I don’t fear loneliness, I embrace it.
I have befriended the time I spend alone.
It weaves itself in and out of me,
Between each of my hairs
And worms itself into the sinews of my heart.
I have made peace with my loneliness.
Deep in the darkness of night
I whisper what seems like to myself
But actually to tell the loneliness about my day,
Who I saw, and how I noticed it didn’t enjoy my day with me.
“My love,”
It croons, searching its way through the maze of my ear
Each syllable resonating in my fading conscious,
“You must live your sunlights without me walking by your side.
I will always exist next to you,
But I know I am easily replaced
And eventually you won’t even think of me deep in the darkness of night.”
The loneliness drew fear and sadness from my soul.
I believed I needed it to survive. It was innate for me to want it.
As the tears glistened on my forlorn-stained hair
And pain seeped into the beats of my abandoned heart,
I tried to get ahold of the loneliness,
Further flowing into the grooves of my palm and blanketing my shuddering body;
When in reality I was simply curled around a pillow
Wishing my friend, my loneliness, would leave me
Alone.

To go to die
Was what I was told.
To run or to hide,
One of which was bold.
But deep in the night,
I tossed and I rolled.

The war was just right,
Inside and outside
My body, of height
And it spanned so wide.
I found it was they,
Of me they would chide.

Somehow I was prey
Predators would stalk,
Wait ‘til dusk is day,
Build a fort of rock,
Watch me ‘til I got
Far away by walk.

Then I heard the shot
And my eyes went blind.
Oh, my cheek was hot
On the floor. I find
That this is the end
Of all of my kind.

Growing up I discovered that it is innate
In human nature
To find, seek, or beg for affection.
I stayed silent in order to watch those around me:
Some were good at capturing attention
Like on a warm summer night
And children and running around with glass jars
Procuring fireflies that shine like precious gems.
These children had the talent of keeping the fireflies
Dazzling for days.
Some sought after the coveted attention,
With their baited fishing poles in hand,
They patiently waited in the middle of the lake
And held onto their prize when caught
Until it died when they would go and fish for a new one.
Perhaps a longer, bigger, heavier, more valuable catch.
Some are light, ethereal,
Like a subtle perfume you can only smell
When you are mere inches away from the wearer.
They are sweet and not too persistent in their ways.
I continued to watch
And place people in these categories.
What they all in common, though,
Was selling their precious:
The fireflies, the fish, the perfume.
I looked to myself,
What did I have to sell? To offer?
Anything at all?
Surely I wasn’t as skilled as the lightning bug trapper
Or as patient as the fisherman
Or as fragrant as the perfume-wearer.
Instead, I was the girl
Who would admire the stars for all they are,
But not try to keep one;
Who would live in the now
Rather than feebly attempting to move my watch
Back a few years.
It was then I realized,
My love is not for sale.

When you decide to love someone,
You decide to make an investment.
He sits there with his glass jar,
Waiting to marvel at the heart placed inside.
Some run to this jar
And place their entirety in his possession.
It is bright,
It is lively,
It is a shiny new heart
Regardless of the scratches or dents of previous users.
Some quietly walk by his jar
And tear off tiny pieces of who they are,
Placing them in the jar for him to look after.
The heart may not seem lovely at first,
It is shredded,
It is broken,
It is ragged on the edges,
But it still glows as bright as a full heart.
When you decide to invest,
You decide to grow,
You decide to allow wisdom to come into your life,
You decide to become more conscious of who you are as a person.
However, sometimes we find the desire to move
Our hearts to a new jar
So someone new can marvel at our beautiful heart.
We go back to his jar and may take all our heart out at once,
Or slowly in those little pieces.
But when we get to the bottom of the jar
The final piece of our heart is fixed,
Immovable regardless of how hard we attempt to rid the jar of it.
Although you made a good investment
And learned to try new things
Or become a renewed person,
That one last piece of you is machéd to his jar,
Which is his to treasure
While he watches you place your heart
In a new glass jar.

On this day, I remember it so
‘Twas only  twenty years ago
That he,
He was standing by the sea,
He was standing next to me.
That I,
I was chasing the air,
I didn’t have a care.
It was this exact spot that we met
And what a day we had:
Splashing water, finding starfish, and
Taking long walks up and down the shore.
He held me tight,
Then we parted the night,
And from him I heard nevermore.

It comes like the first snow:
Quiet, soft, and lovely
As if its descent isn't detected
Until white frost already covers the ground.

It comes like a hurricane:
Rough, agonizing, and raging,
Only to be broken by the eye
But then destroying any remains in its path.

It comes like dusk and dawn:
Short-lived, luminescent, and dancing.
It's when the Earth comes to life
And love springs from its breath.

It dies like the tide:
Its lulling recesion guided
Only by the light
Of the moon.