm gathers, heavy and restless,
waiting to break.

I see the pain you hide,
how it seeps through the surface,
quiet cracks no one else seems to notice.

I want to reach for you,
but my hands hesitate
in the space between us.
I want to speak,
but it stays there, unsaid.

So I sit beside you in silence,
where my presence is the only language I know.
I listen as your sorrow spills over,
soft and endless like rain.

I walk beside you,
lifting what I can of your unseen weight,
even as it settles into my soul.

I feel your pain as if it were my own,
not borrowed but shared,
until it grows too heavy inside my chest.

I say nothing.
But still I stay.

And in the quiet,
I hope you can feel it,
this unspoken care,
this silent kind of love
that does not know how to hold,
but never leaves.
Careless

February 3rd, 2026

She was a dreamer,
the kind who lingered
when others rushed;
saw possibility in ordinary moments,
beauty where others passed it by.

She shared it carefully,
wanting him to see what she saw,
to see her.

His words weren’t loud.

Not meant to destroy.

But they cut her down.

Once.
Then again.
And again.

Slowly, dreaming felt unfamiliar.
Like wearing a name
that no longer fit.
Like looking in the mirror
and not recognizing the reflection.

She wondered when hope learned
how to break so quietly,
as she swept pieces of herself
off the floor.

She still sees beautiful things.
She still harbors small dreams.
But she keeps that part of herself
carefully locked away.
Held

December 16th, 2025

Stumbling through fog so thick
Vision warped, senses dulled

Trudging through quicksand
Each step heavier than the last

Battling to move forward
The more I struggle, the faster I sink

Rain falling without source or cause
Seeping through skin and bone

No light at the end of the tunnel
No hint of dawn breaking

Just endless darkness
Cold rain
Clinging quicksand
And fog that never lifts
From Broken Dreams

November 4th, 2025

I was born a dreamer,
seeing the world through sunlit glass,
believing in knights who slay dragons,
in comrades who fight back to back,
in friends who keep secrets like coins in a palm,
in someone who sees beauty the way I do.

But life leaned close and whispered loss,
its breath a weight on my chest.
The light grew thin—
and I slipped into a well of silence.

I waited for rescue:
a brave knight,
a steadfast comrade,
a loyal friend.
But the world moved past,
its footsteps fading like rain.

Then came the choice:
sink, or climb.

So, hand over hand,
I learned the rough rhythm of stone,
found music in the scrape and strain.
I learned to face dragons,
to keep my own counsel,
to make beauty that no one names.

Now I stand at the rim,
palms scarred,
heart steady,
sunlight spilling through the storm.
No wind beneath me—
but still, I fly.
Heart of Glass

October 11th, 2025

She was born with a heart of glass—
clear, beautiful, breakable.
Even as a child, she knew
the danger of being seen through.
So she smiled politely,
spoke gently,
and built distance like a moat
around a castle of solitude.

She learned to keep her secrets
like treasure in a box—
safe, quiet, unseen.
Her laughter was light,
her expression unchanging.
No one saw the emotion beneath,
surging like a restless tide.

But one day, loneliness whispered louder
than caution’s voice.
She wanted warmth,
wanted to feel the press of friendship close.
So she cracked open the door,
let the light spill in,
and let them inside.

One by one, they cracked the glass.
The first, with envy’s ink,
wrote her story in a book—
her pain made into poetry
for others to read.
The second whispered her secrets
to hungry ears,
turning trust into gossip.
And the third—oh, the cruelest—
took her soul’s bare words
and stabbed her with a knife,
then left her
shattered and alone.

She gathered the pieces,
bloody-handed, trembling,
and built her walls
a mile high
and ten feet deep.
Now she hides her heart behind them,
her face a well-crafted mask—
gentle, agreeable, kind,
unchanging.

Her heart still beats,
but faintly,
echoing through crystal fractures.
She listens, she nods,
she never disagrees.
The world thinks her calm,
unbreakable, strong—
but she knows the truth:
if ever she let someone close again,
if ever she dared to love or trust,
her heart of glass
would finally shatter
into dust.