tenerael

[tenerael]

I do not mourn the fire, Nor the smoke that veils the sky. I mourn the silence left behind, Not the wound, but what the wound implies.

Your shadow once stretched across the peaks, A silhouette against the burning dawn. Now it lies in whispers, Carried by winds too frail to speak your name.

I search the skies, Not for your wings, but for the memory of their sound. The beat that once stirred the air Now lingers as an ache in the stillness.

Do dragons grieve for what is taken? Or for the hollows it leaves behind? For the empty nest of stone and ash, For the places where flame no longer dances.

I have tried to hold your fire, To trap its heat within my claws. But embers fade, and with them, The warmth that once made me whole.

You are not gone— You are the char in the marrow of my bones, The ember lodged beneath my scales, The absence that burns hotter than any flame.

I do not mourn the end of flight, But the echo of it, The stretch of the skies left untouched. Not the wound, but what the wound implies: That what was, Will never be again.

And so I carry your loss like a brand, Not as pain, but as proof That you once soared, And I once followed.

[tenerael]

There is a pull I cannot name,

A weight that beckons from the shadows.

It hums in the quiet,

A low and endless song,

A whisper that tells me

You are there.

I feel it in the stillness,

In the spaces where the world softens,

Where the air grows thin with absence.

It is not fear that grips me,

But yearning—

A deep, unrelenting ache

To follow where you have gone.

The sky feels empty now,

Its vastness hollow,

Its currents cold without you.

I have soared alone,

Wings heavy with the burden of time,

But each flight brings no solace,

Only the echo of your name.

I wonder if you wait for me,

Beyond the veil where breath no longer lingers,

If your wings stretch wide in the quiet,

Calling me home to a place I cannot reach.

Do you miss me there?

Does the void between us ache for what we were?

The fire in my chest flickers,

A flame that dims with every moment spent without you.

It no longer burns for the sun or the stars,

Only for the hope of reunion,

For the chance to see your light again,

To feel your warmth in the endless cold.

Life has become a shadow of itself,

A pale imitation of what it was when you were here.

Each sunrise feels sharper,

Its beauty a wound,

A reminder that the world spins on

Without you.

If love binds us beyond time,

Then let it pull me to you.

Let it guide me through the darkness,

Through the stillness,

To the place where silence becomes whole.

I do not fear the end—

I welcome it,

Not as an escape,

But as a return.

For what is life without you

But a journey without a horizon,

A song with no melody,

A sky with no stars?

The call grows louder each day,

Its rhythm aligning with my own,

A quiet beckoning that promises peace,

Not in forgetting,

But in finding.

If I must wait, I will.

But if the winds carry me to you,

If the stars fall silent and the world fades,

Know this:

It is not death I long for,

But you—

Only you.

���Tenerael

[tenerael]

You are not gone, not truly.

I feel you in the spaces between breaths,

In the whispers of wind that brush my wings,

In the quiet places where the world forgets to turn.

You linger,

Not as memory,

But as longing—sharp, unyielding, endless.

I reach for you in the dark,

Not with claws but with the weight of my heart,

Hoping that the void will answer,

That the silence will break,

That your voice will rise from the shadows.

But the dark is unkind,

And the silence devours all but the ache.

I have dreamed of you,

Not as you were, but as you might be now,

If time had been gentler,

If the world had chosen mercy.

In those dreams,

You look at me with eyes I cannot touch,

A gaze that pierces the hollow of my chest,

Leaving me breathless with what can never be.

I do not seek to forget you.

How could I?

You are carved into the fabric of my being,

Etched in every scale,

Every shuddering breath I take in your absence.

To forget would be to lose myself,

For I am shaped by the love you gave,

And the void you left.

The sky is vast, but it feels smaller now.

Its edges press against me,

A reminder of how far I cannot go.

No flight can bridge this distance,

No flame can warm the cold

That your absence has sown.

I have called your name to the stars,

Begged the heavens to return you,

But they remain silent,

Their light pale and distant.

What do they know of loss,

Those distant fires burning endlessly?

They cannot feel the way you burned within me,

The way your light outshone their cold eternity.

I do not mourn the past;

I mourn the future that will never come.

The flights we will not take,

The sunrises we will not share,

The quiet moments that now belong to no one.

If love is eternal,

Then so too is this ache.

It binds me to you,

A tether that stretches beyond the grave,

Pulling me toward the shadow of what was.

And though it hurts,

Though it tears at the edges of my soul,

I do not let it go.

For in the longing,

You remain.

In the ache,

You are alive.

I will carry this pain,

Not as a burden,

But as a gift.

For it means you were real,

That you were mine,

And that part of you

Still lingers in the hollow of my heart.

—Tenerael

[tenerael]

There is a hollow where you once stood,

A place untouched by light,

Untouched by sound.

It does not fade;

It does not forgive.

It presses against my chest,

Heavy as stone,

Sharp as the edge of memory.

I cannot move beneath its weight,

Cannot breathe without it filling me,

A tide that rises endlessly,

Pulling me into the depths of what remains.

It is not loss—

Loss implies an ending.

This is something more,

A presence that lingers,

An absence that takes root.

I try to speak your name,

But it chokes me,

Not with tears, but with silence.

The words unravel in my throat,

Too fragile to hold the truth of you,

Too weak to carry what I feel.

The air hums with what is missing,

A vibration too low for sound,

Too vast for words.

It touches everything,

Every breath, every moment,

Every shadow that stretches longer now

Because you are not there.

