You lie on your stomach
And I sit upright on the mattress
We'd turn on the TV
You put on a movie
Something gory and violent
We'd laugh at the characters
And we'd analyze the plot
And you'd tell me a thing or two
About the corrupt bureaucracy
Or how money rolls in the court
We'd talk long after the movie is over
Perhaps I'd fall asleep first
So you hover over me
Thinking all the things
A gentleman is not supposed to
And doing all the things
A gentleman will do to his lady
Come the dawn and I'd find you
Arms around me, face of an angel
So I'd slip back into where I was
Take your scent into my lungs
Praying that this can be our forever

The best kind of kiss
Is one that has been exchanged
a thousand times between eyes,
before the lips have even met.

The most beautiful smiles come sometimes with tears,
The deepest feelings can come with distance.

The distance between me and you
cannot be measured in miles, or kilometres, hours of travelling, nor in any other unit invented by mankind;
it is measured in feelings and thoughts,
in dreams and longings
in "wish you were here" messages sent at 2:32am from a drunk heart who has forgotten the touch of a kind warm hand
it's measured in unsaid words and unshared laughs ,
in skin that has not been touched and tears that have not been wiped
in mental blocks caused by a picture you can't stop staring at
in mad driven souls screaming the same name endlessly
in hearts beating fast at the sound of a ringing phone,
it is measured in empty arms
in lonely walks at night
in the morning coffee poured in only one cup and tables for one at the restaurant
in cold beds
sleepless nights
in eyes that don't meet
lips becoming dry because of the absence of that special kiss.
It is measured in never coming true wishes.

Such a long, painful, distance between me and you
I will always be able to reach you
only with the fingertips
of my mind.

We ate chicken sandwiches, mine
no bun, at a table with an 80's
geometric design on top of two silver
metal legs with our legs
intertwined. I tried
to draw a comic on the wrapper,
but you kept making me laugh
by reenacting the conversation
we had with the lady at the register
who gave us the wrong change,
but using a baby's voice instead.
The boy mopping the floors wished
desperately that we would leave, but
you looked so cute with ketchup
on your lip and I really, really
didn't want you to drop me off.
There was an Adele song
on the radio that we've heard for the second
time, but you sound more like
a forgotten track to a John Hughes film--
a little heavy, a little messed up, a whammy
bar progression with blonde hair
who wore jeans and had a really cool car.
I'd like to kiss you like Molly Ringwald
does Judd Nelson in that movie
we talked the whole way through as it played
on Netflix. I'd like to wear you
like a bad haircut; something no one else
understands but I pull off effortlessly.
You feel effortless to me. So refill
my take-out cup with five different sodas,
make a scene as we leave the restaurant,
my hand laced up in yours, and let me drink
you in as I pretend we aren't driving
back home just yet.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.