Something about the way his eyes glowed in the pattern on the sun filled the room with an aura of something blue. Sometimes red. Others green or purple. But each time he filled the room. On days that were cold his heart grew warm. Though cheeks red. His hair was brown but white like snow on winter days. He reminded me of winter. Chilling but beautiful. Complex but so simple. Cold but warm inside.

Your only imperfection is him who told you to change.

I hope tomorrow is better than today. I hope the rain falls more calmly and the stars line up just right. I hope tomorrow love won’t knock me down once I get up again, I hope tomorrow I win the fight. Today I fell down because love pushed me over and crippled me, I was scared to rise again. The kitten embraced me like kittens do and I was able to face the day but, a presence loomed over me, reminding me of the darkness that forced me under the covers of my empty bed. The darkness that kept me tied down underneath the sheets, scared to see what the rest of the day held. I hope tomorrow I can wake up with fixed tea and strudels. I hope tomorrow the sun rises early in the am and the moon falls perfectly under the stars.

The only thing that woke me up this morning was the meow of my kitten who wanted to be let in. He wanted to enter my safe space where my feelings and thoughts were pinned to my stark walls. I wanted my walls to be white. Like a blank canvas. I wanted a reason to wake up in the morning. I wanted to paint my thoughts each day. My bed felt like quicksand. I was being forced to stay beneath my sheets by an imaginary pull that I felt was so real. From my bedroom window, I can see the sunset reminding me of nights in our hammock ******* to our favorite tree. The tree drooped in an odd but beautiful way, and it was fascinating. I can also see the sunrise that on early Sunday mornings motivated me to roll out of bed, that was many times ago. The only reason I get out of bed some mornings is that I have high hopes that one day we’ll meet again at the farmers market just down the street. You'll bump into me and realize what we once had was special. You'll realize our love was as sweet as an August peach.

I thought he was the one... I was wrong. I am no longer a lover but a fool

It’s sad to think that I knew you by something more than just your name and the color shirt you wore on a hot summers day. I used to know your fears and the books you read that changed your life. I once knew the color you’ve always wanted to dye your hair or the boy you’ve liked for so so long. I used to know you by something more than just that blank stare. I saw him the other day just on the corner down the block I turned my face the other way because I was scared of the conversations we once had and the way we told our stories with no regret. I was scared of what used to be and the thought of that never being again.

I went home that day, and I wrote about the boy in the green hoodie. I thought a lot about him, but I couldn't wrap my mind around what exactly it was that I liked about him. It could have been the way he danced at midnight in my mind. Dancing around the moon painting pictures of my thoughts. It could have been the way he made me feel when I had no feelings at all. No emotions to untangle, none at all. I think it was the thought of the memories we would create, the ones I could go home to tell mother about. The thing is though I never figured it out. I never knew of any other boys like the one in the green hoodie but, I never once believed it is true that I’d find someone new that was just like you.

And sometimes it hits you when you least expect it. Like falling leaves but on an August day. It hits you and knocks you off balance but, you find a way back to reality. You find a way.

Sometimes it’ll hit us in our darkest hour when we needed it the least. You keep fighting. You are a fighter and he told you so. You knew you were strong before he made it known.

Some of us though, we don’t find the way. We don’t find a way to make it through. We struggle and overthink even the smallest thing. We’re sick from bareing the un cozy weather. Were sick of pushing back at the storm.

For the most of us who did make it, be strong for those who didn’t. For those who can’t. Because, the autum leave in the middle of August will hit you and you’ll realize that not everything is the way it seems.

I ate a peach the other day
It was delicious.
It reminded me of a summer day
Or a summer afternoon but,
Something of warm weather and fresh fruit.

I did remember the feeling of apple picking season. I remembered the fall weather and what it was like to find the perfect one. The apples were of red and green, sometimes both, but colors that reminded me of warmth and the candle mother had lit just before dinner was served. It was cold that day but not cold enough for a sweater, just for apple cider and pumpkin donuts. The apple I picked was red, all red. I stood upon the ladder, feeling giant, I reigned over the trees and felt like howling over top of them. I remembered then, the applesauce grandmother would make. I would remember the first bite, the bitter taste of fresh apple, sour but sweet. Grandmothers home.

Talking about will heal you just a little. It’ll put the glue on the pieces of your broken heart that need a little fixing. It’ll make you realize things you never knew about yourself. You’ll learn a little bit more. Just a little.

Remember the way of the moon and how the seasons changed. The sun kissed the August season as the lakes warmed and the sunflowers bloomed. Or remember when the sun fell early but softly on the winter lakes. Frozen and fields white with snow. The changing seasons of May were what I’d remember most from my childhood. It would be summer and the joyous giggles of children galloping through fields would fill the air like a rain storm in April. Along the lakes we’d row to the ghost island, bones piling up in numbers unimaginable but, it was an adventure. A memory. The sunscreen burning through our cheeks we’d lie among grasses and wet rivers, longing for summer to stay forever. The winter months were soon but the blossoming flowers and handmade ice cream made us think that wasn’t so.

There are going to be things in life we don’t completely understand. We’ll never understand evolution or how humans came to be. We’ll never understand why bad things happen to good people or why everyone can’t get along but most importantly we will never completely understand love. We’ve seen it all before and we’ve experienced love ourselves. But, we are still confused about love and let me tell you it is okay to not know. It’s okay not to know who you love or how you love or when you love. You don’t have to know everything or anything about love. Love isn’t supposed to be analyzed or categorized for, it is to be experienced. Love is love. Love is beautiful. You are loved

Be still. Be sad. Be happy. Be tired. Be intelligent. Be wondering. Be telling. Be forgiving. Be demanding. Be a leader. Be a yogi. Be yourself. Be practical. Be a dreamer. Be an artist. Be a mathematician. Be a teacher. Be a student. Be kind. Be little. Be big. Be healthy. Be beautiful. Be bare. Be undiscovered. Be mindful. Be self enduring. Be persistent. Be a poet. Be poetry. Be anything and everything you want to be but, don’t be sorry. Don’t let him make you believe it was your fault. Don’t let him tell you that were asking for it. - You aren’t sorry

I’m sorry I’m late. This thing called depression kept me from coming.

I have come to a conclusion. The conclusion to all my worries. To my pain and my curiosity. I will not be good enough. I will ask you for your assurance. I will beg you to let me stay. I would never leave. They leave me. They run fleeing as quick as their feet may carry them... broken photo frames and torn love letters. I was just hoping you would stay...

I wouldn’t like to believe I am cold. I am not cold. I am uncertain. They mean the same thing to you, I know it. I am tired. I am awake at 4:19 a.m. and the world is asleep. The moon just laid to rest but not for good only just for the hours no one needed him. I needed the moon hours before when we talked about our lives, its craters were deep he had aged since we last discussed the world. I felt that the world was in my hands at that hour, I must go do something good I thought only to lie awake as the fan chirped above me. I am not cold but I am uncertain. The moon told me my path was steady but who is he to say, he only comes out in the late hours. The hours no one seems to pay any mind to, the world is asleep.