I’m always falling
and I often end up drained.
I wish instead of tumbling that
I could fly on my paper cranes.

On my paper cranes
I’d fly over cardstock trees,
to land inside an origami garden
and sit on folded peonies.

I’d go on a newspaper sailboat
and float over the tissue sea
to visit cardboard whales
and foam board manatees

I wish that all my troubles,
were made of paper too,
and that I could solve them
by folding a world for you.

Tired,
I crawl into the hole I created,
my resting place.
It is nestled deep in the tundra,
Away from the life I have lived.
Here,
I forget my failures,
that I have burned into the skin
of those I love the most.
Here,
I close my eyes,
and like a needle has been
pushed into my veins,
I forget.

Sometimes
things don't
end with thunderous applause,
or even with a bang.
Because,
Some endings,
aren't proper endings
at all.
Sometimes,
all explanation
is heard in the absence
of words.
But I've learned
to decipher
the silence.

Almost lover,
an odd concept-
one that's not
completely understood
until it hits you.

Even curiouser,
is the almost
almost lover,
a strange in between,
a nerve wracking limbo.

Please don't be
my almost lover.
Please don't let me
***** this up.
Please be mine,
because I want
to be yours,
and I feel you slipping.

"I miss you" you say
"I miss you too," I  tell you
I truly do.
"When are you free?" I ask
"Never, but I'll make time for you," you say
That
Doesn't
Make
Me
Feel
Better
About taking
Your time

I dreamt of you again last night, I've felt
more of your kisses in my dreams than
in real life.
Does that make them any less real?