"plan a" was to be cordial:
you said, "coexist."
we toasted with our cappuccinos,
"to coexisting," before replacing our masks.
smile. wave. be polite.
I suppose some dozen missteps by me rendered this plan
useless.

"plan b" is much harder.
put your hand on the table.
the knife comes down, quick,
press the hot metal to the wound.

amputate. cauterize.
use your friends as a tourniquet,
like the one I've been twisting you into for the last year
and a half.

Oh King of
mixed signals,
could you once,
be clear?
Your red light,
green light,
yellow light
are all on
at once.
Causing traffic
on the interstate of
my mind.
Backed up for hours,
your red light,
green light,
yellow light
are all on
at once.
Stay.
Go.
Slow.
Oh King of
mixed signals,
make up
your mind.

"nothing good stays "
i always did, so that makes sense"
but your eyes were on your dream,
and apparently i was just some traffic
i always knew this was bound to happen
but that does not make it hurt less
you always think you've more time..there are going to be
more hugs,
more late-night talks,
more of everything
but then your world starts closing
in on you
and in the blink of an eye, he is gone..
and your time is over.
all the plans you made, all the promises..
they all get reduced to ..memories
memories that'l lhaunt you down at 2am
and make you cling to your pillowcase
and you'll realise you should never have let him touch you..
'cause
all the broken parts of  you that he fixed
just burn now, reminding you of his absence
and you'll see him, almost everything will remind you of him
the lonely moon, the other side of your bed
one sad songs, or the phone that no longer beeps
or the smell of him on your pillowcase
absence of him will be everywhere you see
time will cease to have any meaning to you
even the best of your friends will fall apart
and it won't be their fault, 'cause after months of not having their calls received ..everyone thought it's better to not call
you think this is it..that you won't ever recover but you would
and when the wounds his sudden departure gave turn to scars, you'll promise yourself that you won't ever love
but darling..you will
he'll assure you that he is different, you'll try not to believe but one day you will
And

**the whole **** will start again

Hand softly against your cheek.
Lips pressed to your ear.
The whisper drifts into your consciousness, almost inaudible.
It's a request. A wish. A desire. A quench for passion.
The words tickle your canal as they enter.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up tall.
The speaker does not own these words but rather they own you.
Captivating, filled with desire, a yearning, wanting more.
As they trickle in, you process the slivering snakelike progression of words that just met your ear.
"Kiss me."
The very word "kiss" can set you on fire.
There's something about the word.
The way it's sharp and bold in the beginning...
Yet...electrifying at the end.
It is drawn out, poetic, tongue tying.
If you close your eyes, you can almost envision getting lost in the letters.
First, there's the K.
That crisp, clean K that is proud yet does not boast.
That K cuts like a knife, no not a knife, a kite, it cuts like a kite, soaring high into the sky. Never planning on coming down.
Then, you've got the I.
It stands tall but it's shy and sandwiched in the middle.
It cowers from the past and even more fearful of what is to come.
It is elusive, slightly ****, coy, perhaps even unattainable.
Then you've got the electrifying, alliterative "ss."
Almost as if you're not ready for the word to end, holding, dare I say, clinging onto those last precious letters, dragging out every last sound.
Every last breath has come to this.
"Kiss."
It comes and then goes before you can say it.
Fearful of missing it.
You hang onto that "S" for it is the last thing that ties you to this.
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
Once you've said it, never stop saying it.
Kiss Kiss Kiss.
All good things, though, must go. Then the time comes to let it be.
So then you say,"Kiss me."

if you choose her I
will understand. My heart is
breaking regardless.

And so the boy wept,
Not due to the fact that she would never be his,
Not because his love would never kept,
But because he would never be what she wanted,

He could learn to stop crying and forget,
But her eyes will forever be a painted image in his mind,
And nothing would be remembered through regret,
For he had given everything to her and left nothing for himself

My façade does not show
what nobody knows.