The barren house
Broken
Beautiful
The old man walked In the Debris
The record player
Broken
Beautiful
“I remember” he whispered
Memories swirled like illustrious pearls
Bathed in flames
The house creaked
Broken
yet Beautiful
as the wind howled like demonic wolves to the moon
The old man whispered “I remember”
Engulfed in flames
He was Broken
His memories were Beautiful

Maybe someday you'll love me.
Maybe someday my eyes will be the ones you fantasize of before you fall asleep, not his.
Maybe someday every fear shall be conquered like some great hero on his quest to vanquish this depression and keep the demons at bay.
Maybe someday the compilation of the love letters I left on your skin will linger longer than my scent on you and perhaps you'll remember these marks over him.
Maybe someday I won't love alone.
Maybe someday I can hold your gaze and not feel empty inside knowing that I've lied to you.
Maybe that's the root of all this.
That I've lied to you.
That her skin haunts me sometimes and creeps into my mind like the bump in the night and sometimes I'm not honest when I say who the 'I love you' is to.
Maybe it's because I've lied when I say it's always been you.

I'm not sure how you feel about me. I'm not sure if you even love me or if those words are simply compliant on the fact that I said I love you. Darling your blue eyes have turned my life into a turbulent shore and I'm so afraid to be lost at sea. I'm so focused on he who came before me. He was your "beautiful infinite mystery" and I'm second place. I want to love you. I want to see your eyes light up like when the sun breaks over the horizon over the endless ocean of your soul. I want to hold you close to me and feel your heartbeat like some primeval rhythm conforming my soul to your soliloquy. I want this love to not be lost among the forlorn follies of forgotten kisses or fake forged I love you's. Maybe we can make this into something more than recurring connections of skin and bone and feel something deeper then the backseat of my car. I want to connect to your soul. The hardest part is knowing you're not over him. The hardest part is knowing when we kiss you're probably thinking of how he held you. The hardest part is knowing How when I stare at your eyes you only imagine how different his deep eyes contrast mine. The hardest part is knowing no matter how hard I try I don't think I'll ever be able to surpass How he made you feel. The hardest part is knowing I'm not him when it's him that you want. The hardest part is knowing you don't mean it when you say I love you. The hardest part is knowing that after all this I may not be enough. After all this, I'm not sure how you feel about me.

I wonder if you think of me. I truly wonder if I'm the one you want. I wonder if I'm someone you love or just a placeholder for a past lover somehow still pursuant in your eyes. I wonder if somehow your kisses aren't meant for me. I wonder if maybe somehow your incoherent moanings are simply his name in an unintelligible commotion of conflicting feelings far too deep for me to discern. I tell the stars about you. I think maybe somehow the stars can understand how I feel about you. You have consumed me. Sometimes I wonder why you stick around because I don't think I have more to offer than this ****** up brain and this ****** up heart. I wonder if you think of me. I've spent countless hours thinking of you. I wonder if you think of me. Sometimes I'm afraid I'm nothing more than a footnote in your epilogue and your story is already written in his arms and I'm just an afterthought. Sometimes I don't understand why you stay. Sometimes i wonder if you realize how much this hurts me. Sometimes I wonder if you think of me. I think of you. Sometimes I wonder if you think of me.