It's like that time the windows blew open,
And the gust carried snow in towards us,
Us huddled on the couch under that calico crocheted blanket,
And I looked at you, corners of my mouth pulled down,
And you,
You sighed, and shrugged,
Removed your arm from around my comfortable shoulders,
Struggled up and over to wrestle the pane
And lock the shutters,
And when you sat back down, you looked at me,
And all I had to do was smile.

It's like that time when we packed a picnic to the park,
And we only made it so far as the lake
Before our stomachs rumbled and your grumbling gave us an early lunch,
And then after, lay in the grass, pointing out
All the obscurities of our imaginations in the clouds.

It's like that time I came home,
So tired and worn out,
Hair askew with a smudge of dirt on my cheek,
And the lights were out, but you had lined the hall
To the bathroom with candles,
And as I made my way through their soft, whispering light
Towards the escaping tendrils of steam,
You jumped from the dark,
Stifling my shriek with a hug.

It's like that time I realized that I loved you,
It's like that time right now.

Sitting on a park bench, looking straight up,
Green leaves become black against a grey sky.
And I wonder, looking out, if it's because of some
Optical illusion or perhaps because of my micro view...
For the trees, over there, leaning slightly to left,
Their leaves are green.
And then the rain starts,
At last.

It's as if a photograph is the most valuable thing one can own;
That sepia tone, that time and date stamp,
What a friend,
What an ode to memories of a time long past,
A year ago today it went- ****!- Just. Like. That.
And just like that, you're back there with all your fears and trepidations
And slight ponderings on the habits of water snakes and devils' babies.

****! just like that you're brought back to the present,
Wondering about the future;
Will it all work out outside of this moment? Which like that one,
Is so perfect and complete, a puzzle not missing a piece or having a hair out of place,
Here, in this rose garden amongst garbage heaps of relative affluence.

****! you're gone away unto the Future,
A mystical, magical unfamiliar place... because there is not like here,
Where you are so sure of everything, and the complete certainty of infinite possibility
Canoodling with your youth cries out to you in exhilaration
And apathy
For your autumn years;
You know these city streets and ally walls and University halls,
You know these faces and those places and the box
Which you have built yourself out of recycled materials- opinions, quotes, and ideas
You're only borrowing,
Like a sweater with multi-coloured buttons from an old friend that you might just decide to keep,
Or give away to charity
If that happy interlude between lending and returning has long ago expired.

****! Here you are! Right now! This instant!
A vast infinite collection of empty spaces and visited places,  
Held by bonds no tighter than your weakest ties.
And all those times you said you were going to carpe diem,
You let it veni vidi vici you instead.
So, holding this photograph, I ask you now:
In the puff of smoke lit from the flash of the camera,
Is this the way you want to live, or is the meaning of alive simply to die?

I wish I could see you now-
And get rid of the memory of the last time I saw you.
You were shattered, broken,
I have never witnessed such a startled, desperate despair,
Not before you, and not after you.
I wonder, every now and again,
If you smile, if you still mispronounce noodle,
If your diligence and unending devotion still
Carry you through life.
I wonder if I broke anything in you, that day,
A diver breaking off delicate coral with a careless swish of a flipper,
And I also wonder if you were stronger than that too,
Like the captain of a ship on an ill-fated maiden voyage.
I wonder these things like I actually care, as if I did,
And yet, I can't even remember what you look like.
I haven't seen you since that day.

Words. Words. Words.
They roll off of me.
I can't find a feeling that relates.

This great, this vast, this emptiness,
It fills me like nothing else can.
And I know I am happy just the way I am...

Alone, not understood, completely quiet on the Front,
A caricature of what should be,
My lips press together, teeth sneakily pressing down,
Unseen, unheard,
As the smile takes hold,
Telling EVERYone that EVERYthing is okay,
And yet,
I feel a certain dissatisfaction with life.

Is this life?
Is this as [insert adjective here] as it gets?
Is this it?
Is this all that I am?

I might be lost
I might be broken
I might just be somebody's worlds left unspoken
So come find me
Come fix me
Come turn me around
Because if it's true that I am lost,
Then I can also be found