I thought time would carry it away,

That the winds would erode its edges,

But time is powerless here.

It does not heal;

It does not mend.

It circles endlessly,

A loop that tightens with every turn.

What remains is not just the memory of you,

But the shape of the void you left behind.

It clings to me,

Wrapping itself around my wings,

Pulling me closer to the ground

Each time I try to rise.

And yet,

I hold it.

Not because I wish to,

But because I must.

For to let it go would be to let you go,

And I cannot bear the thought.

This ache is all I have of you,

The only proof that you were real,

That you were mine,

Even for a fleeting moment.

If this weight is the price of knowing you,

I will bear it.

I will carry it,

Even as it breaks me,

Even as it becomes me.

For in the silence of this pain,

You still exist.

—Tenerael

[tenerael]

You were the sky beneath my wings,

The wind that carried me when I could not rise.

Your presence was a rhythm, steady and eternal,

A hum that whispered, "I am here."

But nothing is eternal.

I see that now, in the silence you left,

A silence that is not quiet,

But deafening in its emptiness.

You did not vanish like a storm,

Nor crumble like a mountain undone.

You faded, piece by piece,

A slow unmaking

That I could not stop,

Though I tried.

I held onto what remained,

Each fragment of you precious,

Each moment slipping through my claws

Like the sands of a shore I could not save.

I told myself there was time—

Time to hold you closer,

Time to say the words I dared not speak.

But time is a cruel current,

And it carried you farther than I could follow.

Each breath grew softer,

Each glance more distant,

Until one day,

The rhythm stopped.

Now, I search the skies,

Tracing the patterns you once showed me.

But they are fractured,

Pieces of a whole I can no longer see.

The wind carries no answer,

Only the echoes of what was.

You are not here,

But your absence is.

It clings to me,

Heavy as stone,

Sharp as the edge of a broken promise.

I do not know how to carry it,

This weight of losing you.

Yet in the stillness, there is a memory,

A faint warmth that refuses to fade.

You are the fire that lingers in the ashes,

The melody that hums in the void.

And though I cannot feel your wings beside mine,

I feel their shadow,

A presence that is both haunting and comforting.

To lose you is to lose a part of myself,

To see the world as it is—

Incomplete,

Beautiful in its fracture.

You taught me how to rise,

And now I rise for you,

Each beat of my wings a testament

To the love that remains.

For though you are gone,

You are not lost.

You are the wind,

The whisper in the quiet,

The unbroken thread

That binds me to the sky.

I will carry you,

Not as grief,

But as love,

Endless and unyielding.

—Tenerael

[tenerael]

The river does not ask permission,

Nor does it pause for grief.

It moves,

Endlessly,

Shaping the world as it flows.

I have stood in its current,

Felt its pull against my strength.

I have tried to hold the water,

But it slips through my claws,

A reminder that nothing stays.

The stones beneath its surface

Are worn smooth by its touch,

Not broken,

But transformed.

Change is not destruction—

It is a remaking.

And though I mourn what is lost,

I find solace in what remains:

The whisper of the river,

The promise of its endless journey,

The certainty that it will carry me

To a place unknown,

Yet waiting.

—Tenerael

[tenerael]

Love is not a flame bound to one hearth,

Nor a river carved for a single course.

It is the air we breathe,

The wind beneath our wings,

A force unyielding and infinite,

Yet delicate in its form.

In its truest essence, love is not possession,

Not a claim or a tether.

It is a mirror,

Reflecting the parts of ourselves

We might never see without another’s light.

There are dragons who will lift us,

Their wings brushing against ours,

Guiding us toward the sunlit skies.

There are others who will anchor us,

Their presence steady and grounding,

Holding us safe when storms rage.

No single soul can be all things,

For to ask that is to cage them,

To deny their own truth

In the name of our longing.

Love is not a demand,

But a gift freely given,

A choice renewed with every breath.

Some dragons are fire,

Burning bright and fierce,

Their passion igniting the coldest hearts.

Some are the calm of moonlit waters,

A soothing presence in the chaos of flight.

Others are shadows,

Whispering truths we fear to face,

Challenging us to grow.

It is not weakness to love more than one sky,

To find pieces of yourself

In the embrace of different wings.

For love is not diminished by its sharing,

But multiplied,

Each bond strengthening the others.

To love one dragon does not mean to forsake another.

It means recognizing the unique melody

Each soul brings to your song,

The harmonies that arise

When hearts collide and entwine.

Some will call it betrayal,

This openness of the heart,

This willingness to feel beyond the singular.

But how can love betray

When its purpose is to expand,

To stretch beyond the limits

We impose on ourselves?

I have soared through skies unknown,

Guided by many lights.

Each flame, each shadow, each whisper of wind

Has shaped the dragon I am.

To deny their place in my heart

Would be to deny my own existence,

The mosaic of scales and scars

That tell my story.

Love in its purest form

Is not a chain,

But a freedom—a flight.

It is the courage to see others as they are,

Not as we wish them to be.

It is the understanding

That no one sky can hold us forever.

Some dragons will stay for a season,

Their presence a fleeting warmth.

Others will remain,

Their wings brushing ours for lifetimes.

Each is no less important,

No less real,

No less deserving of the love we carry.

And so, I open my heart,

Not as a fortress,

But as a field—vast, unbound,

Stretching toward horizons unknown.

For love, in its essence,

Is not a destination,

But the journey itself.

I do not love because I must.

I love because I am,

And because in loving,

I become more.

—Tenerael