Holding a pencil in the belief it is a pen.
I cannot go back and right my wrongs; for I'm writing as though it were ink.
These words that bleed through me they're intricate to put to paper.
Just let it go you'll tell me, but it's not so simple.
There's a piece of me here and there.
Then there's a story I can't leave unfinished.
Words that flow through me become jumbled, and I'll lose my sanity trying to figure it out.
So here I am putting my thoughts to paper.
Writing in a pencil I believe to be a pen.
Where hopefully these words aren't as intricate as they'd seemed to be.

There's a hole in the story.

When sky and earth would meet everyday, and the moon would stay among the stars.

Just watching the sun slowly fade from its reach.
And just as the moon would meet the sun there was something different.

There wasn't the same beauty as when the sun would meet the earth.
For the moon loved the sun, and the sun loved the earth.

Neither did both know that the stars loved the earth, and the earth loved the stars.

That the stars fell for the earth hoping that one day they'd finally collide, and create a whole new galaxy.

So my dear please tell me.
When will we ever finally meet?

On this bar stool I sit staring down the empty bottle in front of me.
The Jazz music is fading out, and the intoxicated people slurring for another drink is getting old.
If it was a different night, and I wasn't by myself it'd be a different atmosphere completely.
The drunks would be funny, and the music would move my feet.
But it's otherwise tonight, because I'm watching the drops of water fall down the edge of my drink.
I've only had one but it's enough for me to feel tipsy.
To the point you'd be here laughing at me.
Only because you swear I'm the only lightweight you know.
This bar holds so much more then I'd ever realized.
There's fragments of us all around this place.
The girl beside me trying to draw me into a night with her.
In my head it doesn't sound so bad, but I can't say anything.
I'd like to apologize but I'm so focused on the circle of water at the bottom of this bottle.
She'll leave eventually.
As she finally gets annoyed the door opens.
The bar attendant welcomes them, but it's all becoming a fuzzy mess.
There's a touch on my shoulder but it's not the same feeling as it should be.
As I turn to see you. I'd realized how much of a problem I have.
You smile at me but it doesn't meet your eyes.
Those blue translucent eyes that are of so lonely.
They're the color of water, and I'm afraid of drowning in them.
Only because I can't swim.
You sit beside me, and push away my drink and get me something different with a no alcohol.
But you get yourself something intoxicating and tell me that I need to let go of the addiction.
Oh god how those words hit.
Because I'd never realized that it wasn't the drink that intoxicated me.
But it was yourself that did; it was all the memories, all we'd been through together.
So finally I set down your drink, and I get up to walk away.
From this bar stool where all these memories haunted me.

In this tranquil room you ask where I want to start.
You know how this all started but not how it ends.

So I'll begin from there, because if I think of all the moments we shared in reverse.
It no longer hurts.

If I rewind our story you slowly fade out of my head and there's room for someone new.
So when you ask me where I want to start.

Can we start at the beginning of the end?

Play these broken keys, and create a beautiful melody.
That will put the heavens to sleep, and hell at ease.

If broken pianos can still play such a harmonious tune then why are you ripping your music apart.

Note by note,
Staff by staff,
Why?

.

You've created such a masterpiece that I've been trying to put back together.
The music that fills your lungs is stealing my breath.

It's alright though because you deserve it, and while I put back together music.

Note by note,
Staff by staff,
Then did you tell me.

That its not the music that's ripped.
Or the broken piano keys,

But the creator.

This street has been roamed down by I too many times.
Alone or not I've always found myself right back here.
On this street, on this bench.
Just watching you.

You mindlessly staring at the sky.
Drawing, writing, or just watching the lives of us walk by.
You're always there.
Just right across this street.
How curious I've become, how I've wondered if you've seen me.

Could I cross this street and begin something known as friendship?
Yes, but friendships come and go for me.
I want you to stay.

So I'll remain here across this street, on this bench and watch you. Just as normal; while you float away.
Into the space of your mind. Where I would love to know if I'm there,
In your thoughts.
As you are in mine.

I've collected pictures over the years.
Of all my friends I've made here.
I've put them in frames and but them somewhere safe.
Some are hidden away.
Though there's one frame that's empty.
It's for you, but you don't know.

I know we've never spoken but there's a connection across this street.
That brings me here daily to see if you're here too.
But as I wonder about you and stare blindly into space.
Lost in thought do I bother to notice. You see me too.

Inside the darkness.
It's quiet here, it's lonely.

I cannot see the stars,
I cannot fathom where my thoughts are.
Then there's you inside my head.

On this haunting feeling.
I can sense you, and as I'm wandering you're guiding me.

But I must be hearing a ghost because I can't see the end.
Others tell me I've gone mad.

I don't mind because as long as I can sense you and hear you I'll be okay.
So guide me to you.

In the darkness of my mind.