I am not a door mat.  
Your foot prints do
not belong on my heart.
Do not fall in love with
a knock at the door,
and most importantly
a person's arms are not
a home

We are never at peace
Although thats how it seems
And the weight I've been carrying
Has finally been lifted off my shoulders
But i've kept my walls up and they are closley gaured
As I will find my lover
And he shall find me
But until then I prepare for WWIII

Sometimes I forget that you are real. I forget that you aren't a fragment of my imagination and the curly haired boy I see out of the corner of my eye isn't a ghost. It's you.
Sometimes I forget that I didn't imagine that smell of old spice and olay body soap mixed together to form the perfect aroma that lingered a little too long on my clothes after I went home.
Sometimes I forget that I didn't dream of those picnic dates we had on your bed while you played video games and I slept in your lap.
I convinced myself that I made you up because it was easier than admitting that I pushed you away even when you told me that you didn't like comitment.
I try to forget yesterday. I don't want to think of the familiar feeling of my head in your lap and your hand on my back, tracing small circles... because that means intamacy. It means you still love me and we are stuck in this small void of forever and I love you.
I try to convince myself you aren't real.

They were lovers don't you see. They ruled the kingdom of the skies with an iron fist of intimacy. Their pure passion washed over the kingdom like the grey-ish blue waves that violently crahsed over the rocky bottom of a treacherous cliff, one after another never stopping. They were dearly loved by all. Hated by few. Despised by one: Destiny.
Destiny had wounds too deep to penetrate with lust like theirs. Destiny had too thick of scabs to peel away with their tender hearts.
Destiny was too bitter to love at all and used her agony against the king and queen and over came their rule. She banished one to the skies and the other to the plains, doomed to never see each other again.
The plan was full-proof, she never had to deal with her own self wallowing pain, caused by their affection, and rather strive on their cries of reunion, but what Destiny didnt realize, the moon was very cunning like a snake of the forest, lying and manipulative. He made a deal with the devil.
The lord of the ground promised him his girl, if he could create a time of the day that everyone feared, and which his demons could roam freely. So he created night. Crowned king of his own creation the moon was granted his girl. Every night for twelve hours the two sing to each other, wishing again for the love they once had, traveling all of the lands, being chased by the sun, never resting; never landing. The moon and the wolf.