I'm not going to be on during the weekends. Because i'm busy on the weekends so I will be back during week days.
Underneath the whispering stars,
we find a little cafe,
where the warm glow lights our faces,
two cups of cocoa steaming before us,
each sip a sweet connection,
like the laughter that bubbles,
fills the space between our beating hearts.
The air is soft, filled with the smell
of baked bread and hints of cinnamon,
and outside, the night hums,
cars passing, voices echoing,
but in this moment, it's just us,
wrapped in the comfort of our own world,
where every glance feels electric,
where time seems to slow, just for us.
You tell me tales of adventures,
the dreams you tuck away for rainy days.
I share my secrets,
the ones hidden behind my laugh,
the things that chase me into the night.
Words flow freely, like stars falling,
lighting up a sky we create together.
We stroll hand in hand
under the canopy of a tree,
its leaves dance softly in the wind,
like our fingers, weaving between,
and suddenly, you stop,
turn to me, the moon catching your eyes,
and in that moment, the world disappears.
Your voice is a whisper, a promise,
“Let’s make tonight a page in our story.”
I nod, heart racing,
because I know this moment,
the thrill, the warmth—it sticks.
We stand close, suspended,
breathing in the sweetness of time.
As the night wraps around us,
we wander to the park,
where laughter from children, long gone,
lingers in the air—
the swings still swaying,
the memories held in their chains.
We sit, side by side,
letting the silence paint our canvas,
the stars our scattered confetti.
You lean in, sharing secrets,
your breath a soft breeze,
and in this quiet,
I hear promises unspoken,
the weight of what is possible.
With a gentle nudge,
your fingers brush against mine,
and it’s as if we’ve ignited flame.
The night swells with magic,
not fireworks, not grand spectacles,
but in the simple comfort,
of two hearts finding rhythm,
in the gentle laughter,
and in that knowing glance,
this is the date—
that speaks louder than any words,
a memory waiting to be held,
etched in the softest corners of time,
forever a tale we carry forward
in the chapters of our lives.
- Author: ashley (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: October 31st, 2024 08:40
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Comments2
Beautiful writing ) nice to read
Thank you.
Beautiful
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