It seems like no matter what I do,
There’s never enough time.
There’s never enough time with the people I love.
Never enough time to drive around at 2am with my brother listening to music and talking about life.
Never enough time to sit at the dining room table with my mom and listen to her stories and dreams.
Never enough time to share a cigarette on the front porch with my dad while listening to the frogs and crickets make night music.
There’s never enough time to sit with my sister on her bed and talk about boys and where we’ll be in 5 years.
Never enough time to be in my lovers arms, wrapped up safe and warm.

I look back on who and what I’ve lost, and even if I can see missed opportunities, there still wouldn’t have been enough time.
Every hour, every minute, every second slips by so quickly and easily.
I try my hardest to make the most of every second,
But I still feel a longing in my heart that I know won’t be satisfied.
I’ve come to find that this longing isn’t regret,
But rather an intense love.
Pieces of my heart live in those I love, and the depth of that love makes it nearly impossible to fill with any amount of time spent with that person.
There will never be enough time to satisfy my heart.
But there will always be this deep love that  is given by me and carried around by the people I care about.
I feel this love at the core of my being,
And I’m coming to terms with the fact that there will never be enough time to sit in and share the full breadth and width of it.
But I can still feel it.
I can still hold my lover tight and feel the passion being shared between us.
I can still share conversations that change the course of my life and perspective with my family.
I have more than enough love to share, and I hope I get enough time.

m.h.

It’s crazy how “home” changes as you grow older.

When I was a kid, home was the place where I spent my days with my brother and sister.
My parents were there.
My dogs were there.
I had never known any other place where I could rest my head every night.

When I graduated from high school, home changed.
I moved to the city and slept there every night instead.
Home was my dorm with my friends and a view of the skyscrapers.
But it didn’t feel like home,
At least not all the way.
The people I had spent my entire life with weren’t there with me.
My heart was spread across two cities.

When I left the dorms I moved into a townhouse in the park and that was home for a while.
My new friends were there.
That house hosted so many parties, movie nights, and therapy sessions with my roommates.
We filled that home with love, good food, and memories.

Once I graduated I moved back in with my parents.
Technically I was “home”, but it didn’t feel like it used to.
My life that I had built was in another city with different people.

After awhile I got an apartment with a friend from college.
And that place feels like my home.
It’s only shared with one other person, not my whole family,
Or 3 other roommates and a dog.
It’s a space that I can make entirely my own.

Then I met you.
Your home is the town beside my parents town.
It makes me wonder, where is my home?
What is home?
Because you feel like home to me too.
A place where I know I’m safe and loved.
A place where I can be my true self.
A place where I’m comfortable and can rest.

I’ve always heard that home isn’t a place, but the people who make you feel like you’re at home.
And if that’s true, I have homes in 4 cities.
It’s filling and draining to have your heart spread across the land.
The people you call home all in different places.
It’s a strange feeling, but I know it’s also part of growing up.
When I was a kid I associated home with a place that had all your things, all your family, and everything centralized.
I’ve come to feel that home isn’t the place where I live for now,
but the people that I do life with and love with all my being.

m.h.

There’s nothing better for these lonely nights
Than smoking a cigarette on the front porch.
I used to say that I’d never smoke,
But that was before everything happened.

That was before my heart was shattered by two lovers within the span of 6 months.
That was before I lost my aunt so unexpectedly and violently.
That was before I watched my brother brush with death
On the floor of this very porch.
That was before I held my 16 year old dog in my arms as she died in my front yard.
That was before a global pandemic turned everyone’s worlds and plans upside down.

I sit here and as I take a drag of this cigarette I can’t help but relate.
With each pull I’m getting closer and closer to being nothing.
When things are good, it’s like the nicotine buzz you get after not smoking all day.
But in between the buzzes, I’m reminded of the emptiness that somehow coexists with the heaviness in my heart.

I used to say I’d never smoke, but things change.
People change.
I’ve changed.
I’m still figuring out if it’s for the better.

m.h.

