I’ll never know the rhythm of love from a woman, unbroken and steady,
Not the fleeting grasp that slips through fingers like sand,
But the kind that stays—rooted, eternal,
A sanctuary where my storms could find rest.
Instead, I carry my heart like a fragile artifact,
Too rare to touch, too heavy to hold.
Some hearts are forged in solitude,
beating with the echoes of what could have been

I’ll never know the solace of a true friend,
Someone who reads between the lines of my silence,
Who doesn’t need me to shrink to fit their world,
But expands to meet the vastness of my being.
Loneliness becomes the language I speak fluently,
While the world speaks in dialects I cannot decipher.

To be misunderstood is to walk unseen,
a shadow in the sunlight of others' certainty.

I’ll never know what it’s like to be accepted,
To be embraced for the old soul I carry within,
A relic of other times, other truths,
Where wisdom doesn’t isolate but connects.
My thoughts are rivers flowing to seas unknown,
And no map exists to guide others to my shores.

An old soul is a melody too complex
for ears tuned only to the songs of the present.

I’ll never know the simplicity of a regular life,
The casual joys of days without weight,
To move like a feather on the wind,...