Of you and tiny rooms  where dripping taps  curate yearning museums  beside the kitchen sink     Of ellipses...eclipse of rain behind madness,   we rise as sunrise  saluting never-ending noon,  what lies beyond was the moon   underneath blankets, undressing    Of you and travelling in (f)light  literary terrorists aboard fighter...

Perhaps the heartwas not made to break, but to stretchbeyond what's believedit could survive. The cracksare not proofof weakness. They are evidencethat loveonce lived there. Each sorrowcarves deeper. Some woundsbecome scars, not to remind usof what we lost, but to honorwhat we carried, all we endured, and lifestill...