A freezing cold breeze playfully pranced across the room from the slightly open window. The January air scampered over my face and pulled at my skin, sending a wave of goosebumps that rapidly spread out from their icy epicenter. Reluctantly I shuffle over, placing each step more carefully than the last so as not to fall over and succumb to one of many dizzy spells I had experienced that day. As I reach for the window lock, I give into impulse and open it further. The cold winter air no longer was a relaxed breeze but now an assaulting gale force wind, knocking over stacks of papers as it raced into my once comfortable bedroom. The cold wind hurts, but this is the kind of benign pain that you can easily become addicted to. Leaning forward, elbows resting upon on my once pristine windowsill and face poking out of the rear of my family’s home, I appreciatively look upon the miles and miles of land beyond the small opening of the window in which I stood last. Directly below me, I observe the curious case of mums and tulips still blooming deep into the Northeastern winter. Shocks of orange, yellow and crimson peak up from the vast expanse of white and frozen snow. My eyes blink rapidly now, to compensate for the dryness brought on by the persistent wind, drying my eyes and harassing my face. Again giving into impulse, I raise myself up. I plant my feet upon the old and worn windowsill and firmly grasp the edges of the window. Now I am at least three stories above the miracle flowerbed and I contemplate all the things that could send me swiftly barreling towards the magnetic draw of the blessed soil beneath me. I could become victim to insufficient support from the small overhang upon which I now stood. Yet another violent dizzy spell could fall over me, causing me to lose control of my grip and balance and drop into the beauteous blossoms. The final scenario which prompts me to climb back into my room and re-introduce my self to the inviting warmth of a fireplace was more disturbing that the last. I imagine if I just give up and let myself fall and embrace the logic defying flowers as we rush to meet each other. Before I reenter my bedroom, I hear my door close. I turn to be confronted by a faceless, glowing figure. His presence stunned me, rendering me immobile, caught mid climb. I was entranced by the movement of the genderless figure. So entranced that I had not realized that it was racing toward me, not quite running but not quite floating. The distance between us decreased instantaneously. The figure had some hand like extremity that made a violent pushing gesture. The figure, despite having not touched me, managed to push me just slightly off balance. I now teetered out of the window, still frozen in my mid climb position with only one leg inside my bedroom. The teetering led to weightlessness. I was thrown out of my home by the vague and indescribable figure and sent out of the window. This unanticipated end was one of great distress as I descend towards the impossible flowers, slowly flipping as my head shifts toward the ground so that my resting memory would not be of anxiety and fear, but of clarity as those winter flowers grew and grew until they consume my entire field of vision. For a split second I can feel the impact as a series of cracks and pops ascend toward the heavens. The flowers disappear, the faceless figure was gone, the miles of empty land were no longer there. All that remained there was Nothing.

The sun is streak-
ing through empty
air.

Revealing an
abundance of
dust.

In my bed I
lay and ponder
you.

My spine runs para

llel to the floor be

low me. My eyes feel

heavy. Slowly they

close and welcome

the nightmares

Water laps upon the rocky beach, surrounding us with white noise.
Birds above us call and sing out to one another in repeating patterns which we have both heard before.
The wooden dock beneath our bare feet is darkened by the overwhelming saturation, which drips rhythmically into the frigid lake
In the springtime breeze, your hair blows, submitting to the wind with every gust it lays upon us.
This is the image of you I will never forget as we splash down the soaking dock, making our way to the boat.

The rushing water that beats against our beach and the pale, underwhelming sky which keeps the sun from drying off our dock.
We were slaves then, to the lurching world, where the only consistency is inconsistency.
The dark waves withdraw from the shore as we get into our boat and go, to a new and better place.

The coffee has a shockingly bitter taste because I let it boil far too long.
The pictures that I painted aren’t as pretty as they once were.
I still tell jokes, but they’re never as funny as they used to be.
And after all these years, the music that I play is hackneyed.
But still the stars shine on all these things.
And the sun still sets regardless if they’re good or bad.
And I know me.

The dead captain quietly fights the reef.
Ooh, desolation!
Endurance, death, and endurance.
Never love a seashell
More than the glinting sunshine

Dust was covering
The faded picture of you
That sits on my desk.

Streaking across my
Face, the sun is setting now
But we'll stay awake.

Books are stacked neatly
Upon your wooden shelves.
One day they will be read.

Tonight though, we just
Stay up and talk for hours.
Diving deep into
Our own minds