to a traveler, it comes as no surprise that life is nothing
but a beautiful, intricate web of choices.
black or white, up or down, yes or no.
season after season, day after day - a million decisions.

but in the icy stillness of a snowy midwinter,
one lone traveler came upon a fork in the road -
a path leading to the left and a path leading to the right.

voices sweeping through the air whispered of the possibilities -
right or left, left or right, one or the other, again and again;
the traveler's fate faintly whispered within the melody of the breeze.

when she could no longer bear the urging of the frigid rain
or the heckling of the grey wolf's howl,
she faced ahead, chin up
and pushed her own path
right between the two.

please believe me when i say
that you are not unwanted.
please believe me when i say
that you are not unloved.

you are an incredible creation,
spun delicately by the deft fingers of fate;
made with the sole purpose of setting
every corner of the world
on fire.

please believe me when i say
that you are not unwanted.
please believe me when i say
that you are not unloved.

you are as crucial to the earth as
even the slightest streams are to oceans;
as breezes are to the early springtime air -
sending dandelion puffs whirling hand-in-hand
with wishes sent into being from beneath
tightly shut eyes.

one more day under the rays
of a strange and merciless sun.
one more day to pour out your blood,
your sweat, your tears.
one more day to fight the inborn urge you have
to tune out the drone of a leader
and, instead, march to the perfectly imperfect beat
of your own drum.

one more day stuck in the grasp
of the same small town.
one more day to write, to paint, to sing,
to keep my mind as busy as possible.
one more day to fight the inborn urge i have
to get in my car
and drive down
one hundred highways
just to tell you
that
i
love
you.

s** o broken. so desperate.
h oping for nothing but perfect numbness -
e scape from the pain, the guilt, the constant haunting of 'what if?'.

s o torn. so lost.
t he ache inside appeared when the door shut behind her everything.
i should have, would have, could not have stopped him'.
l ost in a swirl of colored memories that render her breathless;
l eaving her scrambling to pick up the shattered pieces.

l et this be the bitter end of trust, the bitter end of love.
o ver and over, the dusty record repeats itself;
v erse after verse and chorus after chorus.
e ven after the ones before, his promises convinced her to try again.
s hould have, would have, could not have stopped that record from starting over.

y et, through the numbness, the pain, the hurt, the betrayal,
o ne thing echoes in her ears, within her heart - it is better to have loved
u nconditionally and lost than to never have loved at all.

you feel unworthy/but i assure you/that i have loved you enough/for the both of us.

you are not as unbreakable as you think you are.
you are not invincible, unfeeling or untouchable.
you may proclaim that you are these things and more;
you may shout it from a rooftop for the world to hear;
but there is a certain wavering in your crystalline voice -
tiny and inaudible to most, but booming loud in my ears.

i am not nearly as gentle and meek as you think i am.
i will not be forgiving, compassionate or merciful.
i will not fear you anymore - not now, never again.
i may have been tricked into believing you before;
i may have been blinded by dazzling, empty promises -
but, rest assured, you will never make a fool of me again.

with a smile, one word will escape in a sigh from my lips;
as golden and sweet as the soft whisper of angels' wings.
and you will shatter into a thousand pieces at my feet,
wishing you had never stolen a heart that was not yours to take.

"monster."

i can fight fire with fire, but can you?

your voice.
the blessed, cursed melody that plays over and over in my head.

your voice.
the golden siren song that tears me to a million glorious pieces.

your voice.
the first thing i listen for but the last thing i want to hear.

your voice.
always beckoning me toward you; always pushing me away.

your voice.
it kills me, swallows me whole, echoes around me until i cannot breathe.

your voice.
as rough as the concrete i feel beneath my body as i sink to the ground.

your voice.
too real, too soon, too late, too loud, too much, too much, too much.

as i lay there, ears filled with an empty dial tone,
eyes set unblinking upon silver pearls embedded in the midnight sky,
i realize that there is no other weapon quite as deadly as your voice.