six years and counting
my words forever inside a screen
and it means a lot when someone reads my past
a person I used to know
I've changed, I'm not the same
even so
my heart sparkles when I see her
I'll try and meet her someday, somewhere
just to say- you did well

You became
A distant memory,
Nothing left of you
But a story for the moon

hardwoods reduced to naked indignation -                                        
blackbirds voice their mathematical equations
field smoke bound for the dusken diamonds of autumn ..
dove mourn the close of day ..
the crackling corn ..
Septembers hay ..
a locomotive bound for Montgomery ..
ash enroute to the moon ..

Memories like sweet black cherry; ****, sour, soft.
Memories like the salty black sea; crashing, stranding, flowing.
Memories like plain bleached oats; vapid, flavorless,over.

To move on-

1. To leave.
"His mom told him that he should move on with his life"

2. To ignore.
"To see a beautiful flower, and not pick it. You will see it, then never see it again.  You move on."

3. To leave her alone.
"She left you alone, so you do the same, move on."

4. Beautiful, isn't it?
"To move on?"

Antonyms: to obsess, to bring up the past, to pick the flower.

Pathetic, isn't it?
You'll never move on. You're grasping at the past.
Grasping at  innocence.

What's more difficult in life,
than living with yourself.

Old poems.
Old me.

Lonely nights like these I wonder if I really still exist if I'm not so full of youth. I'm still young, but it feels like there's something missing in my heart everyday.
I miss who I once was.

That boy who was always trying to impress.
I feel I've given up in a sense. On being me, like an empty slate was the best form of self preservation. It's sad.

Like a character born from trauma, that's so colorless.

It's hard to differentiate sometimes, if I've missed you, or myself more. Or what we had, the innocence disappeared so quickly. Too quickly.