I think we had something-
It wasn't love, but it wasn't
Nothing either;

Perhaps it was just
Stolen glances and
Laughing together

Perhaps it was feeling
Giddy at touching knees
And having nicknames

I know it wasn't love-
But in another time,
In another place,

It could've been.

There is Love, and there is you.
I don’t know of Love anymore.
The time I knew Love,
Love lived in the distance between our palms whenever we held hands,
And used to drink the insecurity from my walk.
Love visited in the wind and came just as fast as it went.

I hear Love hated the subway.
It was something about the distance,
Something about letting others be close to them,
Something about how the destination isn’t worth the journey,
Something about how Love just isn’t the “subway” type.

There is Love and there is you.
Love took my heart for test drives in midnight parking lots
And drove off without another word.
Love has broken my heart one too many times.
When people ask me,
“Are you looking for Love?”,
My answer is always no.

No, I do not want Love.
I would much rather have you.

I've been running around
a notebook on my hip
and the sun in my eyes
and your words on my lips

i've been falling asleep
with your smell on my mind
and the faintest memory
of our fingers entwined

but I've been waking up
with a pillow by my side
and you leaving with my dreams
on the outgoing tide

When your heart is filled with emptiness
When your spirit is the void
When your soul is wrapped in darkness
Seek the stars inside

He’s named his empty heart “Regret.”
Each beat something that should have been.
Awake and full of life, and yet…
Wholeness of loss has filled it in.

He’s named his history “Regret.”
No day revives what should have been.
New mornings always come, and yet…
He’ll never live that love again.

He’s named forsaken dreams “Regret.”
There’s real and there’s what should have been.
Nightmares when he’s awake, and yet…
His dream come true’s a dream again.

He’s named his broken self “Regret.”
A man whose life is should have been.
Her love would be enough, and yet…
He’s scared her love won’t take him in.

I never saw a man who looked
with such a wistful eye
upon that little tent of blue
which prisoners called the sky,
and at every drifting cloud that went
with sails of sliver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
within another ring,
and was wondering if the man had done
a great or a little thing,
when a voice behind me said,
"The man's got to swing"

For he did not wear scarlet
nor did he speak of it,
for blood and wine were red
and so was the color on his bed.

He looked upon the garish day
with such a wistful eye;
the man had killed the thing he loved,
and so he had to die.