as children we believe
there are monsters
under our beds
as we become adults
we start to hide our dreams
beneath them
until most of us forget
we ever had dreams at all

tell me
how many nights
has it been now
that you have slept
without getting any rest

being tired all the time
may have become the norm
but that doesn't make
it a healthy habit

wouldn't it be nice
to dream again
to play with the monsters
under the bed
to finally get enough rest
so you could sleep
truely sleep

some stand
at the edge of abyss
and hear music
enjoy the silence
know that it doesn't
always need to be ok
carry the cold of winter
inside their marrow
some feel this
is the last safe place
their hearts can beat
can breath safely

this is where I saw her
dancing with ****** feet
a recklessness to her pulse
a wild child
an old soul
a delicate being
something both
broken and beautiful

she never said
a word out loud
she smiled though
there in the darkness
despite the gloom
the pain
the grief
that brought us each here

a simple act of kindness
a small gift of love

I smiled back
and never said a word

what a strange thing
this mournful pain
this longing for what
and who we've lost
for those who are gone
to places we do not know
cannot follow
this heartache
this broken hurt
this bitter fruit
we dare not let go
a hollow sound
an endless echo
a voice haunting
our every heartbeat
and is it not
above all
beautiful by its own right
its delicate necessity
how through its pain
we are also made comfortable
to be reminded
how fragile this life
how little time
we have to breath
how fast our nights fade
as if it all is but a dream
a bubble about to burst
nothing but ants
marching towards starvation
and one by one we go
a cruel act of kindness
to remind those left behind
how precious
how important
how necessary it is
to love

her soft eyes held
a quite suffering
a delicate pain
a strange beauty

I wanted to reach out  
to offer a comforting hand
a quite moment
to let her speak
to let her fall apart
to break down
to let her be alone
without being alone

but who was I
other than a shy child
trembling beneath an aged body
scared of what I admired
terrified of what I might love

so I sat motionless
hiding beneath silence
planting seeds of future regrets
that will bloom  
into the words I will
have wished I had spoken

How am I suppose to read the warning signs
when I am emotionally illiterate
what I'm trying to say is
that I have never learned
how to deal well with heartache  

I know how it feels to have a weightless heart
when ever thing is measured by gold
my ribcage has a collection of nothing
but rusted pennies
sitting at the end of a bottomless dread

wishes that come true
sometimes have a way
of exploding like a dandelion

days of good intentions
can tumble unexpectedly
no matter how well
they are stacked together

the future is never certain
everything has an expiration date
wether it is printed in black ink
or a secret only the wind
and the leaves know  
it could be something as warm as death
or as cold as betrayal
or something far simpler
than we make it out to be

our own stupidity comes to mind
our careless behavior motivated by ego
and the ego does as much damage
when under inflated
as it does when it burst from its own pride

months and years of silence and solitude
has turned loneliness
into a comfortable home
a safe haven
free from the fear of things going wrong
a place I have no need to regret
the things never said
the people I never said those things to

and somewhere between memory and fantasy
things that once may have been
and things that never were
there is a strange place
that feels happy enough
what is love other than a feeling
a feeling of comfort
of warmth
of dreams
what makes it more or less real
if the heart is fooled
why not play the fool

something real imagined
imagining something real
if I whisper a name
I do not know in my sleep
or dream of kissing a name
I fear to speak
what would be the difference
when I wake in an empty bed
surround by the cool comfort of silence
if the feeling remains the same

maybe if I had read the warning sign
I would have known that
I don’t deal well with heartache

she handed me back my heart
without making eye contact
there was still a tenderness
in her fingertips
an unspoken apology
for letting go
a slight quiver in her voice
carried the words
that pierced through
the hollow of my chest

the tale of our forever
abruptly ended
the chapter cut off mid-sentence
the remaining pages left
longing for the echo of words
waiting to bounce back
from eternities edge
for any words to break
the uncomfortable silence

I cracked and I crumbled
until there was nothing left
but rubble and smoke and ash
and a pain as heavy
as it was empty
a pain that stretched
from the weak tremble of my heart
past the unknown year
of my inevitable death

I don’t remember much
of the pain in detail
or how sleepless the nights were
how bad the dreams got
I remember it hurting in a place
I believed it would never hurt again
hurting in a way
I never thought would go away
a hurt I never thought
I would be able to live with

time passed slowly burning
what would never be again
her ghost was on every corner
in every line
in every car at ever stop light
my body kept going
through the motions of life
but I was...

I was...

I really don’t recall
what or who I was
some fraction of who I use to be
and nothing of who
I thought I would become

eventually I flew out
to visit my parents for four days
to try and regroup and recollect
and rebuild and distract myself
those four days turned
into a week and then a month
and the idea of going back...
back to where both she
and her ghost lived...
well...
the month turned to years
and those years are still pilling up

I tried drinking
no....
I drank
I drank a lot
the days became blurs
and it stopped hurting
on the nights I couldn’t recall
or remember
but the pain was still there
still empty
still heavy
when my blood
was absent of *****
and my head full of longing
for the things that would never be

and time crawled

I fell in love with a new face
a new heart
and it was wild and turbulent
and short lived
and another hand reached
into my wreckage
and pulled out my heart
and held it for a moment
and it felt like love
and we played pretend
until one day my heart
was handed back again

and I remembered
the tender touch
of an unspoken apology

and life went on
and it hurt
but the hurt wasn’t the same
the pain was different
not quite as heavy
not unnecessarily empty
it bloomed in
the shape of lilies and orchids
and the air smelled
of a lost love
that wasn’t lost
and I breathed in
and exhaled

I opened a book
I once thought had ended
and I started to read the next chapter
that picked up mid-sentence
and love was still there on the page
though different
somehow farther away
and yet still deeply rooted
in the pulse and rhythm
of the blood living and flowing
in the chambers of my heart

I’ve seen you sitting quietly in the corner
of coffee shops and bookstores
watching the world turning all around you
I’ve heard the nervous shyness
in the soft sound of the words
you rarely speak and the words
that never quite make it past your throat

I know how scared of love you are
I can feel that fear in my own heart
we both carry that heavy weight
of having a plethora of love to give
and no one to give it to
or more specifically
being to afraid of giving it
whenever we find ourselves
desperately in love

why do we let fear sit so closely
to our hearts
if we never take the risk
of our hearts breaking
how will we ever know the joy
of our hearts being seen
I see your heart
I have seen your heart for so long now
that I can’t remember a time
of not knowing what it looks like
what it sounds like

I’ve been there ever time
it has pounded against your chest
trying to break through your ribcage
so it could give itself away
to the people you wanted to tell
that you use the letters of their name
to spell the word love

when you weren’t looking
I snuck through your sketch pads
I’ve read their names and all the poems
you were to shy to share
I’ve been that person for my whole life
unable to share through an unbearable shyness

I know how long you have been alone
I know how comfortable solitude has become
I know the comfort of silence
in a world that is big
on the ceaseless chatter
of small talk

I know you have a lot to say
I know you keep those words
locked safely in your heart
I know they are weighing your heart down  

If its not too awkward
you could let me share your corner
and we could read some books
and forget about the coffee we ordered
until it is too cold to drink
but drink it anyway
and sit still enough to feel the earth
turning all around us
and we could trade our hearts
for a moment

or a lifetime

and talk without saying a word
and learn each other’s language
and then I could show you
that I spell the word love
with the letters of your name