Today you turn 19,
and I often think about how much things have changed in one year.
These concrete 'remember the date' days make it easier to recall,
like how I felt on Christmas and New Years and Valentines day.
How last year we went out to sushi, I got you that Perma t-shirt, you and your brother took all of us bowling, and you wouldn't hold my hand when there were people around.

Today you turn 19,
And I remember feeling like a surrogate for you to **** your emptiness into.
I remember the constant nagging of not feeling good enough,
the self-loathing that plagued me through our entire relationship.
Hating other people who had never done anything to me just because they meant more to you than I ever would.


A lot has changed in a year.

Today, you turn 19
and I woke up in the arms of another,
and I woke up with a sleepy smile that lasted into morning, afternoon, and night.
I woke up with his name in my mouth and his lips on my shoulders
and I woke happy.

Today you turn 19,
and I can look in mirrors again
and I don't wake up wishing I was someone else
and I don't punish myself for things that aren't my fault
and I don't skip meals trying to look the way you wanted me too
and I don't hate myself anymore.

Today you turn 19,
and I didn't wish you a happy birthday.

I'm better now.
I'm healthy,
and happy,
and loved.
It's almost Spring.

The old man still visits and he tells himself he doesn't care and he figures that lying to oneself is something we never really grow out of.

Some days he knocks on the door and altogether realizes he does care, he cares so ******* much and his chest begins to hurt and he leaves before she can answer.

Other days he knocks on the door and lies to himself and waits for her to answer. She does and they exchange pleasantries and she invites him inside for tea. Most days he'll stay for a glass and leave without incident. Making his way home he remembers how much he cares and vomits all over the bulbs on the sidewalk.

Some days he cares entirely too much and stays for a second cup of tea, only to torture himself. These are the days he takes twice as many of the back pain pills before going to sleep.

He looks in the mirror in a state of sedated discomfort and wishes that he could not care, he wishes he could lose the ability to feel, he looks himself in the eye and says "you're an old man, caring is for the young, vomiting is for the young, searching for a rock you threw into a creek and feeling some way, anyway, is for the young."

He's not entirely sure what he wants, what he prays for (to nobody and nothing in particular) but he knows he wants and by god he knows he prays.

And I see the stars fall
and I know you can stop them,
but you don't and I thank you.

Let them fall,
it is their time
and they are happy.

For thousands of years mankind
has predicted the death of the stars
but they never believed their ancestors would see it.

Alas they did,
the year 47806 has seen the fall of the stars,
but not the fall of man.

Oh no, man survived the destruction of Old Earth, the destruction of New Earth,
and the fall of Heigiria, so why should we die now?

No, for dozens of thousand of years man has persisted, for it is in their nature. Just as much as money was a part of pre-Heigiria human nature, so is survival.

We've evolved, we don't wear shoes or smoke cigarettes or speak but we still have art and we still have poetry we only share it differently. We share it on a cosmic scale, we mold Galaxies into love letters and universes into sonnets.

Let the stars fall, my dearest companion,
it signifies your love for me and the love I feel for you. Let's travel to Universe XB87 and experience it again in a millennium, let's travel to Multiverse 3 and experience it ten thousand times in ten thousand ways. Nothing I could think and nothing I could shape could be as beautiful, could be as wondrous as the warmth I feel from you as the stars die

Two celestial beings destroy each other over a petty argument.
And two cartoon characters live happily ever after.
An actor is playing an insecure caricature, while a despicable tyrant commits genocide.

I am talking to a girl who flirts with me and it makes me happy.
I'm allowed to be happy.
I lay awake at night with guilt.
I'm allowed to feel guilty.

I drink and I smoke,
but I haven't touched an ****** in so long I lost count of the days.

We continue to talk,
I hear nothing but meaningless small talk
and speak likewise, if only to prove a point.

on your wedding day

I will sit in wooden church pews more uncomfortable than your fathers stare because he knows what we are both thinking.

I will let my eyes wander through eyelashes heavy with reflections from the light of your smile as she walks down the aisle.

I watch as your hands shake like a child chasing a sudden warm breeze only to find a tornado.

you say your vows and I can only imagine ***** overflowing from your mouth because the name you say after "I love you" is not mine. It is not even close.

friends and family rise and pianos begin to play what sounds like a death march. You will have your first dance with her moments after this and all I can remember  is the jealousy in your eyes the night you wished you were the one dancing with me.

the room clears out and I can only think of the bed you will make love to her in. I hope you still find my stray hairs between the sheets. I know your finger tips will caress her sides in a way I never knew how to receive.

the song of my heart was always a little off pitch, so, when she plays the pianos of your heart I can only hope this time it will be in the right

key.

14- i met you standing there outside of a class that we both had
15(a few months later) i could never picture me doing anything without you by my side
16- I told you i was moving far far away and though God knows we tried there is no logical way that it would have worked
16.5- we broke up
17- we talked 3 times that year
17-you told me you missed me
17-you told me you loved me
17-i came back
17- you don't love me anymore
17-we're not talking
17-we slept together
17-we love each other
18-we're too young
18-happy birthday darling
18-i love you

I deleted a social media
to try and discover who i actually am
without peoples perceived notions of me

an existential crisis stems
from a perceived loss of identity
through an account
where most people didn't know my name

I am not worthy of being hers, receiving her love, being held in her arms.

Is a believer worthy or his god's love?
Are you worthy of Jesus's love?

We as human beings have tried to capture what we believe in, what we're most passionate about, through art.

I will try to describe to you my beliefs.
I will try to describe to you my love.

Her ******* could be compared to the most delicious fruit, eaten on a summer day.

Her love is that of no other. It is as powerful as an endless rain, as gentle as a lilac.

Her voice rings true in my ear. There is beauty in truth and her words are a scripture to be worshipped.

Her touch is softer than a cloud in heaven,
yet firm.

Her strength is seldom flexed but when needed she could move a mountain will force of will.

She is love, she is the essence, she fuels desire and stars equally.

She is kindness, she is forgiveness, she is a blessing to me and every other living creature that encounters her.

I am an unworthy servant, I will wash her feet a thousand times.

She is the sun and the moon.

I am not
I repeat
NOT
going to fight for you

You want her?
Go get her