He halted in the wind, and—what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.

“Oh, that’s the Paradise-in-bloom,” I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.

We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year’s leaves.

I'm not a bad friend.
I asked your permission before I messaged him.
I just made a bad choice.

I waited to tell her about something important.
I asked her if she knew I would tell her if anything worrying would have happened.
"Yes" she said.
I debated on telling her right then and there.
It had been eating at me since Thursday.
He had been saying worrying things for a few days.
I hadn't engaged in it,
or tried to engage in it either.
I wanted to make sure that it was the right thing to do.
I felt guilty about not telling her.
So I had to.
I don't want to be the one to hurt her this time.

It is moments like these
as the sun sets behind the horizon;
be hind the mountains and the clouds
and the city buildings,
that I realized how incredibly luck I am.
I am alive to see the beauty of the pink
orange-yellow and perrywinkle sky.
The way the palm trees cast their shadows
and are silhouetted against the stars.
To be able to make mistakes and learn from them.
Owning up to a mistake is possibly the most mature thing that one can do.
I have made many terrible ones.
And I am owning up to them all.
To right the wrongs,
to better the worse.
I remember when I thought life was simpler
than life truly is.
Sharing cigarettes with Mandie,
walking to Lauber's with Victoria,
sitting on my porch at night and pondering why I am alive.
It was somehow easier than it is right now.
I miss it...

//
Why must you always haunt my dreams?