I miss her, yet I cannot forget her.
Like echoes of a time long gone.
Silence is my reality.
Try as I might she still holds my mind tight.
Is it her fault for being so captivating?
Maybe it is my own doing, for loving her too deeply.
I feel lost in a lake of dreams.
Dreams haunted with her presence, and nightmares filled with her absence.
She has forgotten me.
Now I am the only scribe left to keep our memory alive. So I write on.
I will not forget these memories, nor will I stop dreaming of a fantasy no longer attainable.
I will forever chase these memories of a dream long gone.

I only have so much space to offer now.
You have taken so much of it.
One area is filled with the memory of our first kiss; which takes up several acres.
Over there is the memory of your smile, which takes up a whole state.
There are several dozen blocks designated to memories of movies we saw together.
Three states are filled up with songs you said reminded you of me.
I have so little free space.
Every thought I have bumps into a memory of you.
Every time I try to remember if I forgot something at the store, your smile rises to the front of my mind's queue.
How much longer will you own land in my mind?
Please.
Please.
I have so little space left.

Wandering through a forest of misremembered memories.
Milk curdles in the sun's ceaseless heat.
Love fades away into a blood red sky.
My mind has been broken, like a tape being played until it was frayed.
Nirvana is a lie that hopeless souls cry for.
Reality and depression are the only forms of mental suppression I cannot deny.
There is something down in my heart that just will not die.
Like some form of misplaced nostalgia, my soul calls for her.

A note on the floor seaks to explain an open door.
Heart skips a beat, reading the words scribbled with ink.
Tears run down the cheek, dripping onto paper beneath.
Memories flash before the eyes, like vivid visions of fantasy.
Over and over, slower and slower.
Knees press into carpet, as the legs buckle.
Emptiness once more, as darnkess begins to encompas the floor.
Lost in the cold echoes of torrential reality, alone again, and forever it shall be.

Every day begins the same, every week longs for the next to begin.
The tree outside my windows scrapes and tears, begging to come in from the cold world outside.
Neighborhood birds sing a song whose lyrics are a mystery to everyone except me.
My dog barks at the neighbor as he mows his lawn on a rainy Monday night.
Cats in the alley hiss and fight over some trivial thing.
The apartment above me seems to have a party going on, which makes no sense since it is in the middle of the week.
Opening my friend's cooler reveals the beers inside, all light brews, sadly.
Staring up into the stars above causes me to wonder if we truly are alone.
If the universe is infinite, filled with millions of stars, always expanding, never-ending, always shining, always destroying, always finding a way; then my does my heart feel empty today?
My mailbox is empty yet again, even Evelyn across the street got a letter from her son.
I light another cigarette, causing my dark jail cell to light up in a blaze.
"Get him out of there!" they laugh and scream.
But inside I burn, along with my dreams.

Your arrival was magical to me.
You never said much, or listened too well.
Some days you would wander into my room, just to lay near my bed.
Plopping down onto the ground, quietly laying still.
Somehow your silly visits made me smile, every single time.
Everyday, exactly at 5, you would come into my room and whine.
Out of everyone's room you always chose mine, because I was so easily convinced.
You just wagged your tail and I knew, you wanted some **** food.
I think of your puppy dog eyes, guilting me into yet  another treat.
You are my best friend and best dog; you always will be.
I have loved you so much.
You have changed, gotten old, age has finally caught up with us.
Your fur is patchy and grey, your eyes wander and gaze.
I know I don't have much longer, I feel the day drawing near.
This is not fair, I do not want you to go.
I have lost so much already.
Please.
Muddy.
Please don't leave me with another empty space.

My eyes forever looking upwards.
Awaiting the descent of a ghostly spectre.
A phantom image of a soul long past.
Never more will that enchanting creature visit my vacant forest.
Forever it will stay, in a memory immortal.

