There
Are times
When I say,
"Why was it you?"
What could I have done?

Where
You've gone
Is not known,
But you're with us,
From now until the end.

You
Were beauty
And love's gift,
Torn like a veil.
We'll have one more day.

It's
Just impossible
To forget you.
Shine on, dark rose.
Why you and not me?

                                                           For Dylan

You, my dear, are a mystery.

I often leave deep crescents on the palm of my hand— leaving them throbbing a shade of crimson— whenever i get frustrated. And, well, I would be lying if I said that you didn't ever frustrate me. Hell, you frustrate me all the time.

You're a mystery not craving to be solved, but nonetheless still leaves everyone wanting to be able to find the answer to a question—unexplainable by any thing besides you.

You're a mystery and I'm just someone who wants to unravel you.

Nothing in the world is softer
or weaker than water.*

Water is soft,
stones are hard.
Which would
you rather be?

When boulders
are worn beyond pebbles
only water remains whole.

Fill a bowl with water
until it brims and overflows
dripping on what's below.

Soft drops rain down.

Each drop of rain,
inexorably falling,
wears away the boulder
until only pebbles remain.

Each teardrop of time,
inevitably passing,
wears our lives away
until only memories remain.

The pebbles of life
begin as boulders
worn by time and tears
to their own perfection.

Paradox of life:
we must be worn away
to become whole.

When boulders
are worn to pebbles,
and pebbles to dust,
only water remains.

Time and teardrops
fill a pond
ruled by stillness.

Be still.

Know that enough's
enough to know;
that to live
until you die
is long enough.

Be the teardrops
not the boulder.

I remember
The first “hi” from a stranger.
That first approach from someone I only know by name.
The day my silent moment was interrupted by a phone ring.
You have no idea how my heart race when its your name I saw on the screen.

I remember
Those early good morning messages to late night talks.
Every deep, even stuffy conversation, sends shiver down my spine.
The burst of laughter. How you’d crack a joke to keep me entertained.
And how you’d try to annoy me to catch my attention.

I remember
The exchange of thoughts and ideas.
Giving bits of details of what’s running on our head.
The photo messages you sent me. Letting me know what’s going on with your life.
Sharing the good things you see.

I remember
How these moments turned into a memory.
As inevitable as it is, things suddenly change.

I remember
The silent goodbye.
I remember
How it all started and how it all ends.

I still have hopes.

You stare at your book through your circular spectacles— carob eyes hinted with specks of caramel hidden within the fragile glass as your fingers daintily flip through the parchment-colored pages. Your pearly teeth sinks mildly onto your bottom lip, lightly chewing on the soft flesh as your eyes trace every word. With your nose crinkling, your cheeks rubicund, and your messy hair slightly falling just before your eyes; I realized that you were such a wonderful thing to observe so thoroughly, and I realized that maybe, just maybe, I was falling for you harder than I intended to.

I still have hopes that I may be able to tell you how beautiful you are; how you seem so oblivious of my admiration for you— but for now, I could only stare at you and drown in the thoughts of not being able to call you mine.