I didn’t notice it at first
Because after you walked out of my life
It took me a few moments
To discover the new ache in my heart and the incurable weariness in my bones
Remnants of the bruising love we shared

I think it was supposed to be a reassurance that you left a piece of yourself behind
But really it was just a reminder that you left.

Though I listened desperately for the voice of a savior
Silence was the only sound I heard.
And as I let the tears seep from behind my closed eyelids
I finally understood how darkness could be blurred.

I don’t remember what I was going to write

If it was a clever metaphor for love
Or a bitter commentary on life’s tragedies
Or a tale of sadness marred by teardrops on the page

My mind gets like this sometimes
A lot, in fact
It is a worn out engine:
There are still moments when the gasoline sparks into ignition
And the explosion rockets the world skyhigh
But more often
The pressure builds and builds…
To nothing.

Just like it did with this poem .

I am the one people talk about in songs and poems written at 2am
Through the blind stupor of heartbreak and rage.

I am the villain that heroes love to defeat
And spectators love to see defeated.

I am the ‘benign’ tumor that will eat its way through your body
Then run away and never look back.

I am the broken promises of forever and always.

It is scary how easily I can let go of things I once thought I treasured.
And it is absolutely terrifying how easily I can destroy people I once thought I loved.

I am the lone defendant in the courtroom
With nobody to speak up on my behalf
Not even myself.

I am in love.
Not with the guy next door
Or the charming ****
Or even the bad boy

No, I am in love with the people on the streets.

I am in love with their smiles.
I am in love with their surprise when their casual How are you? doesn’t turn out to be rhetorical.
I am in love with their intense honesty when I ask them the same question in return.
I am in love with their hope when I meet their gaze, and they realize they might not be invisible after all.
I am in love with their inner artist and musician and scholar.
I am in love with their humanity

And nothing breaks my heart more than seeing their downcast gazes fixed on the hard, unfeeling ground
As if they don’t believe themselves worthy to be seen

I wish I could place them in front of a mirror
So they can understand just how beautiful they are
When someone else reassures them that they do exist.

I am in love. But I don’t know how to tell them yet.

Most people would say that it's cliche
To write a poem about fireworks
On the Fourth of July

It is too
Trite
Overused
Common.
It is unoriginal.

But there is nothing cliche about wonder and awe and magic
Nothing trite about a vast array of colors that you never even knew existed
Nothing overused about the feeling of exhilaration as you eagerly await the next supernova
Nothing common about lights so spectacular even thunder has to hold its breath.

And if it is unoriginal
Then I really don't think I care
After all
Just because something is beautiful
Doesn't mean that it has to be rare.

When we reunite
It feels like I am looking through glass
A solid pane crystallized by weeks of separation.

I am terrified
That the minutes and hours we spent apart
And the distance that blocked our paths
May have severed our friendship completely.

After all
I am used to people leaving.
It is as familiar as the crickets that sing me to sleep
Or the canaries that sing me to wake
Though not quite as delicate and beautiful.

But it is her
My best friend
The one who loved me at a time when I didn't think anyone could
The one who had any choice of companions but chose me
The one who understands what I say...and what I don't say
The one who can ramble on for hours but instantly fall silent if I ever need to speak
The one who doesn't have to use words to promise that I will never be alone.

Can distance really break us?

I reach for her hands
My fingertips a whisper away from hers
As they touch
I find my answer.

“No.”
The barrier between us shatters.

And I realize that I am looking not through a window
But at a mirror.