i won't go off
on a tangent but
tangible goals have
derived from the
different angles i've
taken to understand
why i run instead of rise.

© Matthew Harlovic

People always say that it hurts at night
and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3 am is the equivalent of being heartbroken.

But sometimes
it's 9 am on a Wednesday morning
and you're standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the coffee to brew

And the smell of dusty sunlight and Columbia roast makes you miss them so much
you don't know what to do with your hands.

A drop of rain,
In an endless ocean
Another face,
In a crowd of strangers,
A fallen leaf,
When autumn has taken its toll,

Tell me, Darling,
What am I to you?

A potential
gone to waste,
an old building,
its walls adorned with cracks,
A broken flute,
that plays no tune,

Tell me, Darling,
What am I to you?

A brutal sun,
on a hot noon,
or a dull wintery
fading moon,
what do I remind you of,
when I'm gone,
If I do at all,

Tell me, Darling,
what am I to you

'cause you see,
I tore down these walls,
and showed you in
Let you hold my soul
it, now, carries your imprint,

it is another type of strong,
to allow yourself to be vulnerable

and for you,
I'll always find courage to do more,
and all my softness,
you have touched them all

So, darling, won't you tell me now,
what am I to you?

A passing trend,
a familiar name,
or an acquaintance,
in your long list of friends,
your favorite shade of blue,
or, a fuel you need
to carry on,


Tell me, Darling,
what am I to you