If you were the sky
Then I'd be the sea
And when you shined bright
It would reflect in me.
When you're at rest
Then I am steady.
If you wanna get rough
I'm always ready.
Past closing at the bars
If you show me the stars
I'll open right up
And cast them out far.
And on the darkest night
If you won't shine a light.
Then I'm silent alongside you
Until you feel right.
We'll meet at the horizon
Where lovers will stare
And wonder with passion
Why they can't meet there.
And you'll share me a kiss
As bright as two suns.
When they meet in the middle
I'll know the days done.
And I can tell that's your way of saying to me.
Goodnight my love.
If you were the sky and I were the sea.

Right now I'm not very old
but this has been going on since I was 12
I fell for you before I even realized it
and now every time I see you my heart bursts

I know I try to play it cool, but if my parents weren’t around
I would tell you how I really feel
and I know that if you loved me too
you would wait until we can be alone

My worst fear is that you will stop loving me
and I’ll be left here
still wanting you
and when I think about that I feel sick

and I know that I’m still a child
and this probably isn’t true love
but it’s the closest thing that I have right now
and I even think about marrying you sometimes

every time I see you
you take my breath away
but at the same time
I can still have real conversations with you

And when you are with other people
it takes every ounce of my body
not to run and be right next to you
and steal you away from them

I know you think I hate it when you poke me
but I love the fact that you touch me
and then when i pull your hand from my side
just for a second you’re holding my hand

and I just wish that the world would
pause, and stop spinning
so we could stay in that moment
for just a little longer

but you just keep walking
and leave me standing there
alone, by myself
acting like a little child

I hate every time that I see
that you’re in a relationship
but you still act just like
I’m still yours

Because I want to be the only thing
that you want
and have
and need

My friends have never met you
and that’s probably for the better
because I can keep you a secret
my treasure only

my friends all think that I’m exaggerating
but the truth is
I tell them every thing that happens
no lie

because that’s just what we have
a relationship that doesn’t need
to be some large hyperbole
and that is just alright with me

Two boys
and girls
unclothed each other
simply at a picnic
flush with wine
alongside
sun-flecked trees.

The girls,
easy as the
forest round,
burned,
delicious,
as the boys
eager and nervous
in unequal measure
partly gave up
concealing
their joys
at forgetting
or remembering
in flickers
their bare bodies.

It went on
over nettles
and half-hours
and clambered
trees and
photos taken
almost formally
(on film,
of course).

And boyish lust,
at first sinuous,
a darting tongue,
began to
soften against,
for instance,
the sheer,
unthinkable
texture
of the two
girls carved
now backward
over the bough
of a storm-felled elm.

And there
in the embers
of evening
they learned
to thrill originally
at the vast,
gorgeous
and astonishing
irrelevance
of what
might happen next.

They are strangers now, separated by their worlds and walls.
There is no chemistry, no spark, nothing special.
They are simply strangers, sharing a couch.

One is autumn, one is spring;
one likes talking, and the other? Listening.

If walls could talk, they’d weave a tale so tragic.

In the beginning, he was sun, and she was moon.
At the ending, she was running, but he was leaving.

In the beginning, there are many things.
There is music, and laughter, and broken strings.
They have cooperation, and commitment, and promises.
Her mom gives them glasses, his mom gives them dishes.
She has her charcoals, he has his guitar.

At the ending, close to the ending-
There is his guitar, her laughter, they’ve broken things.
And that is all that is left.

Promises and glasses, dishes and hearts.
A year of trying and losing is written on the walls;
the wallpaper- peeling, the curtains- ripping.

He clears his throat, she stills- hoping.
“I’m sorry,” she hears, and it’s okay.
“I’m sorry,” she hears, “that it’s ended this way.”

I’m sorry, she hears. I’m sorry, that it’s ended this way.
I’m sorry, she hears. That it’s ended this way.

“It’s ended this way?”
“I’m ending it this way.”