So many empty words,
                 "I'll teach you spanish"
                 "We can go there."
                 "I'm not like that."
So many lies,
                 "We'll just watch a movie."
                 "I just want to hold you."
                 "You'll be more comfortable."
At least you were honest,
                "This is what I want."

This isn't how you're suppose to start a relationship.

For as long
as I can
remember.

When it
hurts.

When I am
hurting.

There is,
only one
response.

One reaction,
let it burn.

Rapid beat
Need to move
Have to get out
CONFINING!!!

Can't breath
Tight chest
Burning eyes
OVERWHEMING*

   Please just stop

Before my eyes open,
you are there
at the end of my fingertips.
Soft and warm,
I want to pull you close.

Closer.

I open my eyes
searching for your face

that isn’t there.

It’s too late to close my eyes and
pretend you back into my arms.
The cold sheets have seeped into
the empty spaces.
Down into my bones.

I could spend my days
wrapped in the wind
- hair tossed in and out of my face

watching
fluffy white, grey, and black
clouds rolling across
deep blue skies.

I could waste hours
sitting on fine grains
of glass and particles
where one world meets
the next in a crashing
thunderous roll of waves.

I long to wallow my time
amongst the never moving,
always seeing,
towering beings,
of the forest.

My nights
are spent
seeking
the pale face
amongst the stars.

Seeing the world
how she does.

Connection incomplete

Make sure there is complete contact.
Fingers intertwined.
Skin touching skin.
Lips sealed together in the best kind of way.
Hearts in sync.
Souls melding.

Error Code 404**
Last two steps incomplete.

" I don't know what I'm looking for."
"Just like that....so good."

" You're beautiful."
"Take it...all of it."

"I can respect that."*
"I just want to try it."

He makes me happy
What if’s?
Plague me.

I think about her.

He doesn’t seem to be enough.
That’s so greedy.
So ungrateful.

I don’t know if she exists.
I don’t care.

He cares
really cares.
I’m his sweetest
This is enough.
He is enough…

Yet, I want her.

This hotel is unique.
It is one of a kind.
There is none other out there.

It's been around for decades.

Over time it has become more discerning.
Not just anyone can enter,
do as they please.
It wasn't always like that.

There are the regulars
who have been there
since opening day.

The long term stays.
Those only visiting
for a little while -
or maybe longer.

Then there are the one timers.
Most were a pleasure to have -
some, not so much.
A few have even come back.

But the ultimate guest is
a permanent resident
Someone who loves the hotel
very much.
So much in fact,
they never wish to leave.

No one was ever left out.
Everyone got something that was
just for them.

Shopping throughout the year.
Wrapping weeks in advance -
especially for the ones
to be shipped far away.

Last year was easy.
From the name on the list;
to the hand picked item:
wrap
label
give

This year
I can't pretend she isn't here.
This Christmas
there are no gifts stashed in a closet.
There is nothing to be
wrapped
labeled
given.

I can't pretend Christmas.

My fire is breaking into a run for no reason.
My spirit is a glowing ember lost among ash.
My pain is the faint mummer of sound in a crowd.
My heart is the wind blowing through and over me.

Your fire is the faint scent of smoke in winter
Your spirit is just a creaking floor board
Your pain is a blank face with empty eyes
Your heart is no longer my concern.

One light in a crowded room.
Highlighting papers
and one pen.

Blank papers.

The white glare brings out her eyes.
I reaching so deep
for the good words.

Sad eyes.

If I turn away my gaze,
I can write.
Words will flow through pen and ink.
I need this lie.

Shameful pride.

A crowded room
is now empty.
She has grown strong
and left me.

My muse.

All those hands
never at once

Light touches
that bruise so deep

Silence
never meant yes.

My pillows are filled with memories of soft whispers.
That sound oh so sweet.
I hear laughter down the hall
                                                         beckoning
with the dance and flicker of golden

light.

I imagine
your hands gliding across limb and back,
                                         wooing me
with pleasures
                                                                 one could get lost in.

I would love to lay my head
                beside yours.
I’d hold on
               so tight
                                                            that I lose myself
                                                                                in you.
Yet there are things to be done,
                            promises
                                                                    I must
                                                                                                            keep.

My fire is nibbles at the neck.
My spirit is the soft gasp through parted lips.
My pain is fingers curled in sheets.
My heart is hands leaving bruises on smooth skin.

Your fire is crude words whispered against flesh
Your spirit is demanding grunts.
Your pain is making it last just a little longer
Your heart is my pleasure

Doubt....*
Plagued and infested by it.
Eating from the inside out.
Destroying my foundation...
in secret

Shots! Shots! Shots!

Number ten...
Thirteen?
Eleven?

I don't know.
I do know.
He's going down.

Oh, there he goes.
Timber!

Laughter

The floor feels nice

Good times.

My sister wonders why I don’t want to go shopping right after coming home from an eight-hour shift.

I’m spent.

My dad wonders why I’m passed out on the couch at four in the afternoon.

I’m                           tired.

My friends don’t wonder why I’m no longer the life of the party, but they still choose to see me.

I’m
                                 exhausted.

At 25 I have come to realize that it is not normal to stress about a mortgage or how to keep a house.
That at 25, coming up with property tax money is not normal.

That at 25 it is abnormal to be alone in your worry of losing the last physical reminder of your lost mother.

It’s been awhile.

I can’t remember why
I haven’t seen you.

There is something
different
about you.

Older.
Sadder.
Lonelier.

I watch you
in your sleep,
curled up on the couch.

I see your tears.

I hope they aren’t for me.

The desire to wipe
them away
weighs heavy on my heart.

Every time I reach out
I can’t seem
to
touch
you.

It’s all consuming.
This we you speak of,
an exclusive club.
A reminder of how far
on the outside
I really am.