They tell me the war is won, that I was some kind of chosen one.
I do not feel like the victor.
There lies this inescapable feeling, a hollow ache inside.
The pills were tough, but I have felt worse.
Beams fired towards me as I lay beneath, as my heart gently beats.
I lost no hair.
I lost no weight.
My face and skin stay clear of grate.
Children, Elders, families, they all gambled with  surgeries fate.
What makes me different?
Why do I remain so free?
Why does this victory seem so empty to me?
That little girl who wheeled on by, why was she the failure compared to I?
My heart weighs with guilt for winning a war I did not even feel.
Every week.
Every day.
Every minute.
Why did it have to be me, crossing the lonely line back into reality?
It should have been Jeana, Stephan, Jamie...
It could have been anyone.
Anyone but me.

I would wander a desert, because you are my water.
I would sail the ocean blue for years on end, because you are my new continent.
For decades I would search for a cure, because you are my sickness.
Late nights, long hours, and endless drives. All in search of what I lost.
Oh what I would do for you.
I would stay up all night to keep you company while you studied.
Seconds, Minutes, Hours, Days, Weeks, Years, Decades.
All irrelevant when I am with you.
I do not need coffee to keep me up, you are my energy.
I do not need sleep, because you are my rest.
My love for you is like a circle; it has no beginning and knows no end.
I love you.

If only my innocence, had lasted forever.
If only my worries, were as light as a feather.
The world had other thoughts, and it chose to beat me down.
I lost my great grandpa when I was just ten,
I tried to grieve, but how could I then.
The next year I lost a grandfather, his name was Bruce.
For all his rough edges he sure was a great man, so losing him confused eleven year old me.
Six months later I lost my great grandma.
She had been old and weak, but her heart had still kicked those fiesty beats.
With so much loss my mind began to spin, why did those I love disappear in the wind?
I grew older in age, but my heart always ached.
For those I had lost, it felt just like yesterday.
Sadness led to fear, longing for pain.
Then sadness led to longing for someone to explain.
I loved and lost women and friends, until finally I just begged the world to let it all end.
I sat in the hospital, staring out the window from my hospital bed.
Alone at last, but surrounded by those like me.
The heartbroken, the lost, the one's living through insanity.
But something strange happened that day, something deeply profound.
From that day forward I looked up from the ground.
I smiled more often, and took stock of my life.
No longer did I worry over any perceived misery or strife.
Falling down for so many years had taught me one thing; getting up is your choice, no matter what the world thinks.

A simple glance during class brightens my day.
I look down and see your shoe tracing circles on the carpet.
Sliding my foot closer to yours, I hold my breath.
I stare forward, my mind blank.
My heart beats rapidly, pounding in my ears.
Suddenly I feel your shoe tap against mine.
Once, twice, several times.
Shivers go up and down my spine.
I catch my breath and close my eyes for a moment.
My world is at peace, my heart is calm.
I glance over to your hands, twirling a pencil around.
If only it were as simple to touch your hand.
I imagine reaching over, and your fingers interlocking with mine.
My heart begins beating faster and faster.
A sudden noise awakens me from my daydream.
Class is over.
My sun rises up, packing their bag.
I force a smile and say goodbye.
They smile back, wishing me well.
As they walk away I smile, my heart skipping a beat.

I'm alone again.

This happens a lot.

No one around...

...just me and my thoughts.

Life seems empty.

Moments seem grey.

My heartache worsens with each passing day.

****, film, music; imperfect distractions from this tragic reality.

-1
Colorful lights flash across the room.
Eyelids shutter, shielding eyes from the blinding wonder.
The beams shine too bright, so hands are raised in protection.
-2
Legs buckle beneath.
Souls call out in heavenly speech.
But paradise is far from their reach.
All that awaits is the endless abyss beneath.

Kicked down.
Cold floor. Breath thinner than the air.
Get up.
Hands reach, no grip.
Alone, lost again.
Crying echoes back to silence.
Floods of tears—
no ark, no warmth, just noise.

