It's a walk down nostalgia lane I've been aching for, but all we ever talk about is the time we had before time was up and nothing more, except the aches and pains we're both feeling these days.

It's like a retirement home for old times where good ones go to die, and we'd go out and make more but there's no time left to come by.

But why does it have to be that way? We spend all of our time talking about yesterday like there's nothing else to do but put our memories up on a shelf in the category marked "Should have."

But with you I'd rather think of could have. Like we could have a wonderful time together at a coffee shop called "Picture Perfect." And you could show me all the paintings they have on display there that make life worth it.

You could tell me about all the fun we would have had together chasing our dreams of artistry. I would write poetry inspired by all the paintings you'd make to take my breath away and leave me speechless with nothing left to say but how much I love you.

I'm happiest when I can wake up and make up my mind as to how I feel. Before the question pops into my head of which thoughts are real and which ones are yours.

I'm happiest when I can tell you for sure of who I am, which only lasts for about an hour after I wave goodbye to the sand man and start my day.

I'm happiest when I can run away from the idea of happiness for as long as possible. I know that sounds weird but I'm better off never thinking or asking that question in general. Am I happy?

It's a crap-shoot, a moot-point for me designed to take away what it means to be happy. I don't want to think to deeply before I get out of bed, so please happiness, leave me be so I can keep out of my head and just be me.

You asked me for my happiest moment,
And I came up empty-handed,
Not because I never had one,
But because I never really thought about it.

For me time doesn't move like that,
It's not a moment to moment live your life like it's the last kind of cliche-trap that I put myself into.

For me everything is as old as it is new,
Because I knew from just about day one that everyone tells you to enjoy life, but they're so busy running the race they forget to take it in strides.

For me life is honestly a breeze,
But the problems come in the form of anxiety when people ask what I've been up to.

Because when they realize my answer is nothing new they look at me like,
"Who are you to be happy taking life at your own pace?"

"Don't you know? This life is a race and you don't have much time.
You should live your life like mine and be happy."

I was,
Before I met you

O heart stop thy beating for too rapidly do emotions fly. To easily do they flood all sense of logic and cause it to run in passionate strides.

Who is she to cause such a rhythm as if in sync with the music of life? She plays her part exactly on cue, for long dead hopes she does revive as feelings of love wash over you.

And all too soon you would give of yourself just to see a measly smile, for that is what you know of love and the part it plays in your story.

Only through care, by sacrifice may you show your affection and thus by reflection you curse your lot in this life as you may only live in loves shadow.

Upon shipwreck-shores I lay my heart for all to see. And with it too in counterpart shall lay the essence of my humanity.

A soul once proud now withered in full view of indecency, torn and rung out by all that love has revealed itself to be.

This gilded facade measured so carefully as to keep intact only upon a surface of beauty less than skin-deep has made its mark.

And so I tip my hat to exception, hung up on the rack of broken dreams with expectation and reality for company bittersweet.

If you were God, man kind could not have created fire fast enough to appease you. We would all be doomed to a life in the void as we are not worthy of your presence in heaven. Made solely in your image scattered about in many frames, you would smite us all for the imperfections we were made with purely because they might be a reflection of you.

You take on this world alone by choice and complain that no one can measure up to you. But of course that's true when you measure our strides in inches and yours by the mile half finished.

Fast or slow in equal measure,
with ticks or tocks to keep the beat,
Friend to some or foe forever,
until the bitter end they meet.

Here today and gone tomorrow,
never missed until too late,
A treasure then for some to borrow,
To keep themselves from pearly gates.

All things old and all things new,
Will have today to call their own,
But soon shall fade in rustic view,
With ticks and tocks to call them home.

Greeting them with gentle rest,
The guiding hand that wrote their tale,
Saying then to what is left,
"Your time is up, was it spent well?"