I'm often alone.
So please excuse
my desires
for you
to hold me a little longer.
I want to linger
in that state
between awake
and asleep,
as the sunlight
filters in pink.
Caressing our skin,
whispering,
"You can lay
just a minute more.."
Reluctantly unaware;
Am I sleeping?
For this feels
like dreaming.

There is no pain
like
loving
without being loved.
Needing
without being needed.
Giving
without getting back.
There is no sorrow
like
the cool side
of the bed,
or waking up
to a dormant phone;
Passing couples
on the street.
I'm tired
and alone.
This penitentiary
I can't escape.
A constant desire
to have my hand held.
To watch your lips
part;
To hear you coo
my name.
There is no
bad dream
dark enough.
No night
cold enough
to compare to
what it feels like
to want you,
and not have you.

"Smoking is bad for you."
But so are you.
I breathe you in
deep into my lungs.
You fill my head
with pretty feelings.
You're killing me slowly.
Each time we meet
you touch my lips
and dive right in.
You set my heart racing,
making it hard to breathe.
You're my vice.
I need you
even though I know it's wrong.
I'm addicted.

Last night
I was in your arms,
as your kisses
mingled
with smoke,
and your voice
whispered me a lullaby.

Tonight,
I'm alone with my thoughts
and my cold bed,
and my nightshirt
that smells like you,
and your sheets.

Tomorrow,
I'll wake
tired and groggy.
I'll need a cup --
or two --
to make me feel
even a little bit alive
like you do.

But tonight,
tonight I miss you.

If only I could
say the words
I need to...

It would be
so much easier
if you
knew.

Remember the days
of skinned knees
and gap-toothed grins?
Your little voice
calling my name
running behind me
in your tiny tux.

Remember the days
of metal mouths
and awkward lanky limbs?
Discovering we weren't blood,
but we WERE just the same.

I will remember fondly
the afternoons
where the beach stretched on
for miles,
and the rocks became our castle,
and we never ran out of words to say.

I will remember
being wrapped in your arms
enveloped in hugs
that could cure a broken heart.

I will remember courageous kindness,
a thousand-watt smile ,
and a heart too big for this world.

You left behind
a legacy unmatched.
So many hearts beat now
to the contagious cadence
of your laughter.

You were loved.
You are loved.
You will always be loved.

Remember now,
our naive promise
so many years ago?
We swore we'd be friends forever.

From your divine perch
seated by our maker forevermore,
remember:
You will always be in my heart.
I will never forget you.
Please remember.

“She’s dead.” 

Just like that:

two words cause an eruption; 

A dam break. 

She was alive, 

and laughing, 

and smiling, 

and doing her job

(and doing whatever it is —

important or not —

that a person does 

when they’re living 

and you’re not thinking about them.)
*
“There was a gun,”*

they said.
*
“Her boyfriend is dead too,”* 

they said. 

“It was a parking dispute,”

they said.

And no amount of explanation 

could take the air that escaped her lungs

and put it back

to restart that beautiful, 

big,

loving heart inside her. 

And then you think, 

Man, if I had picked up the phone. 

Man, if I had made more effort. 

Man, if I had been a better friend. 

But you know you can’t change the past, 

and even three hours ago
when you were folding clothes, 

and she was sitting in that house

is the past. 

And now she’s gone and you don’t know why. 

“Everything happens for a reason,” 

they say. 

But they don’t tell you what the reason is.

And sometimes, you never figure it out. 

Then comes the candles, and the funeral.

And an eighteen year old ray of sunshine
is being put in the ground. 

And you’re here. 

Living, 

and breathing, 

and folding clothes. 

And you wonder why her 

and not you. 

You’re surely not deserving enough

to live 

while she can’t. 

And her family; 

All you can think about is her mother, 

and her father. 

And you remember watching TV, 

and riding the boat on the lake, 

and the cookouts, 

and even that time she was sleeping
and snoring a little.

You can still hear her voice. 

And remember that week before Christmas
when you saw her,
and she was really busy making coffee? 

But she sad hi to you and mom anyway. 

Nothing is the same anymore.

The world just isn’t the place it used to be.

Things like that just don’t happen where you live. 
Maybe in Los Angeles, 

or Florida. 

But certainly not in Maine. 

Not to someone you went to high school with. 

And certainly not her. 

No, not her. 

But it happened. 

A 74 year old man 

shot and killed your friend. 

Stole her life, and her light. 

And the worst part is that the world
keeps on turning 

even thought it feels like it stopped.