Thrown down.
Fallen,
too many times.
Get up, try again.
But the hands,
they never pull me up.
Just flickers of light—
brief, empty.
Alone. Lost.
I shout, but no one hears.
A flood of tears,
they turn their backs.
Flee.
Craving warmth,
but it's just cold silence.

Craving safety, security.
A place to breathe.
But the love that’s offered,
it’s conditional.
Harsh words.
Poking, pain,
no softness.
Empty arms,
no warmth.
Alone again,
lost in the night.
I’m down here,
on the cold floor.
Don’t leave me here—
please.
Not again.
Afraid.
Empty.

A burden.
A disappointment.
That’s all I am.
A ghost, never seen,
only felt.
I love, yet all I get is hate.
Thrown back at me,
cold, sharp.
No warmth for the lost,
just more silence.
Another night on the floor,
cold,
alone.

The darkness is heavy.
I can’t rise.
Maybe this is where I belong,
buried beneath the weight.
The coldness, the grime.
No line thrown.
Alone, I sink deeper.
This feels like home—
empty, silent,
a place no one calls their own.
Another night,
heart breaking,
again.

I’m sorry.
For whatever I’ve done,
to push you away.
I can't believe it turned out like this.
Is this the end?
Another night,
more tears,
more silence.
I only wanted a place,
to belong,
to feel seen.
But I guess that’s too much to ask.

A face so perfect and smooth, floated above my bed.
Her beauty was never forgotten, no matter how much time had gone by.
I lay there, looking up into her smiling face.
Tears began to run down my face.
She lowered down her ghostly form, and placed a phantom touch upon my now wet cheek.
Her translucent fingers attempted to wipe away my pain, but I felt nothing.
I closed my eyes, trying to feel what I no longer could.
Her voice whispered inside of me.
"It's ok. I'm here"
But as my eyelids rose, she was nowhere to be seen.
Once again she had faded out of my life, like a projection from a time long past.
So I lay there and wept, for the woman I had lost.
I cried for the heart in my chest, that always breaks.
Darkness surrounding me.
Sleep overwhelming my tired body.
Maybe one day that old projection will once again be my reality.

There she stood. Beautiful. Perfect. As I looked at her she faded away. Not because I was forgetting her, but because she had forgotten me.
When the world turns. The days changes. Night's dark veil is pierced by the spear of oncoming daylight. Day reigns triumphant until the darkness arrives, drowning out the light. This endless cycle goes on. My heart beats on.
The battles never cease. The war knows no end. But her love knew an end. Without her love, the days seem shorter and the nights drag on.
The darkness chokes the light faster than before. The daylight whimpers behind a shield of clouds and rain, Spring drags on. Summer drags on. Fall drags on. Winter drags on. The world drags on. My heart drags on. Missing her. Loving her. Crying for her.
The day reminds me of the joy I do not have. The night drowns me with its cool touch. How much longer until the night lasts forever? When will the daylight become a lie I tell my children before they go to bed?
Rocks tumble down the hillside of my face. They turn to dust, blowing away in the breeze. The memories of those boulders sting worse than the quake itself. The avalanche of grief in my heart floods any semblance of normality.
Life has always found a way to go on. But not for my internal purgatory. My self hating prison of darkness. As the imperfect man waits for heaven or hell, so does my heart wait for judgment.

Her laughter, born of grief, a discord shrill,
A poisoned echo 'midst their solemn sigh.
Were Heaven's voice to break this mortal chill,
Her tongue alone would hold its righteous cry.

Each Sabbath wanes, a ghost of faith long dead,
And hollow words like ashes choke my prayer.
"Worship in shadows," thus my love has said,
The only shrine my soul finds solace fair.

"Born sick," they cry, with eyes turned cold and bleak,
Yet in this taint, a twisted beauty gleams.
Bid me be well... her smile, a promise weak.
Amen, amen, to embers in my dreams.

