People always say the eyes are the windows to the soul.
Does that mean we see people with our souls as well?
We stare at other souls with our own-
Knowing there is something beautiful trapped inside those windows,
All the while being trapped behind our own.
Some are darker than others-dreary with no hope.
Other's are bright & welcoming, nothing to hide behind-transparent.
Like a moth to a flame, we are drawn in.
Window to soul, soul to window.
We peer in trying to catch a glimpse of the true colors of a person.
I guess we are all peeping toms in the end.

People are like houses sometimes-dwellings.
You never find them completed.
Some are foreclosed; deprived & discouraged,.
Some are declared condemned; no hope of becoming anything remotely beautiful or something anyone would want.
Halfway finished, they come only with a foundation & you're left with a choice.
Are you gonna build them up?
Or tear them down?

My mind is crowded, there's not enough room.
I keep telling myself I'm overthinking my own gloom.

I try to step back, to get some perspective.
Instead, I simply bump into another; they're simply not objective.

I feel lonely in love.
I feel disconnected sort of.
I can't explain it, it's probably stupid.
I suffer from girl brain, and either she loves or she hates Cupid.

I've never heard my daughter so broken.
I've never felt a love that strong.

You poured so much into me, a hesitant soul.
So I poured back into you.
The way it should be.
Love gives.

Then one day you said when.
You walked away in silence.
And my heart hasn't beat since then.

"I want to go home."
We underestimate the meaning of that phrase.
A phrase said by children so small it's considered childish.

What a small statement full of such power.
I've never understood the depth of it until now.

Home is the people who love you in spite of your shortcomings.
That is what home feels like--complete acceptance.

"I want to go home" really just translates to "I need to feel loved."
And that is not childish, in fact that is a simple truth not everyone is strong enough to speak.

I'm empty on my life's journey.
It's time to fill up.
And home, well home has the good stuff.

While you decide--

The weight of my tears are heavy.
The pulse in my veins is thready.
My heart aches, it's not ready.
But my lungs--my lungs remain steady.

My vision blurs as my heart splinters.
My lungs feel frozen, like a lake in winter.
Under the pressure I hear it creak,
I hear it squeak.

The traitorous ******* keep on going.
They open & close beneath the pressure of a broken heart, the oxygen still flowing.

I have weary heart syndrome.
The lungs supply its misery to the beat of their own autonomic metronome.

My heart is looking for the one whom my soul loves.
It is indeed a mourning dove.

A mourning dove inside a cage.
My atriums are fluttering, waiting to see what's written on life's next page.

Is it your name next to mine at the starting line?
I thought I was, but now I wonder if that was ever genuine?

You are the person I choose.
But also my favorite person I'm terrified to lose...

My heart is breaking.
My soul is aching.

Please, won't you choose me like I have chosen you?