love
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“You are the smooth stone in my pocket—forgotten until touched, a memory I bury yet carry, shaping my walk with quiet sorrow and stubborn hope.” bb grey Yesterday,while exchanging small words with an acquaintance—a fleeting face in the blur of days—I slipped my hand into my pocket,and there you were:a smooth pebble,forgotten beneath the jumble…
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Part I The San Gabriel Mountains stretched across the horizon, their peaks rising anywhere from five to ten thousand feet, dusted with the remnants of winter’s last breath. The recent storms had draped elevations above 5,000 feet in fresh snow, transforming them into inverted ice cream cones dipped in vanilla. As the sun climbed higher,…
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One extreme to another,we move like shadows in a hall of mirrors,chasing reflections of what never was. I thought you loved me—but love is a language I misread,syllables slipping between regretand the point of diminishing returns. We all make mistakes,excuses have their uses,like slicing a cake into piecestoo small to taste. Shaking a hand, clenching…
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A dreamscape of loss and longing, where time unravels and echoes of the past linger— life’s relentless grind swallows dreams, yet the poet weaves meaning from the void.
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She loved being chased. Not just for the thrill, but for the way it made her feel less alone. Like the world still turned for her, like someone, somewhere, believed she was worth the pursuit. She hated being caught. Hated the moment when the hands reached her waist, when desire became expectation, when the chase…
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“I will die. Morning arrived in a muted gray, the silence heavy, almost suffocating. I stood at the edge of our life together, fingers twitching with the impulse to reach out, to fix something already shattered. She had left in the night, returned without explanation. Her absence was a wound; her presence, a reminder…
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“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” — Rumi In fields of wheat spun gold at harvest’s crest,as storm-blue skies, speckled with grey,spill rain like rose petals—nude and pink—against ivory clay, smooth, untouched,waiting for the weight of oil and pastel,for the whisper of charcoal, for colors in between. A stroke of…
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Martyred saint,Cupid’s arrow—Lost in flight,A vision narrow. Lover’s dream,Divorcée’s scheme,‘Til death we vowed,Then tore the seams. Better to love and lose, they say,Than never love at all—A hollow phrase,That left me small. I type and think of you,Wishing none of it were true.Yet time makes spaceFor history’s embrace. I smile at memoriesI still chase.
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I am an ugly piece of art. That’s what my phone screen blinked in the text box. Next to it, her portrait—the love of my life. Blonde-haired royalty, her head tipped back in laughter, the weight of her beauty too much for her to bear. Or maybe just too much for me. I had…
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You were a black key lullaby,sharp and flat,played soft against the chords of my heart,pulling me apart—until nothing remained but silence. Now, I sit where I once soared,a melody lost,an echo fading. You were a black key lullaby,each note once perfect in harmony,with me as your backdrop,trying to hold the tuneas you played me false.…
BB Grey--musings 