I fold my thoughts into paper boats.
Set them drifting in the bathtub of dusk.
They carry whispers I can't say.
Secrets are too fragile even for the wind.
Some float, some sink beneath my fingers.
But I keep folding, again and again.
Each crease is a memory, each fold a pause.
Each journey is a quiet fight against the world.
No one sees them sail but me.
No one hears their gentle giving up.
And in that secret harbor of my hands,
I am both the storm and the calm.
About the Creator
Emily
Poem lover, word collector, and believer in the quiet magic of language. I write to remember, to heal, and to find beauty in the spaces between silence and sound. Every poem is a heartbeat — a small proof that feelings can become art.
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