I constantly feel like I'm running out of time,
the fine grains of it slipping through my fingers like sand,

like a drop of rain in the Sahara, I search for some relief,
some feeling of completion or satisfaction.

but instead I am met
with deadline after deadline
of work that I love to do

so I toil relentlessly
to hold onto the sand
as the wind blows furiously around me.

it's winter
and I find myself constantly surrounded by you.
your laughter and your smile,
the way you speak and the words that form on your lips.

but it's different now.
my feelings have faded, dulled in a sense,
they do not stab me in the way they used to, for time heals,
and like the cold winter wind, I have decided to move ahead.

but I still catch a glimpse of you every now and then,
and I see that glimmer in your eyes that I saw on those late July nights,
when heat enveloped the earth and crickets hummed long into the night,
when you would look at the stars as if they were your only hope in the world.

that intelligence is still there, crystal blue, but it's winter
and I am cold.

If my pen leaves the paper I will die.
If my pen leaves the paper I will die.
If my pen leaves the paper I will die.

The silence after the melancholic chord
Holds my breath in anticipation,
And when the soft notes begin to play,
The light leaks in, and you follow suit.

Nights in Aleppo
come without warning
never letting you sleep
the fear of the unknown
is too strong
so your dreams are as restless
as the florescent orange lights
illuminating the dark sky

Nights in Aleppo
come without warning
covering you
with a clouded shroud of dust
which suddenly ebbs hope away
like the hazy fading light of the moon

Nights in Aleppo
come without warning
creating a dark silence
that chokes you
thicker than smoke
from a Buchenwald chimney
until the screams and cries
are heard no more

anxiety
it first arrives like a tide, lightly gliding over you,
but then it surrounds you. it engulfs you.
for it is no longer a tide, but a hurricane.
and then the first wave comes crashing down, sending you tumbling.
and you can't breath, you can do nothing but sit and wait for it to end
because you can't stop the ocean. you can't stop a hurricane from hitting.

you are the sky, full of clouds,
small grey areas of indecision.
the wind won't hit you, but blow through you,
carrying out sweet words that dance on the air, dance on your tongue.

you are the sea, passionate,
you rise up and then come crashing down.
and when you crash, you crash hard,
abrasive language, fists clenched, teeth grinding,
and it's then when your words will hit me the hardest,
when your very gaze sends chills of notes into my head.

you are the stars, higher above,
you are the "better man"; you know how things are, and you understand.
you are knowledgeable, peaceful, and kind;
the stars are reflected in your eyes, for the universe is held within them.

He was blue;
He felt deeply, but felt fluidly.
He constantly sat atop a fence;
Threatening to fall, but never committing to a side.
He didn't crave attention, but he didn't need to.
His voice could draw the angels from heaven,
His thoughts could make philosophers stop and listen,
And they were all so blue.

I was red;
I felt deeply, but I felt strongly.
I constantly dangled from a rope;
Threatening to fall, but refusing to let go.
I drew attention, but I despised it.
My ideas were unstable and they had to get out,
My music was full of emotion, both torment and glee,
And it was all so red.

Separately, we were abrasive.
We had our own ways of doing things, and liked it that way.
But together, we were something else.
We balanced eachother out; we filled eachother in.
And everything felt so perfect with him,
For when we were together, a beautiful violet would form
Where skin touched skin and where heart touched heart,
And all was right in the world.

Op. 61

and every chord strikes me like a bullet in the chest
and i can't breathe, i can't walk
because every chord reminds me of you,
and the loud thud of my own heartbeat