How much do you love me?
I realize this question is formed,
From uncertainty,
You are my sky,
My galaxy,
I wish to map every star,
And call them each by name,
How much do you love me?
You make my galaxies collide,
Stars collapsing and expanding,
Until only your image remains,
How much do you love me?
An ever - present worry,
Resounding in my thoughts.

Why do we mourn?
Because we lost something of value?
Or because our hearts have been touched?
Touched .... but how?
A gentle caress,
Lovely and sweet,
From someone you'll dearly miss.
Or was it a painful experience,
You'd rather forget?

Nostalgic you say?
You look back at slides and swings,
As if nothing but brightness became of them.
Friends & laughter,
Running free & wild,
The good old days when nothing mattered.
How could one be nostalgic,
Of something they never had?
I walked that thin, grey, concrete line.
A ghost,
Invisible.
Their mocking resounding in my memory,
Why would I mourn my past?
I was a captive,
Friendless,
Hurt,
Alone.
Family was never a way to escape,
I couldn't find peace from anguish,
Except for within Beauty.
The beauty of nature,
the beauty of writing,
The air through my hair when I swung.
How could I feel nostalgic,
When I see children playing?
Instead I conjure a prayer,
And wish that they don't end up like me.

A past removed,
No tears shed,
Why would I miss,
The recess laughter,
Resounding in my ears,
The fires of Hades,
Burning times most would find precious,
They haunt me,
A time to which I'd never return,
My present burning so much brighter,
Hope, love & light,
A future where I can finally smile,
So why would I dwell,
Finding myself nostalgic,
On ghosts of memory,
That tortured my soul,
And gave me reason to write?

Have you ever heard,
How her eyes are described?
Their blue as the ocean,
As deep as it's dephs,
And mysterious as the undertow.
This comparison is all too common.
Blue is always the sea,
Maybe the cloudy sky,
As her head is above the clouds.
But his eyes,
The sky isn't far enough,
The sea not deep enough,
His eyes portray the universe,
Glittering with it's stars,
Beyond our galaxy.
his emerald eyes hold fragments of comets and shooting stars.
Wishes and desires.
I can never read his vast stars,
How the fisherman could read the changing of the tides,
Or the shallow stream of stars to gaze upon.
But his eyes hold a universe's worth of stars,
So many I can't chart them all.
They shine with potential.

I am not a passionate person,
Or so I would tell you.
My cheeks blush at the thought of being kissed,
And physical affections are often turned away,
Feeling desire for someone is like a new language,
And I had little want to understand it.
No,
I am not a passionate person in the way most would believe.
But I am a passionate person.
Give my heart an emotion,
and my mouth will make it known.
Flood me in kisses,
and my hands will go to work on paper.
Writing my love for you is a fire,
It's flames devour your every action,
For I may not make myself known when it comes to body language.
But in the written word,
you will never live a day to question how my soul aches to show its affection.

Monochrome,
Boring,
Drag,
Tragedic,
That's what I was.
That's what my life used to be.
I faced recess war,
I became a ghost,
Disappearing from this world,
My nose always in a book.
Deemed weird,
Crazy,
Stupid,
Fat,
Clutz.
I was an outsider.
This town was a prison,
My own personal hell.
I couldn't escape.
I believed I deserved it.
Every word,
Every action,
Every tear,
I was worthless.
I had no hope,
No future.
Nothing lies beyond this town.
...
But there was
I found you.
All of you.
I found happiness,
Self worth,
Late night's spent joking,
Laughing,
Smiles.
I am not judged.
I am not shamed.
I am beautiful.
and treated as if I deserve to be told my worth.
...
Even so,
There is fear.
What if I lose this?
If In my happiness I forget how to live in loneliness?
People change,
They leave.
And I am too trusting.
My heart is given away freely,
But then it's shattered.
How many mosaics have I made?
How many times have I tried to fix my heart after being so deeply hurt?
Too many to count.
Can I really have a happy ending?
She who is so used to tragedy?



I hope so.