I've been thinking about happiness
And what exactly it is
Maybe it's the cliche
The rise and fall of your chest when I lay beside you at night
Or maybe it's the way you shrug your shoulders when you're cold and wet
The best things are probably your arms wrapping around my waist when I do the dishes
Or when I catch you bobbing your head to the music that we like best
It could be the quiet moments,
when you're sitting in the sun
That special look,
when you've sat down with a book
Or when you're so excited to open mail,
the way you elongate your "yeesss"
It might be when you kiss my forehead,
calling me beautiful when I'm a mess
But it's probably the way you make
every moment
feel like our home
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 9:00 AM UTC
Everytime I pass the street, my eyes linger on the pedestrian bridge.
It's fairly new.
And wouldn't be there if it wasn't for what happened at the corner.
A woman and her baby, or maybe she was looking after this baby, they were standing, waiting to cross, when a car took a turn too sharp, too fast, too whatever, and the baby was gone.
For months, maybe years after, the street lamp was covered in stuffed animals.
But now there's nothing but my memory of a baby I never met and a bridge I'm glad exists.
I wonder what her name was.
I wonder if anyone thinks about her when they cross the bridge.
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 12:33 AM UTC
Sometimes I catch myself
remembering the smile you had
when my fingers traced the lines of your face
your neck
shoulders
hips.
The way the sun came in through your windows.
The noise you'd make when I'd nudge you.
A reminder to wake up,
to hold me closer.
The warmth of your thin comfter
the only thing protecting us
from the day.
I want to pick up the phone
but I can't call you.
I won't ever hear your laugh.
Sometimes I worry
that my memories won't last.
I want to call and say:
Do you remember when we kissed for real.
When you looked at me and said
"I've been waiting for this
for a long time"
Now everything that existed
is just mine.
And no one will ever remember
how we shivered
under your thin comforter
hidden from the day.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 11:12 PM UTC
If I think back to those cold afternoons
where noon felt as cold as night
I wish I could have gone back,
traced lines on your eyes and mouth
Draw myself a map
The streets and hills that rest between your house and my memory
are empty
The words I didn't have the courage to say
stay trapped in my chest
With nowhere to go
it gets carried in through the dim light that poured into your shadeless windows
To your matress,
on the floor of a bare apartment
And makes a home between our bodies,
lingering in that space of regret
The words slipping through my hands before I could measure their worth
to you,
or anyone.
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC
There's this ache
in my heart
that I can only describe
as the first cold wind
on the last days
of summer.
Or like when you were a kid
and your parents packed you in a van.
Your house fading in the distance as you drove away from
everything
you ever loved.
The squeaks and creaks of familiar floorboards,
the smell of your room
becoming fuzzy details
of your dreams.
There's this ache in my heart
that reminds me of
guts twisting up
right before they tell you
they've got some bad news.
Your toes curling in your shoes,
bracing yourself
for a punch
you never physically
receive.
Or the way your voice strains
when youre trying to get
a message
across
the pouring rain.
The cold soaking
through your clothes,
sticking to your soul.
Creating goosebumps
on the flesh that covers
the bone.
And you never really
ever
get quite dry.
There's this ache in my heart
that reminds me,
that reminds me.
That I could only describe
as just
that ache.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
I think the problem is
that you need a girl
who doesn't think
about what goldfish
dream about
or about worms
that get washed up
on rainy days.
A girl who doesn't think
about
raindrop races
on windowpanes.
A girl who doesn't
point out clouds
that puff out like the
dragons
she reads about.
A girl who likes
politics
and not fantasy.
A girl who cries when
the endings are sad.
Not happy.
A girl who lives
for the sake of
love
and not
herself.
A girl who is
definitely
not
me.
I think
the problem is
I'm happy
it's not.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
You always went along
with my ideas
and my desire to be near
water
and away
from people.
A desire that remains
even now
that you're gone.
We were so young
and it seemed to me
that the thin gravel trails
stretched out across the hot marshes
the same way
our futures did.
I never had to explain it,
not to you.
You would hop in my car
with a smile
as I'd tell you my plan
to watch the sunset
from wetlands.
To walk around
swamps
in muggy
New Jersey summer
was probably the last thing
anyone wanted.
But there we were
on a bridge,
talking about things
that we didn't know
wouldn't matter
ever.
I think we both just felt
lost
and found comfort
getting lost
in vaguely familiar places.
There are so many
conversations
I can't remember.
But I remember
watching the sun
go down
and running
down those gravel trails
screaming,
laughing,
because mosquitos
eating us alive
was the only concern
worth having.
The only thing
that would matter,
ever.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
I'm falling endlessly
into a pit,
poor timing when I jumped.
Surely this
is the end?
Heart pounding,
darkness makes way for light
and for a moment
I forget
where I am.
Turning restlessly,
the vaguely familiar blurs that my
poor vision allows,
I find your face and realize
my jump
was a dream.
It seems sleep gave you back
years of your life.
The sand in your eyes make you
a boy again.
And I can't help but wonder
the dreams you could be chasing
or the lack thereof.
Your breath comes slowly,
your chest rising
and falling.
The broken gears
and cut wires
of your small frame
coming together
to create
a smooth running
sleep machine.
For a moment
I'm jealous,
it looks so easy to do
when I'm watching you.
Like you're more capable than I
of rest
and relaxation.
You found the switch that turns off
your brain
that I
was not built with.
The next moment,
my thoughts
are far.
I struggle to tell the difference
between what's happened
and what's dreamt.
Panic sets in
and as I sort reality
your eyes
flutter open.
Eyelashes shaking sleep
from your face.
Like fallen leaves
taking off into the sky
from a sudden
wind.
Your eyes focus
on me
expectingly.
Like before you woke up,
you knew exactly
where
you'd be.
Your lips stretch
into a lazy smile
breaking my daze with a dreamy,
"Good morning".
And once again,
I'm left to wonder
if I'm here
falling
after a poorly timed
jump.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
Time doesn't steal anything from you,
it changes you.
It lets you watch your grandmother,
a strong woman, sturdy,
a force to be reckoned with:
shrivel,
become small.
Her size reminding you
of when you'd lay beside her
as a child.
Her back to you, watching her massive shoulders move
like calm waves on a shore with each
breath.
The presence of that giant
chased the nightmares away.
And you realize that it was the only time that feeling small
felt so good,
and being big now
felt so terrible.
Time doesn't steal anything from you.
It conspires with your brain
to help you perfectly
remember
the time the boy you loved gazed down from above you,
the moment
before a kiss.
The moment that will always feel longer
than any other in your life.
But time obliterates any words that were said
from memory.
Obliterates any useful information,
any conversations.
Does not allow you to remember
each
and every day.
The momentum of time allows you infinite moments
to live in your past
today.
Like living in the moment
that you woke up on your 5th birthday
to your mom who spent
all morning
blowing up hundreds
of balloons.
Time let's you remember that feeling
of opening your eyes
to magic.
Remember feeling more loved
than you will ever feel.
Time gives you this moment,
but takes away
the day.
Time is indifferent as you plummet into the future.
Dragging behind you the images and words of
an optimistic kid
that you hope to keep alive.
Time is indifferent
as it demands you wake up,
and start over
again
and
again.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:19 AM UTC