Take me to church, though every stone be false,
I'll kneel before their altar of deceit,
Confess those blackened sins, heed virtue's waltz,
And offer up my soul, a death most sweet.

If pagan gods I court in hushed delight,
She is my sun, the darkness I adore.
Their goddess craves a pyre, a sacrifice so bright –
What offering shall please her evermore?

A priest, perhaps, in robes of purest white?
Or jewels that gleam in their cathedral's gloom?
This holy hunger burns with blinding might...

Take me to church, let wickedness consume.
Grant me this death, oh Lord, break virtue's hold.
No king, no creed, when my dark rites commence.
In whispers and in sins, the truth untold,
I find my cleansing in this sweet offense.

In earthly mire, where earthly beauty sleeps,
A fragile grace those pious ones disdain,
Amen, amen... yet still my spirit weeps.
Take me to church, where my cursed heart remains.

Sad songs bring me to a special place within my soul.
Every haunted note sung shatters my outlook on what the future holds.
A stream of moody chords could cause salt and liquid to blend, tears flowing onto my pillow and bed.
Melodies cursed to possess my very core.
My heart aches with every lonely lullaby that echoes into my fragile ears.
Brain signals fire left and right, confused at what tragedy has caused me to feel so low.
Has he lost someone dear?
Is he coping with some unknown fear?
Does he wonder if his own death is near?
Maybe some of those ring true, but sometimes it is for no sane reason at all.
Some days I long for the love I once had, so I play a song that once brought joy to a world not yet sad.
Those cheesy pop songs, folk tunes, and haunting notes are now played for one reason; I miss the heartache I had from someone I loved.
Because even if they chose to leave me, at least the songs we had can remind me of the pain that came.
I would rather feel the pain of their betrayal over and over again than feel nothing at all.
They left me with nothing, so what could remain?

A solar eclipse of angelic proportions stretches across the day sky.
Space and time stopping for just a moment.
Waging factions joining hands for a temporary ceasefire.
To halves are whole for a moment.
Just a moment.
Then they move past, uncoupling again.
The world begins to move again.
Cars drive on, taxis honk their horns, people cross the streets of life.
What seemed so cataclysmic and final; was merely anticlimactic and dissolvable.

The rain splashing against my car's windshield, as it is flung from another car's tire.
The whoosh of air across the roof.
That audible shift when driving surfaces change beneath the vehicle.
“Click Click Click”
The blinker chimes, as I wait to turn left.
As I turn, the steering wheel groans with the car’s leftward weight shift.
I yawn.
Traffic goes on.
I glance to the billboards littering the highway’s landscape.
One reads; “Does advertising work? Just did!”
Hardly.
A sharp honk heard from behind. I had been daydreaming again.
My hands rise up apologetically as I press my foot to the gas and drive on.
I miss her.
"Stop, not now." I mutter. "Drive on."
So I drove on.

I arrived to class several minutes late, parking was terrible.
Darting between seats, I wandered towards my seat.
There she was sitting across from my seat at the table; the purple girl.
Today she looked over at me and smiled, then resumed listening to the lecture.
Her purple pencil flicked up and down as she passively tapped it against her open notebook.
Her purple shoe flopped loosely against her heel, dangling onto her forefoot.
Her purple hair shone in the  daylight pouring through the window.
After class my brain fought with itself, debating on speaking with the purple angel.
As she arose with her packed purple pouch, I uttered a phrase.
“Your hair looks lovely today.”
I looked away, embarrassed with my not so subtle compliment.
She giggled, brushing a strand of hair from her eyesight.
“Thank you, I like yours too.”
She wandered out of class with the other students.
Next time I will finally raise up my courage.
For the purple girl.

