I often wonder if there are ghosts
that watch me
as I reach out to the other side of the bed,
laugh,
and whisper things,
pretending you're still there

Sometimes I play a game in my head
where I hit the play button on my life
and you have no choice but to watch from wherever you are
as I surround myself with things
I know would make you miss me

Do you ever think that when you dream of someone,
they can feel it
and maybe they wake up remembering you somehow?

I doubt you could stand waking up
with my name in your mouth each morning
Not when you've earned the right to forget it

Love and hate are independent sentiments
but somehow with you they're interchangeable

I've read somewhere about the science behind our memories,
how they paint a pretty picture
of a person we can no longer have,
but underneath all the layers of thick paint are the realities;
the uncertainty,
the mean streaks,
the resentment,
all in ***** splashes of muddy brown and red

The problem is that
I've been scrubbing at your painting in my head
until my hands go numb
and I still only see all my favorite colors

Our hearts drum in unison as we lie
chest to chest.
They run full speed ahead
in hopes of landing in the same place as the other,
only to fall backward
as they hit the inside of their small, well-crafted cages.
Over and over and over again.

I'm changing with the seasons
and I'm beginning to think that the goosebumps on my skin are self defense
from more than just the cold.

He was a penny superglued to the sidewalk.

He was a balloon that made a plan to escape my

fingers before I ever had a chance to tie it

around my wrist first.

You're too pretty to look so sad.

You're too young to feel so empty.

You laugh too heartily to be so numb.

I've loved you too much for your chest to hollow.

You'd loved me too much to to ever want to leave.

You'd disguised yourself too well for me to know better.

I wish I'd known.
I wish I'd known.

Trying to make you happy was like choosing a, b, c, or d
for six million questions
that only consisted of True or False
I don’t even think you realized setting up a roadblock
in every direction you led me

You were always under construction
and your sign was always turned to a hard STOP
as I waited for a gentle GO SLOW
that you can’t promise me will ever even come
Waiting
and waiting
and waiting for your sadness to pass
so that I might push through to you just one more time

My blood could never circulate evenly enough
to keep my hands and feet warm in the winter
I thought it was okay because yours couldn’t either,
and you said you'd loved the red of my cheeks
but frozen people are just that-
frozen
I guess that's why your eyes kept the same
cold stare in the summertime

If I am a spider, you’ve hit me with your newspaper
You aren’t afraid of me
You don’t even have to think about the options:
I could keep her in a mason jar;
I could let her escape through the crack of the window;
I could let her be herself for just one more day
You just do it
Maybe it’s funny because maybe that’s what you do to yourself
every time you remember you’re still here

And tomorrow, you’ll read the paper as if today never existed
As if you hadn’t watched me wither and tremble
and plead
  and plead
    and plead
and turned the other cheek
As if you haven’t done this a thousand times before

Dad’s got a mind like the machines he works on
His psoriasis-beaten hands, still tough as they’ve always had to be
I come home to, “How’s your car?” and, “Do you need money?”
His jackets smell of oil and metal shavings and sometimes they hide splinters
His laugh is contagious and it mostly ignites from one of his own slightly comical remarks,
and it makes his belly move up and down like a boat on a lake during a storm
It reminds me of when I used to curl up for a nap on that pillowy tummy
and I’d bob up and down as he breathed

Mom doesn’t stop taking care of people even once she’s left the hospital
She can tell something’s wrong before I know it, myself
Her blue scrubs are her superhero costume,
and her other clothes are just a disguise
Her hugs make me miss her, somehow,
even though we’re as close as we can get
Something about her arms feels like being curled up in an afghan
and looking outside on a bleak and frore January night - Safe
They smell like every comforted cry and sympathetic word of my entire life;
Like home