Sometimes
                                                    a
 ­                                                spark
                                         ignites         a
                                       flame,
                                       other times
                                                        it
­                                                    simply
      ­                                sputters  out
                   ­                leaving
                                behind   nothing
                              but                        ­a
                                wisp of smoke
                                  and a hint
                                    of
                     ­                sulphur,
                                       the only
                                        evidence
           ­                           we even
                                      tried.
               ­                            ...

Let me in so I can write poetry
in the goosebumps on your skin
And tell a tale of where we are
and where we did begin.

My kisses would form letters
in a braille that briefly lingers
That I might read as I go along
with the light touch of my fingers

Let me in so I can write poetry
in the goosebumps on your skin

Every night when I turn over, before I fall asleep, I wait for you to ask why.
I wait for you to ask why so that I can explain.
I can explain that if I turn over I can't see you. If I turn over and I wake up in the night, which is seem to do every night I stay here, at least two or three times, then all I see in the moonlight is the attic door, the vague outline of a bedside table, the soft pulsing glow of a charging cellphone.
Because if I can't see you then I can convince myself I won't feel the need to touch you.
Because if I don't touch you, I don't have to deal with the way it feels when you pull away.
So I turn over every night before I go to sleep and wait for you to ask.
But you never do.

Each of us has been granted an amazing gift
Most of us don't see it yet but as the years pass we will come to cherish it.
And with any luck we will get the chance at some point to pass it on.
You will abuse it.
You will neglect it.
You will most likely take it for granted.
And on those darkest of days you may even consider yourself unworthy of having it.
But you are wrong!
If you were unworthy, you wouldn't have been given it in the first place.
I only hope each of you realize just how fortunate YOU are to have it and in doing so promise yourselves never to waste another minute of it.

I miss the simplicity of a shared blanket, the intimacy of a shared pillow.
Moments of pure connection passed in dreams punctuated by waking, seeing you there and once again holding you close, but never close enough.
I miss your touch, the sound of your voice, the sight of your words.
I miss so many things about you its hard to explain that you're still here.
Not metaphorically but actually.
Is this how it ends?
Is this how we know its not going to work anymore?
Two people inches apart but a thousand miles away from each other?
I used to be able to tell the very moment you fell asleep, we were that in tune with one another.
Now I don't even know what time you wake up.
Before, before every change in your breathing would be enough to wake me. Not wake me to the point of consciousness but enough that I would be aware if it stayed changed or went back to normal.
Normal.
That's something that seems a long way off now.
I don't know if we'll ever see normal again and sometimes, just sometimes I'm not even sure I want to.
But then other times I feel like I would give anything to go back to normal, back to normal with you.
Normal.
Maybe for me, this is normal?
Who the **** knows anymore?
I'm just so tired.

What if your last love was exactly that, the last one?
Would you be more forgiving?
Would you "let more things go" in favor of not being alone?
After all, if they were your last and you knew there wouldn't be another, might you not be more inclined to keep them around?
I think about that sometimes.
I knew goodbye wasn't what they wanted to hear.
I knew they wanted to work it out.
But I know, for me, there was just no way.
Don't get me wrong, it was once great. It was once the best.
For a while we both tried to kid ourselves that it would last forever.
Turns out we were both wrong.
But as sad that feels, it was the right thing to do.

And if they were the last, then as much as it ***** being so premature, it could have been much worse.