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one.

    When she cries herself to sleep
    six out of seven nights a week you must
    say nothing. You must simply take
    her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
    pale cheeks and wait for her to
    slumber at the sound of your heart.

two.

    On the days where she wishes she
    were part of the stars, tell her
    no. Tell her that there are too many
    lights in the sky and that just one
    would be forgotten the moment you looked
    away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
    the way she is: completely human.

three.

     Don't let her think about the scars
     that no one but her can see. If she
     says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
     know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
     But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
     must be the one to do it herself, and you
     merely are there to quietly encourage her.

four.

     Read her poetry (even if you are
     not a poet), the kind that uses
     flowery words and compares girls to
     the moon; the kind that you will
     rewrite for her. Make her a warrior.
     Make her a goddess with eyes like a
     wolf's and a smile like a tiger's.

five.

     Laugh with her the first thing in
     the morning and the last thing before
     you fall asleep. Tell her cheap puns
     that you've been thinking of for weeks.
     And when she smiles - the type of smile
     that could bring you to your knees if
     you aren't careful - know that for the
     moment, she's yours. She is whole.

six.

    Love her. Love her like a fish loves
    the sea or a bird loves the sky. Love
    her in the way that your heart feels like
    it's going to burst at any moment every
    time it beats. Love her skin and the way
    it feels against your own, soft and warm
    and utterly flawless. Love her for the way
    her voice trembles when she can't keep it
    together anymore and love her when she
    holds onto you as if you were the only
    thing that was keeping her alive.

seven.**

     Love her, because some days she just can't do it herself.


She heard whispers upon the wind
and soft words upon a breeze
inhaled a fragrance on the moonlight
called out your name among floating leaves
~
She ran along the sensual sand
compelled by the crashing waves
fleeing from something so familiar
yet her fear was to leave this place
~
Eventually halted by the stars
as they lit up the life in her eyes
she remained motionless,  like the blackness
reading between the clusters and all they implied
~
The moonlight fell upon her tender face
a harmony of waves filled her ears
the sand between her toes would forever remain
as she clung to hope as a souvenir



I Played cards with death,
He asked me to pick,
Pick what I said?
A card it shall teach you of life
I picked
One,
Then two,
Lastly three,
Have you picked wisely
Death aske me,
King
Queen,
Then the joker made three.
Who will live the longest?
Death pointed his ***** fingers,
I looked, thought who would it be,
I said the king or queen would be last
Death cold stare looked at me.
The king when visited
Did try to buy his life from death,
Death doesn't need gold you see
But I gave the king a coin
For the ferryman to take his soul.
I said the queen would be my second guess,
But again he looked coldly upon me,
She asked me to be her king
But I whispered I am the god of death
to be a king would be no use me.
She was taken again no use of gold
But I once again gave a coin .
It couldn't be the jester?
A creepy smile feel upon his face,
Death said, what is life with out laughter
I came for him, he made me laugh
He did an impression,
He impersonated me,
I laughed out loud,
I hadn't done that in
A million years.
So I told  keep others laughing
I will give you and those extra years
But like all I will come for thee,
So the tale was told.
Laughter is a way to keep life going
But everyone will be visited,
King,
Queen,
Jester
You and me*
*Just keep laughing it will add on years to your life.
She said people were seasons,
and when I first met her, I couldn't agree more.  
After getting to know her, I wished that I didn't.
Her ex-lovers were Winter, and her eyes were a shade of Spring.
I could see the vulnerability of a car crash
swimming in each fountain trapped behind her emeralds.
She was beautiful in the way that could cause suicides,
and fix spider-webbed windshields after each collision of,
“Are you okay,” and, “I’m fine; I promise.”

Every story was Winter, and she was always left alone in the snow.
Mauve lips mouthed words that silently whispered,
"When is this too much? When are you going to leave?"

People are patterns,
and all she knew was the tessellation of temporary love and permanent loss.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
She was in transit; moving after each hope of home fell apart.
And I wanted to kiss her like the world was falling apart.
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