I wish every day would last forever,
like they seem to in the summer.
With nothing to do
but dwell in your thoughts
and bask in loneliness.

Human contact is annoyingly necessary
and sometimes
I wish I could escape it.
I'd like to be alone,
away from judgements,
just me and my thoughts.
Just me and my wants, hopes, dreams, desires,
sifting and floating in my eyes
and in my mind.

I see them quite clearly now,
only the thin fog of time clouds my view,
making them seem like an illusion.
Why do I wish for the future
with such anxiety
and at the same time,
long for the past?

Everything is temporary.
That thought has been headlining
every corner of my ideas
and hopefulness.
Everything is temporary,
everything is an illusion
just waiting to dissolve into the past
wanting me to miss it
and yearn for it back.

Everything ends the same.
Why worry about a broken window
a ripped page,
a battered heart,
when everything will end up fixed,
or in the trash,
or healed and scarred over.

Everything ends up in the past
and the things you once looked forward to
with such fear and excitement
become irrelevant.

If material possessions aren't important,
then what is?
Possessions are all we have.
We possess cars, computers, phones, clothes,
books, money,
knowledge.
Everything we know, feel, do,
are revolved around what we possess.
What more is there?

Even love is a possession.
You hold it, you keep it,
you cherish it,
and it's painful to part with it.

Everything in life is temporary,
nothing can cause joy
without eventually
causing pain.

Nothing gold can stay.

A little old man ordered an extravagant ice cream sundae. Glasses, striped short-sleeved collared button-down (outdated). I watch him as he eats it with a peaceful and innocent contentment. I can't help but smile to myself. He noticed me looking. He couldn't care less. He is himself; he's done with dreams and ambitions. All he needs is his ice cream sundae. I wonder if he's lived here his whole life. And now he frequents touristy places to avoid the familiar turf that evokes memories- or perhaps this is his turf- so much changed that it no longer produces bittersweet nostalgias. Tourists come and go.
I wonder what he thinks about- if it’s highly intellectual or if he simply dwells on his now-empty sundae bowl. Better the latter. Why dwell on the oddities of life when all you need is ice cream to make you happy? What a blessing to be old and happy; to care about nothing but your ice cream sundae. But what a tragedy that all we do in life is search, and in the end, all we were looking for was dessert!

Why do I still dream about you?
The memories are so far away
but they still possess me.

I wish I could just let go
and forget.
I almost wish the end was bitter,
so I had a reason to resent you.

I still love you.
It's an old and forgotten love,
but it's there.

It's in every green forerunner,
every time I hear that song,
when I see the ocean,
when I dream.

Constant reminders that won't let me forget.
They won't let you fade.



My love for you is like a soul,
stuck in the in-between.
I want my love for you to die,
find it's peace,

but it won't.

It needs a home,
another place to reside.
It's still there,
floating,
waiting,
for a vessel.

I don't feel like it's apart of me,
it's a separate entity,
but it enters my body
unceasingly,
without warning.

When it leaves,
it leaves behind a searing emptiness
and longing,
my eyelashes wet.

It hovers above my head
before it goes back to it's hiding place.
In the waves,
in a song,
in my closet.

It will soon creep out
and flood my dreams again.

I fear I will forever be haunted by our love.