today, we are eternity.
yesterday, infinity.
tomorrow, transient.

To me, everything has a memory.
Notes, drawings, stuffed animals.
One time my mother held aloft an old sweater that I never favored or disliked,
and she wanted to get rid of it.
‘No,’ I cried, reaching for the worn fabric. ‘I wore that when I was sick!’
Or the countless times my dogs mistook my plush tigers for dog toys,
ripping off the faces and tearing out the stuffing.
I held them in my arms and cried,
mourning the fatal injury to one of many family members.
I tucked them into bed and curled up beside them,
nursing their wounds until they were well enough to join the others.
I sewed buttons in place of eyes and stitched limbs back together.
My mother told me to throw them away, but how could I discard a piece of me?
The other day I found an old drawing,
something terrible, an indistinguishable shape scribbled across the page.
My name was written at the bottom in mismatched, oversized letters.
I put it in my filing cabinet with the rest of my attempted art,
unwilling to scrap what my younger self had called a masterpiece.
Because everything has a memory.
Every drawing copied from a clip of a movie marathon,
every fragile stuffed bear won from the carnival,
every sweater that kept me warm.
To me, they are a timeline.

these private moments are the ones i appreciate the most,
midnight vanilla and flickering flames,
cross-legged on my bed with sugar on my tongue,
music playing,
keys clicking.

these private moments are the ones i appreciate the most,
stolen in between the waking hours,
my own personal party just before the dawn.

people say what’s lost isn’t coming back,
but I don’t believe that’s true.
                                                           ­  if they can search for the holy grail,
                                                          ­                     then I can search for you.

i wait and wait but you never show
my heart is ice
my thoughts are snow

I want to drive down quiet streets in
Oversized sweaters with our oversized dreams,
Standing through the sunroof and letting our
thoughts fly away on the wind.

I want to take a breath as I never have before,
Inhale deeply, getting high off of starlight.
And if you choose to leave, or if you choose to stay,
That is up to you, for it only means
More room for me.

More room to spread my wings and let life carry me away,
Room to experience every shade of grey;
Because we aren’t painting rainbows with our alabaster hearts,
Not hearts of gold nor silver tears.
We are only colored by where we start,
and I think I will start today.

Start with the streetlights passing overhead,
Let their orange glow change grey to red,
And remember that color pumps through my veins
Creating new artwork every day.

I want neon lights to stoke my restless soul,
Letting me live and breathe, letting me let go.
Purples and greens, everything in between,
painting a mural of oversized dreams.

I tilt my head back and close my eyes, smiling back at
Forsaken skies,
Breathing in and breathing out, forgetting what
I think about.
Because all I see is me and Me, driving down the quiet streets,
Standing through the sunroof with an oversized dream,
forgetting that life could forget about me.

Simple words cannot describe what you are,
A beautifully complex human so unlike any I have ever seen.

You are rain on the windows at dusk, dripping softly
into puddles and filling them up.
You are watching the sunset on a pier after a long day of laughing;
My ice cream drips down my hand, but I hardly even notice.
You are the peace in hiking up the hillside alone,
Standing over the town and taking a deep breath because you know
you are never truly alone.
You are big windows over city lights, beautiful, bright, and picturesque.
You are the purple-pink lilac sky, ribbons over rain-soaked grass,
sunflowers and dewdrops and soft beneath the fingertips.
You are sunshine on the lake, shining brilliant and blinding,
warm, content, endless.
You are the drives where the windows are down and the music is so loud
I can’t even hear myself sing,
Everything I know and everything I fear getting lost in the rearview mirror.
You are a warm cup of tea on a dreary day, pixie lights and poetry.
You are lying in bed after a day is gone, intertwined with our heads together,
breathing soft, feeling you close to me.
You are the moonlight and the stars that dot the sky, the ones I always stop to stare at,
open-mouthed in your driveway, forgetting to ring the bell.

Simply put:
        you, my dear, are everything.
        everything and so much more.

i have a talent for erasing my feelings,
scrubbing the scene until there’s no trace left
except for the spots only i notice
that look unfamiliar in sterility.
it’s an easy thing to do, nipping it in the bud –
so easy that sometimes i wonder if i ever really felt those things.

nowadays i find myself cleaning more than usual.

i’m caught between bliss and overflowing rivers,
stuck between two extremes,
trying to breathe,
             trying to breathe,
                    searching for my missing piece.

i know it wasn’t wrong to say, but i’ll love you anyway,
              love you anyway.
on the late nights that we talk,
you lose yourself, you lose it all.
i’ve got my sleeve in my mouth,
trying to breathe,
             trying to breathe,
                    trying to erase what you said to me.

a pint or six too deep; the morning isn’t clean,
and you’re trying to breathe,
             trying to breathe,
                    trying to erase what you said to me.

now i’m lying under lilacs, listening to symphonies,
maybe i’ve found the best version of me;
yoga at twilight, baths under moonlight,
but every time I climb
                    i find myself
                            falling right back to you.

i can’t resist the itch under my skin,
looking over my shoulder,
trying to breathe,
             trying to breathe,
                    wondering what you’d say to me.

i wish i didn’t have to say,
that I would love you anyway.
but after those nights when you poured gas on the fire,
after only a fortnight,
i’m still reaching out for you,
trying not to wonder if i’m the fool,
             who’s gonna love you anyway,
                    love you anyway.

my tongue still tastes like cinnamon,
the moon just beyond my fingertips;
i don’t know what to say,
             but i will love you anyway.
                    (i love you anyway)