People say to me:
“I’m so sorry you’re heartbroken.
I hope you heal soon.”

But what they don’t understand is,
I am grateful to have loved so deeply
that even heartbreak
doesn’t taste bitter,
and that even sorrow
has a sweetness to it.

Great loss can only come
from losing something truly great.
So I welcome the weight,
because I know
I once held the rarest,
most exquisite form of love.

I am privileged to have known it,
to have understood
what I was given.

And yes, sometimes it hurts.
But sometimes,
the memory of your smile
lights up the darkest corners of my soul.

I still feel our love
swirling in the quiet spaces between thoughts,
like a steady, unspoken truth.

Sacred love accepts the pain.
It does not twist it
into anger or resentment.

It carries it
as witness
to the heaven
we once lived.

In the end I won our game,
Of who loves who more.

One of us still thinks about the other,
How leaving might've been the biggest mistake he'll ever make,
But taking it all back when he remembers all the ways you cut him down.
Even that brownie recipe,
You'd do anything to keep me attached to you.
Anything to keep me with you,
Even if it was twisted,
It was nice to need each other.

Though that won't ever happen again,
Now that the other has another.
It's eating me from inside out,
You saying you were here for me,
If I needed anything.
Turning right around,
All you wanted to talk about was how much better he is for you.

In the end I should've known,
On my ankle your sprout still grows,
Some sick parasite,
Digging into me,
This flower twisting up my leg,
One lasting memory of you,
Wants me to be,
The new black tulip.

My emotions gathered in the mist to confess my undying love for thy. With spells of the sun peering through a solement cloud showing we had so much fun. To show our love affair carried on till the morning sun. My lucent heart beats with a plenum of sensations to fill the stars. In a void of pure pleasure to never relinquish my feelings I have for you my darling Janet.

Everything what goes up must come down. The only thing on this earth that doesn't is your age.

It's a strange thought to think that I am not just singular and free,
But a collection of the world, and all the world's just a part of me.
My thoughts, they come out, the world too,
It comes in, fused together, shapes make do
When every chair is just some wood, a function, and a given name,
Without the floor, the room, the maker, it could never be the same.
You see an object standing there, a thing to hold, a thing to see,
Believe it has a life on its own, but it's defined by you and me.
The body without us is no living, yet feels lived
The moment a joy appeared, was it earlier grieved?
A single deed has no true substance, a silent thought has no reply,
What is a doer without the doing, beneath an empty, watching sky?
A promise of a solid being, why does it feel like shifting sand?
This whole existence feels so borrowed, held in everybody else's hand?
Seated at my place, I have encountered too much already
I have lived a lot of lives, yet I don't see me steady.