Maybe I don't understand
the Laws of Physics or
Stellar evolution,
but I know that
your atoms are composed of stardust
Maybe this is why the life in your eyes
is illuminating everything like a carbon giant.

In astronomy they told us
that the darkest parts of space
often contain the most energy
And I thought you should know,
that just like the ancient galaxies inside of you,
your darkest parts still shine.

After all this time, I have learnt to write in the dark. See, this jukebox plays every night and it wouldn’t shut up no matter the pounds I fed. Such is the night of a writer; it goes on shuffle and repeat. And sometimes I hear your voice. Most times, it sounded like folding a picture of us and keeping it in the pockets of a stranger’s jeans, probably ending up tumbled and dried. I ask myself if it could have been a painted canvas. It’s just the thought of you that haunts me at night. If you ever do heart to heart talks, let’s talk about haunted houses. Some people get out of it; some don’t; some re-enter just for the thrill of it. I might be all three and I might not be the most played song in your playlist. I have tried several times to write about you, but none of them sounded right when I read them out loud. Some may write what they believe and some may write to believe; I might or might not be both. If I survived writing this prose, how could I be sure if it was your voice haunting me or if you were just a house I sought refuge in? The Northern Lights stays in the Aurora Zone; no one said that they’d ever Go West. Your skin on mine was like a child holding on to candy, I never wanted to let you go. When I wake, I only wonder if you have ever missed me at 3a.m.. I could make a mixtape titled: I heard you in these songs. But you were one who basked in the light. So I guess it’s safe to say that what was written in the dark stays in the dark.

Across the green of the lawn, the morning sun
makes a spectacular  splash, a wash of gold,
the lonely tree blissfully embracing soft fog
all night long, gets annoyed and feels cheated
as the hands of sun tickles wisps of fog, startled
she  hurriedly leaves disentangling the branches.
A black cat, rudely woken up by sun's sultry pinch
still her eyes half closed,  runs across the lawn,
the dark shadow of the tree fallen across her path
engulfs her, perplexed she rolls on the ground
still her eyes closed, thinks she is trapped and
something is going to happen,"I am dead" she meows,
a morning bird on a low branch, seeing this,is amused,
in mirth she  tweets aloud" you fool, you fool, get up"

searching.... for that perfect person.  All of what I think I want I also think I cannot have and that it does not exist, yet I continue to search.
My heart cries out in pain and an aching that I cannot ignore any longer.
Is it possible to have true love at my age?  Am I too dried up and used?
There's always the "one day, one day, one glorious day, he will show up when I least expect it" *******.  

Underneath the heartache is a deeper ache.  Have I missed my chance? Is this how my life will be from now on?  Even the thought of that makes my soul crumble.  I suppose if that's what God intended for me, then sobeit.  It can't be true...