Libra, Aquarius, and Cancers — three tides pulling at the same restless shore, each carrying a storm beneath their calm, a revolution wrapped in fragile skin. Libra walks a tightrope of silver scales, balancing the world’s weight in whispered judgment, poised between love and war, the endless dance of giving and taking, a poet’s heart…

Love’s a loaded gun with no safety— I kissed the barrel, dared it to save me. Midnight prayers in a language we made, Tongues like switchblades, vows like grenades. You called it fate, I called it fire, We danced on the edge of a live wire. Your touch? A sermon. Your leaving? A theft. But…

They named a storm after me -and I ain’t even flinch-. Didn’t need no forecast to know -I’d tear shit down and baptize it holy-. Skies don’t cry — -they confess-, palms breakdance, streets hum, and the trees lean in like they know me -like they remember-. I was born with thunder in my chest,…

By the time you read this, I imagine the silence between us will already feel like a season. And still, I needed to write you, because not every goodbye is sharp. Some slip in softly, like dusk in the hills of Barranquitas, where the air once smelled like rain and roasted coffee, and we swore…