I can't listen to Amy Winehouse on vinyl without thinking of you, and I've refrained from using your favorite coffee mug to ensure it'd be clean for your return. Even the floorboards are creaking your name now, and this house feels foreign without you. Each morning, I find myself rising with the sun, reciting the words, "Please come home."

-k.w

It is February again.
It was February years ago that I hid.
I hid and I climbed out again in the spring.
We wrote songs. We shared songs.
You weren't a ghost then
and I didn't know at the time you would become one.
I tied my hair back to tune my guitar
and you said you liked how my neck looked exposed.
You are a ghost now, and it is February again.
But thank you for the songs I wrote when it was February then.
They are still favorites of mine.

I am an alien.
This is not my home.
You all blame it on
"being human",
all those imperfections.
I wish I was human.
Capable of consoling my short-comings
with lies about my inabilitys.
I am capable.
Perfection is possible.
So why lie?
You wouldn't sell a diamond
at half price.
I wish I was human.
Able to neglect my emotions
for fear of their disappointment.
But no...
I cannot forget my duty
I just want to go home again.
- Gloraeanna

It's amazing how two people can be so perfect for each other, but they're both too scared to get hurt that they don't do anything about it..

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?  
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.  
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle  
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;  
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;  
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?  
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes  
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.  
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;  
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,  
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds