The First Times

There is something sacred in first times.

The act of courage

When you don’t know

What lies beyond the line.

The rush of adrenaline,

The hush that follows,

Those trembling hearts,

The wounds and scars.

But there is something sacred in first times.

The fear that lingers

Long after the fall,

The moment that flickers

Like a dying glow.

That second you remember

You were never in control,

And faith was all you had to keep your soul.

But there is something sacred in first times.

And it will never come again.

No chance to have another first—

Everything else

Becomes second or third.

You’ll miss it or you’ll make it,

Either way, you held it…

And then it’s gone.

More Sacred

But we are destined to be unique,

Different paths, different seeds.

So who’s to say your purpose

Is more sacred than mine?

For all we know,

We are crossing borderlines.

You may speak louder,

Like thunder...

Enough to make the hearers tremble.

But I offer peace,

A calm in chaos,

A rest for the warriors.

If we all shared the same fate,

Then who would ever lead?

Who would ever heal?

So who’s to say your purpose

Is more sacred than mine?

For all we know,

We are drawing different lines.

Crossing Fingers

I crossed my fingers 

Yes, for luck.

A fragile superstition

Intertwined between doubts and desires.

As if fate could be persuaded

By the quiet folding of hands.

But love is a maze,

Meant for the braves.

It sketches its boundaries in shadows,

Thin as a breath, trembling like echoes.

There are lines meant to be kept,

For the heart to stay intact.

Still we cross them,

As if we are really lucky and brave.

Softly at first, like dusk slipping into the night,

Then going deeper where every warning flickers like a dying streetlight.

In there, the dark learns our names,

And every step hums haunted and forbidden games.

Then we tell ourselves 

That luck will follow,

That it will cradle our defiance,

And it will blur the edges of consequences.

Turning things into something

Almost merciful.

But luck is a fleeting companion,

And love remembers the lines we crossed.

When our fingers finally loosen,

And our hearts start to crumble.

That's when the illusion falls apart,

And we stand in the quiet aftermath.

Crossing fingers,

Crossing lines,

The music is ruined,

The moments gone.

And we realized that we did it

For one last time.

 But inner peace is not something 

You can find...

It is something you create 

Within you.

Courage is not something 

You can find...

It is something you build

Within you.

Happiness is not something 

You can find...

It is something you make

For yourself.

Old Cafés

 And life has been a series 

Of an old playlist.

Bringing back the old 

Forgotten conversations, 

In the old Cafés

We passed along Spain.

Like an old song, 

Every word, every rhythm;

Like the old pavements,

Every brick, every granite;

Tells the story - 

Of hearts that once ache,

And now carried so many yesterdays.

Like a gallery

Holding framed arts on it's walls,

Every version, every chapter,

Has a story to tell.

Of every dream

That was once chased, got, then gone.

Like a heart keeping 

All the memories 

Of a lifetime.

Seven Kings 👑

 Sometimes, the very dream you're dreaming of is also the same dream that will destroy you.

The thing that keeps you up at night is the same one that knows how to break you. 

It glows just enough to pull you in— like a promise never intended to be kept. 

You chase it long enough, and it starts to look like destiny,

But you hold it too tight, and it begins to feel like a grave.

And walking away... there’s nothing gentle about it. 

No grand exit, no final bow...

Just a quiet unraveling in the dark, 

Where no one sees what it costs you. 

A slow, deliberate betrayal of your own longing. 

You leave it there, glowing in the distance like a dying streetlight...

Because deep down, you know if you stayed, 

It would have shattered your soul.

It’s a quiet kind of ruin you choose for yourself...

A slow, deliberate refusal. 

A graceful way of turning your back on something That was once felt like a salvation… 

But you know it would’ve doomed you in the end.

P.s. It is such a beautiful scene to have the courage to refuse or to walk away from something you've always wanted if it is not serving you right.

 ...and he said - "I hope you can find the courage to be happy and not just to be strong."

As she turns and walks away, her heart trembles like a quiet confession— she knows she have to seek that kind of courage.

End.

A Share of Ever After

 And because she believed in fairy tales,

Even after meeting a thousand of villains,

Her faith stayed soft, yet unbroken—

A kind of courage for love that even fate cannot bend.

So now she walks through the aisle 

In white dress and flowers and the sweetest smile.

Every wounded dream she chose to heal,

All because she once said - to always believe.

And all of the stories of her fairy tales,

Now she's finally having hers.

A touch of fate to her faith,

Her own share of ever after.

In the serenity of thoughts,

Art begins to breathe.

Quietly shaped by the stillness,

Created in silence.