Reflections
Where melody meets memory, and every story becomes a verse.
ListenWithNailah
Featured Reflection
The beat of a slow dance makes perfect sense to me, The whole point of a slow dance is to feel you rhythmically. The meaning of it all is simple slow and deliberate a seduction set to music which is all too explicitThe Beat of a Slow Dance
He said he'd spent his whole life searching for peace, for quiet mornings, for storms that would cease.Beautiful Headache
I wasn't just looking for a miracle, just a quiet place to rest, a small corner of the world, where my tired heart could catch it's breath.Love Like This
he speaks
He speaks and her whole body responds Every word he speaks is another layer that solidifies your bond.
When she speaks
When she speaks it's more than her words that brings him to his knees. When she speaks her cadence intoxicates him with ease
starts with a conversation
It always starts simple, no thunder, or grand declaration, just breath meeting breath in the quiet exchange of a conversation
heavy is the head who wears the crown
Heavy is the head who wears the crown, but nobody speaks on the weight that pulls it down
When i love me
When I love me, all things will be possible again. Because when I love me, I'll be free from the mayhem.
i hate that i love you
I hate that I love you, although cruel, yet so true, I built these walls of iron, but somehow you managed to get through
3 Years, 3 Months, and 3 Days
He used to call at midnight just to hear the sound of breathing on the other end of the line. Now silence answers first.
nobody knows
In the silence of the night, I find myself alone just wondering through the streets and alleys, trying to find my way home.
54 Years and 100 miles from here
Fifty-four years and a hundred miles from here, I’ve traced the shape of love but never held it near-
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Some emotions arrive like rain. Quiet. Unexpected. And impossible to ignore.
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Love in its softest form. Not rushed. Not loud. Just two souls learning how to stay.
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In the quiet, love speaks. Reflection lives in stillness— in the pauses, the unanswered questions, and the truths we finally hear.
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Where memory begins. Some stories don’t start with words— they begin with a song, a crackle, a needle finding its place.
