Loneliness and depression are like parasites,
adapting to their new host bodies
They will cling to anything that it can.
Something with an open wound,
someone weak in the flesh - susceptible.
For these are their preferred feasting grounds,
and I’m their favorite company.

My weakness lies within my heart,
it’s naive and craves romanticism.
And it’s willing to do anything
for even the slightest amount of affection.
When I give,
I will give until I am but a fragment of myself.
When I love,
I will love without thinking what I’ll get in return.
And so when I fell so deeply in love with you,
and you told me you didn’t feel the same,
it broke my heart.
My walls came crashing down around me,
and I found myself choking on the remnants of our broken love.
All I could was “Why?”,
but you left me with not so much as an answer.
My chest cavity grew weak,
and my heart sank into my stomach,
which should be filled with butterflies.
But instead there I lie -
cold and broken.
I’m desperate to be saved,
to have life breathed into me,
but the only one for me is you -
so say you love me too.

Why are weeds considered ugly plants?
They are but the most beautiful anomaly in this cruel and unfair world.
Despite the lack of water and necessary care,
they still manage to find a way through the tightest and inhospitable of cracks,
chasing the warm kiss of the sun,
and to be showered by the cleansing rain.
But when they do overcome their hardships,
greedy, unrelenting hands reach down,
and strip them from the earth,
pulling out their roots,
and throwing them away.
Then the place that they worked so hard to exist in,
is taken over by some eye-pleasing blossom.
Real beauty is not found in those that are given everything,
but rather in that of striving to simply be,
to overcome obstacles,
and rise above,
no matter the circumstance.
There is something beautiful about that fight and determination,
and nothing profound about a flower that is nourished with constant love and affection,
because they will only grow to be weak and fragile.

I can’t help but keep my hands off you.
You are the most beautiful being on this earth.
You are imperfectly perfect.
Every aspect of you -
your light brown, curly locks,
the rough stubble framing those gorgeously rose-toned lips,
that infectious laugh of yours,
those hypnotizing eyes that I could stare into for hours,
the taste of your supple lips…
So please excuse me for not being able to control myself around you.
I’m helplessly drawn to you.
There’s not a single second that passes,
when I don’t wish that -
I could trace your skin with my fingertips,
have your lips pressed against mine,
or to feel the warmth of your tight embrace.
And when I can’t,
I find myself staring at you,
adoringly admiring one of God’s most precious creations.

You were the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,
so calm, compassionate, and loving;
there was just something about you that made me feel so serene,
you gave a reason for living.

Every move you made,
every word that rolled off your tongue,
words that never made me afraid,
but moved me and had me strung.

With every thing we did,
you always took me higher,
we kept nothing hid,
especially our burning desire.

I always keep your photograph with me,
as a friendly, hopeful reminder,
of what you used to be,
when your love was so much kinder.

There’s nothing worse,
than looking in your eyes,
god it hurts,
knowing that the old you died.

Having you on my side in life,
I felt like I had already won,
but now I’m caught in this strife,
and the fire’s gone.

Looking into your eyes,
I could see that they lost their light,
I told myself that it was a lie,
as if that would make anything alright.

I’m holding onto this photo,
because it’s all I have left,
of the one who made my insides glow,
and my senses deaf.

So this photograph of yours,
I hold it close to my heart and pray,
that you’ll be like you were before,
because I don’t want us to drift away.

The way you play your harp,
effortlessly weaving your fingers
through those nylon strings
is oh so captivating.

The firm hold you have on your instrument,
secure, yet light enough,
being careful not to break
the mahogany frames.

The heedful ears you have,
used to listen to the echoing sounds,
your harp makes in response to
even the slightest flick of your finger.

The beautifully composed melody,
brought forth by the
dissonance and resolution
of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever known.

Wherever did you get the practice?
*Perhaps it was from toying with my heart.

The clock strikes midnight,
signaling us to lay our bones to rest.
As I head to my bed,
and he to his,
I want nothing more than to lay down beside him,
with his arms wrapped around the small of my waist,
and to sleep.
But miles of bustling roads separate us,
leaving us with nothing but the
emptiness between our sheets,
the stillness of the air casting down upon us,
and a sudden infatuation with the clock’s sluggish ticking,
counting down the seconds, minutes, and hours,
until we can be together again.
Nobody said this distance would be easy to endure,
but this one thing I know is for sure -
my never-ending love for you does come easily.
So close your eyes,
and rest your mind, my love,
and as will I.
The sun will surely rise,
giving life to a new, endowing day,
and this enkindled flame will never cease to exist,
because for a fire to flourish,
it needs space, oxygen,
not constant suffocation.
Distance will make us stronger, darling,
I promise you this.