I hear you in the silence, see you in the darkness
Yet alone has never felt more lonesome than today
I bare the weight of a love-lost heart
And I dream of you. Dream of you.

Where do we go from here?
Where do we go when love is the fear
Where does this go from here?
I’m walking into places where I’ve only run away

This can only end badly.

Do you think there was a time I could have asked you the same thing
And got from you an answer something wildly differently?
Do you remember that first night together and that you did kiss me
Or is dunk a reason that you use to set your burdens free?
And when we sat alone in the dark my head creeping your seat
If I kissed you then, would you remember when?
The next time that we meet

Or would you have turned away?
Left me with nothing to say
Holding regret upon my face you’d walk from my disgrace
And leave me to where?
Well I already made it there.
And I didn’t have to try so hard to miss you in that regard
No, I found it anyway.
Now what should I say?

The next time that we meet

My mind is filled with memories of the future.
Of times with us, set to the tune of romance.
Creating moments as adults of an immature
Nature, laughing at every unfunny chance.
Lying together with your head on my arm
And hand placed on my chest
We both will fall to each other’s charm
As we finally put worries to rest.

I remember the first time we’ll hold hands.
Stealthily intertwining our fingers in reticence.
Halting, with a touch, moments and plans
For a memorial moment of precedence.
I’ll realize then I’ve been disarmed
Unable–‘though I’ve tried my best–
To hold back that which could be harmed
And let my feelings be expressed.

I remember the memories of imminence.
Of times of romance still to come.
And to the seeded fears of reverence
I will, for future’s sake, not succumb.

“You never write anymore,” she tells me.
“That’s not true.” I write all the time. I write on paper and pages, both real and digital, words meant for nothing more than to be deleted and thrown away. I write in my mind and from the heart. I scribble on my skin, tracing letters on my forearm with fingertips instead of ink. I jot down lines on napkins with straw pens filled with water or soda before throwing away soggy wipes of words that will never make it to the eyes of others. I draft stories in the shower or on the road that are forgotten long before the water runs cold or the drive flows home. I compose poetry in my sleep, dreaming of words and rhymes without meter or memory when my head lifts from the pillow. I write all day, constantly, indeliberately. But seldom do I share it.

I lay in bed listening to My Funny Valentine.
The soft tremble of the trumpet filled my ears
And I forgot, in that instant, what it was to be sad.
I drifted away from worry and consciousness
With an undying desire to be loved without risk of regret.

I let the bass pound in my head like a heartbeat
Tuning my soul to a melody of tranquility.
I closed my eyes and pictured the sound
With waves of light undulating in the darkness
Of my mind as a pathway to the new day ahead.

I drifted to sleep to the sounds of Django and Chet
Letting go of the things I always hold too tightly.
And as the piano tickled my ears in my last cognizant moments
I remember why I put on the music in the first place
And with one seed of thought it was over.

In your mind you’re trying to find happiness
But you’re not really looking
You just pretend to look.
It comes in waves like the ocean
And you have your back turned.
Sometimes it hits you when you least expect
And what you get isn’t what you wanted
Because what you wanted was on the shore the whole time,
Drifting away further from your view
As the waves and the current take you.
You seem happy but you’re not happy
Because you weren’t looking.
You had your back turned and nearly drowned, you fool.

So you’re wading and you’re waiting for a wave to take you home
But you’re so far out now that you can’t see the shore.
And it’s a chore to swim back but you know you gotta leave
Because the water’s getting colder and the sun’s about to sink.

And you can’t hear a sound
Not even the waves make noise when you’re so far gone.
You’re tired and you’re lonely.
It would be so easy if only giving in was an option,
To let the happiness sink you ‘til you lose or grow fins.
But you’re not a fish,
And the ocean wasn’t what you were looking for,
So you raise your hands up to submit
Or cry for help, whichever comes first.
And you pray that someone saves you
But first you have to admit
That you were just pretending
When you went to go for a swim.