She and her library were an endless love affair.

When I am little
My father used to say
And even now
Saving money is equal
To saving water these
Days
How much water you use
That much money
You will spent
Those words are still in my
Mind
There are people who are thirsty
Out there
No irrigation
For agriculture
No pure water
For drinking
It's more important
To save water and
Save ourselves
Beware

Raise your glass.

This is for the man
Who taught me how to ride a bike
When I was five years old,
Who taught me how to lay a brick
Wall with my own two hands,
Who taught me how to love
My heritage and my roots
While embracing change and newness.

Raise your glass.

This is for the woman
Who carried me for nine months
Whilst giving me my love of steak,
Who read stories of imaginable fantasy
And sang crackling fireside songs
To lull me into slumber,
Who taught me to Love
Even when she herself had forgotten how.

Raise your glass.

This is for the women
Who know me better than anyone else
For they have grown with me
In ways only siblings can,
Who taught me to fight for myself
And simultaneously be merciful
For I am not a perfect person,
Who gave me all the love I need
And then some simply because
They wanted to.

Raise your glass.

This is for who we were.
This is for who we are.
This is for who we will be.

Raise your glass.

Some blood is thinner than water.
Some ties more easily severed.
Yet we live because they existed
If even but for a single moment
And for that,
We give tribute.

Drink.

I fall in love
with an average
of 13 people
per day.
It’s the little things
that move me
in such unconventional
ways.
Strange, crinkled eyes
and misshapen smiles
help me
to forget
my own denial.
Reach out to me,
touch me,
remind me
of the existence
of something.
Strangers
whose hands
have textures
I don’t recognize,
I surprise
myself
with connection,
though it’s familiarity
is not foreign,
it is in fact
a trait
I revel in.
I push myself
willfully
into their worlds,
like curling
back over
moss-covered stones
into new homes,
into deep wells,
to satisfy a longing
to smell
the waves
of their existence.
I am lost
where I do not belong,
in Thanksgiving evenings
begging brothers
to play songs
while mothers
clean kitchens
and little ones
flinch
over whose game
was won,
while porch arguments
rise
over memories
come undone.
I fall in love
with
the histories
and the fallacies,
of strangers
whose shoes
do not fit me,
of he’s
and she’s
whose subtle,
brief moments
help me find in them
some peaceful atonement
for the ones
I actually allowed
myself
to leave.
Do you see in my brown eyes
what I see in your blues?
Would I love you
if I really knew you?

I don't want someone pretty.

I want someone who makes me realize that constellations
are just hammocks catching the fallen dreamers.

I want someone whose voice resonates
like a strummed guitar when she laughs.

I want someone who hands will find their way to mine
in the middle of the night when the darkness clouds
our judgement.

I want someone who lives life without reading the directions first.

I want someone who reads the fragmented sentences
and grammatically incorrect phrases
pieced together and labeled "thoughts".

I want someone who appreciates my useless talent
of stitching up loosely strung together metaphors.

I want someone who can answer this question:

"How did you ever let her leave?"

I WONDER IF YOU EVER WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT BECAUSE YOU MISS ME TOO

I
I've loved your eyes
Like a sailor loves the sea--
Wholly, without regard for safety

II
I've loved your smile
Like an infant loves her mother--
Effortlessly, without end

III
I've loved your laugh
Like a bird loves the sky--
Freely, and without judgement

IV
I've loved your touch
Like a drowning man loves the air--
Greedily, without thought

V
I've loved you
Like an astronomer loves the heavens--
With wonder, and respect