i will stop loving you when the time freezes in it's place
i will stop loving you when there's dawn at dusk
when the ocean is dry and not a life in sight
when the moon won't no longer come up at night

i will stop loving you when stones become soft
i will stop loving you when mountains melt
when the sun will go out and the stars start falling
when eternity will end in the tick of a second

Give me the thick, dark clouds
that blanket the sky in grey.
Give me the fat, cold globules
of H2O,
falling from the firmament.
I would gladly gaze up,
and allow them to land
upon my head and my neck
and my shoulders,
sending a flutter down my spine—
straight through
to my fingertips.

Give me the cracklings of
those super-charged particles,
displacing the air
clearing the horizon
as it illuminates
just like Independence Day.
Give me the hot, sticky,
sweat-filled calm,
and let the tides roll in
to wash it away
on the back of the
thunderstorm.

A. I. Myles   o9 June, 2019

It is ok to say “no.”
There are moments
where a reply of
“not today” and
“maybe another time”
are more important
than pleasing everyone—
regardless.

The Sun will continue to shine,
rain will continue to fall,
and grass will continue to grow—
regardless.
Birds will sing their songs,
life will go on,
and taking time to breathe
could be just what is needed.

Those who understand
will accept your self-care,
and they will choose to love you—
regardless.

A. I. Myles   o9 June, 2019

Some flowers have no petals,
some bugs have no wings,
and some trees have no leaves.

Some fires make no smoke,
some bottles may be broken,
and some books have no words,

Some humans have no humanity.

A. I. Myles   o7 June, 2019

I love the smell that lingers
as I spend these moments
with you,
the curve of your spine
against my fingertips,
and the sounds you make
as I take my time discovering your secrets.
Your untold stories unfurl,
inspiring my thoughts by day
and my dreams by night.
My imagination runs wild
at the thought
of holding you again.
Your words flow through me,
like a river of
music for the soul.
Books.

A. I. Myles o5 June, 2019

Some may say
that you are “strange”,
but why would that matter?

With over 7 billion strangers,
and each different in their own,
what, then, is peculiar?

Contrary to popular belief,
amidst meaningless meanderings,
I say:

“there is no such thing.”

A. I. Myles   o3 June, 2019