Remember those wooden games you would play with as a child?
Where there was a board with differently shaped slots.
You would have to fit the matching shaped blocks into them.
Circles, Squares, Triangles, and Stars.
Adulthood is like that game.
Some days we do not get any of the shapes correct.
Then there are days when get a few.
On the rarest of days you get all of the blocks in their perfect place.
The hard days make the special days so much better.
Even the two out of three block days are something to celebrate.
So keep practicing, you can get them all right.

Cleaning the apartment for the first time in forever.
Sorting through a pile of clothes I never wear.
There was a sock that is not mine, buried down below.
I bite my lip, holding in the urge to cry.
How can a sock affect me so?
It may seem stupid, but it reminded me of her.
Sitting on the sofa, her feet dangling off the side.
I would lean against the wall and watch, as she lay there so peacefully.
With her furrowed brow and pensive eyes, she stared at the screen.
She smiled, blushing as she saw me there.
We both laughed as I crawled into her arms.
Her legs wrapped around me, and I looked into her eyes.
It may seem strange that a sock has such power over me.
But I suppose it is not the sock, but its owner, that tortures me.

Flying through the air at speeds unknown.
Eyes closed.
Heart racing.
Traveling to a land riddled with memories of pain.
Is it possible to enjoy the pain?
Joy opens up the soul to more pain.
Eyes open, clouds passing beneath.
The world lives on beneath the massive metal machine.
Humans work on, unaware of the several hundred bodies flying overhead.
Life goes on, joy remains yet a distant dream.
The plane lands.
Life goes on.

Steinbeck wrote of a restlessness many feel.
The urge to run away and find adventure.
To travel, wander, discover, and be free.
Every person has this feeling inside of them, pushing them to escape the boredom of reality.
To roam the countryside.
Surviving with nothing but the clothes on your back and the cash in your pocket.
Is this not living?

Forget the common love songs, their melodies trite
Ours is a deeper chorus, a psalm of the night
Can't you hear it, darling, this hymn we ignite?
In your eyes, a million sparks, a dangerous gleam
No false comparisons, it's you I dream
Can't you see, my love, this passionate scheme?
Sleep is for the weary, but tonight we're ablaze
Intoxicated by chaos, caught in a daze
Love's a shipwreck, darling, lost in a maze
This world fades to whispers, a dream we create
A sanctuary for two, sealed by fate
Can't you feel it, darling, this love's estate?
Life's a fleeting ember, a wisp of thin smoke
But hold me close, darling, for all that's awoke
Can't you see, my love, the promise we spoke?
We'll dance in the shadows, where secrets reside
This desperate clinging, with nowhere to hide
Can't you deny it, darling, this love can't subside?
Hold fast to this moment, this exquisite pain
Let our bodies intertwine, in the pouring rain
Can't you surrender, darling, to this beautiful strain?
We're bound by this darkness, a twisted embrace
An eternal echo in this lonely space
Can't you hear it, darling, our love's saving grace?

The wooden doors swing open, creaking as they do.
Books litter the walls, tables, and chairs.
Bestsellers filled with politics, celebrities, and dieting.
The "Classics" eisle is all but abandoned.
Shakespeare, Steinbeck, The Bronte Sisters, and more.
Books filled with elegant phrases, heartbreaking last words, and timeless prose.
I run my fingers along their spines, walking past the gravestones.
Reaching the music section, I smile and wander forward.
So many memories to be found.
Mozart, Beck, Chopin, Hendrix, the list goes on.
So many artists here, preserved through a dead medium.
CD's no longer hold a special place in the world, along with the books housed nearby.
As I walk to the entrance, now an exit, I see rows of newspapers.
Yet another reminder of times gone by.
Staring at the building, about to enter my car, I realize something.
This place is a graveyard for old things.
While the world has moved on to Kindles, iPads, and mp3s, this place has not.
That's why I'll come here until the day it to, is buried.

I found a window.
It spoke to me in such an odd way
"Look through me, and your soul will be set free."
So I looked with my eyes, and all I saw was pane.

Remember.
Relive.
Feel.
Focus.
Write.
Type.
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