I gave you my heart.
And what did you give me in return?
You had my attention, affection, admiration,
And my love.
That last one is the hardest to get out of me.
But somehow, I opened my heart up to you.
I loved again and I’m still surprised by that.
You see, I had my heart broken not long before you came around.
I knew you were special, but I thought, “there’s no way I can fully love again. At least not for a long time.”
But I was wrong.
Love grew wild and free from a place where hurt once was.
Love for you.
But you know that saying, “all good things come to an end”.
I really wish that wasn’t true.

We were a good thing,
But I don’t think we were the right thing.
Even still, my heart hurts in the place where you didn’t harvest my love and cherish it like a bouquet of fresh cut flowers.
You saw it, and knew you couldn’t give it back to me.
And what did I get in return for a heart of love not embraced?
I’m still walking around my fields, looking at all the flowers that bloomed for you and wondering, “what will happen to these”?
What will happen to this beautiful and fragile love that lays unharvested?

At this point, I don’t know.
All I can do is marvel at the fact that love grew again in the first place.
I’m still waiting to see what I will get in return for the love you left in me.

m.h.

I am doing my best to do this the right way.
I’m doing my best to respect the process
And follow every step,
But you make it so hard.
The way you look at me after we kiss,
The way you rest your hand on my thigh
When we’re on the couch watching TV,
The way your eyes light up with joy at my silly jokes,
Make it so hard.
You make it hard to not skip every step in between me and you.
As much as I want to take that leap,
There is still the part of me that knows that the things worth having most are worth waiting for.
There have been times in my life where I jumped the gun and things turned out okay,
But I want so much more than just okay when it comes to me and you.
So I’m willing to be patient.
I’m willing to wait and watch love grow from a place where hurt once was.
I’m willing to pause and enjoy every moment rather than always anticipate the next one.
I’m willing to see this as an opportunity to practice patience, because I know
You will be worth it.

m.h.

I could never have imagined all we would endure in our futures
When we wrote backstories for our Barbie dolls.
We spent hours naming them, assigning them a family,
defining their past and who they were.
We were the gods of their identities.

I always remember that we made them into the women we wanted to be.
Strong, beautiful, and smart with loving families and a passion in their hearts.
Our Barbies were astronauts and school bus drivers and stay-at-home moms.
Now looking back I can see that we grew from those playroom dreams
Into women with strength to define our stories.
We found beauty in who we are and what we do.
We managed to keep our smarts, even through all our mistakes.
Our passions are opposite but still strong enough to lead us forward.
If only our Barbies could see us now,
Growing into who we were made to be despite what has happened to us.
It’s amazing how someone can be your childhood
And your future, all in one.

I will always cherish the things we share that you can only have with a sister.
Yelling at each other when the other one “borrows” your favorite outfit.
Cheering for one as she performs on a stage
And feeling the pride take your heart to the brink of bursting.
The primal instinct to protect and love and guide lives in my heart
And it is never afraid to show its face and stretch out its arms,
To do anything
for my sister.

m.h.

I’ve experienced my deepest pain
And greatest breakthroughs
On a yellow couch.
The window in the room has a perfect view of an oak tree
That I’ve watched slowly change from green to orange leaves.
My eyes have traveled across the same painting of the ocean
For hours as words and tears spill out of me
Like a tangled up *** of yarn.
I’ve been holding on to it for so long
Not knowing how to handle the continuous string,
but I’m lucky to have someone to grab my jumbled thoughts
And untangle them with me.
For the longest time I was proud of the mess I managed inside
And thought I was capable of untangling it myself.
What I’ve learned is that I am capable.
Not because I have it all figured out,
But because I have the strength to admit that I don’t.
The longer I live the more I see that I can’t carry
Everything that has happened to me by myself.
And that’s okay.
Everytime I sit down, I remember the first time I sat here
And the slow but steady progress that followed
Each time I’ve met this room.
The inside of my mind would look so different
If I hadn’t pushed myself
To sit on that yellow couch.

m.h.