“Look a shooting star”

“I think that one is just a plane, it’s all the same though, just metal and wishes.”

“I wonder who’s will come true.”

Sitting here with imagined chances and you, I’d bet mine. “I don’t know, hopefully, the one who wished to land.”

I remember the look of guilt as she spoke of all the men who came into her life, leaving her with just another hole.

Her eyes finding anything but mine she showed me every scar from every midnight stitch, all her attempts and the pieces that wouldn’t fit.
Love, perfectly imperfect all your gaps only let the light through and surely space for me to fit into you.
I’m beyond ripped, a man left in tatters, pieces given and lost all the same,
Darling Dear if it helps you feel better, all these broken bits I’ll gather and give, anything to have what’s left of me with you.

To whom it may concern,
it may not be important to tell you that between your walls I found my happiness in life
but I'm sure I left some behind,
as you have begun to refill the space, be sure to throw it out, happiness doesn't have the best shelf life.
Although my books are no longer on the shelf I hope you left up, my lessons, still are scattered across,  
forty minutes is too long to bake salmon in the kitchen,
that the lanai is best for midnight wine and a smoke,
and how these walls are no longer home when sleeping alone.
When replacing all you throw out be sure to leave no room for those days.

Also the lanai shade sticks.