Take with you my spirit.
I brought it with me when I visited;
Tasting of apples, smelling of cheap perfume:
Happy to see you.

With no key, no schedule,
I was the Prince, you were Repunzel:
Smiling at me out your window.
Your arms were my favourite place in the world.

Take with you the picture
Of my sad eyes: heavy and puffed.
Holding my own hand.
Happy that I now could.

I made my choices, lost my way.
You learned more about me then.
Frown lines cracked my porcelain face.
Your presence offered me solace.

Take with you my love;
It stayed around all these years.
Missing your hands, searching for your eyes.
Happy to have met them.

Time took with it the motions.
Though, inside me we both stand still.
I catch glimpses of your arms, and your delight,
But you are no longer in the crowd.

11.29.23 I'll start the story and then never finish it because there will always be more to write. There will always be more to our story. Or so I hope.




2.2.24 I started the story and never finished because missing you cuts too deep to write of our missed adventures. There are no more words left to our story.




Because it's not our story anymore.




-t.s.

I always thought relationships ended with anger,
but you know they say the opposite of love is apathy.

Like the death you confront after your fall from religion,
there is no fear, nostalgia, or sadness - just a void.

To not be thought of is to be dead.

I'll become like that pesty buzzing in your ear
that reminds you every now and then there's a fly in your house.

I'll ask if you remember those times together,
and you'll look past me like a foreign stranger asking directions.

You won't even need to say goodbye because you said it a hundred times to yourself.
When you finally say it me, you'll be hanging up the phone, but I'll be crumbling under all the weight of what was left to be said.

I watched as your stabbed yourself with daggers.
Your blood ran cold down your shaking body.
I tried to remove the daggers from you,
but you could not let go.
You were addicted to the pain that they brought you.

I tried to mend your wounds,
but you would **** them open,
drenching yourself in your own suffering.

I tried to give you the space to heal,
but to you only pain is real.
So you self-inflict
in hopes that no one will see the skin behind your scars.

So I watched you die before my eyes.

Flowers need water,
Even the hardiest cacti
Will expire after
Two years without it,

People much the same,
But they also need love,
A caring caress,
A tender kiss,

A loving touch,
Those myriad little
Things that make friends
Become lovers

And lovers into soul mates
That last a lifetime
And indeed beyond
Mere dying,

But plants live
With no expectation
Of water,
Just faith that it will come

In time when needed,
And if it does not then
They die not knowing
They were left to do so,

People are different,
I am different,
I crave the little things
And the big,

And unlike a plant
Or a cactus I can comprehend
The concept of that
Interaction ending

And it makes me despair,
And cry