3 years in the making:

3 years you’ve cared for me

I hope I did the same for you

3 years you made me laugh

With our dumb jokes and antics

3 years I’ve thought of you

When seeing cottage cheese clouds

3 years I’ve called you

When I had something important to say, good or bad

3 years you made amazing

Simply with your presence

3 years you’ve tried to pay for me

And I’ve stubbornly refused

3 years I’ve watched you

Grow up into a man

3 years you showed me

What the love of God looks like, unconditional and unfailing

3 years of goofy photos

That I will never delete

3 years that you and I made millions of mistakes

And I wouldn’t change a single one

Because my favorite moments comprise those 3 years

And I would wait another 3 for just 1 more

You spent so much time preserving your youth that you forgot to use it.

The future worries me:
all of the unknown possibilities.
Indecision overcomes my mind,
at the time I most need it precise.

I even cried tonight,
looking at a list of courses:
mystifying options that I may not have
if I can’t write the essay right
or get the shiniest recommendations.

So I am worrisome,
for the next month and year.

I am worrisome because I want nothing more
than to be part of that place,
and to belong among those people.

He remembered a detail—
just one.

And somehow that was enough…

to make up for everything he forgot.

I’m at a stand-still with you.

You ask for my advice.
I give it.

You don’t like it.
I offer something different.

Not good enough.
Then figure it out yourself.

I need your help.
Then I need you to accept it.

I paddle this verbal boat forward.
And you paddle it back.

We’re not really going anywhere.
Just making a splash.

but hope too has a powerful current,
strong enough to move me towards things
I believed I was too weak for.

hope resects the doubt from my body,
and makes the lack of air in my lungs bearable,
until I reach the shore.

and hope, reminds me that there is more.
more to see,
more to experience,
more wonder than dread.

so I’ll do my best to surrender the doubt,
and adopt the hope instead.

Arms linked, thoughts linked
One person in two bodies

𖠋𖠋

They crack the same jokes,
They sing the same songs

It's difficult to belong
Among people that are linked

𖠋𖠋  𖠋

But today, you took my arm in yours,
Adjoined me to your chain

Today I felt like one of you—
If only for a little while

𖠋𖠋𖠋

rooftops are where you forgot about me.
you were up so high—
you didn't think to look down at my face.
while you were on rooftops,
i was kneeling on the ground,
wondering when you'd return.
but you simply glanced over the precipice,
knowing full well, that
you were never coming back.

Does my heart hurt?
Or simply my pride?

I honestly thought,
that you were the right guy.

Sure, you talk a lot.
But you have a lot to say.

And you saw the sorrow,
that I tried not to display.

Yet you trust fact and science,
more than you could ever trust God.

You completely allured me:
achievements and flaws.

Was I just one of many options,
that you cast to the side?

Perhaps you were an iceberg I steered clear of...
but how exciting would it have been




to collide?

there’s something hard in my heart.
could it be a tumor? a mass?
no, it’s worse than that.
it’s doubt.

all-consuming, destructive doubt,
that eats away at my sternum and ribs,
disorienting me at every chance it gets.

doubt catches me in the undertow,
and throws me every which way,
until I ask myself:
"why did I want to swim in the first place?"

You Talk, i listen.
That’s the way this works.

You ramble and You monologue,
while i keep my lips pursed.

i wonder if You’ll notice,
i haven’t said a word..

But you simply entertain Yourself,
and i remain unheard.

People tell me to live like every day is my last.

But that’s not what life is for.
Life is for believing. Believing that you will have tomorrow.
Believing that tomorrow isn’t just a prospect, but an imminence.

I can picture every horrible scenario, every improbable tragedy:
Car crash, heart attack, kidnapping—
But if I’m always wondering if I’ll meet my death tomorrow,
I’m not living at all.

Life is slow and arduous and not everyday is extraordinary.
Most days are forgotten.

But the ones that aren’t…
the days that you’ll think about when you’re really dying,
they only have value because they’re numbered.

And even though we spend our lives reflecting on
and recording those sensational memories,
I’m grateful for every useless day and hour and minute I had.

Because I love living like every day is not my last.