I'm going away for a while.
If you pass her by:
Tell her I miss her.
Her voice, her smile.
But tell her "boys don't cry".
Tell her I'm sorry,
though she already knows.
Tell her I still think of her,
say it though it shows.
And tell her I meant to say
that I wish things hadn't gone that way
that I wish I gave her a reason
for wanting me to stay;
and please tell her
that I'm not begging
or pleading
or wasting away.
Tell her I'm carrying on,
tell her I'm okay.

Tell her she's been in my dreams
and that last night I held her hand.
Tell her the cat gave my tongue back to me.
Just tell her, she'll understand.
Tell her it made me feel alive
to once again feel her touch.
Though feeling alive without her here
is not feeling very much.
But anyway,
tell her that I miss her
and that time we sat by the docks,
she knows,
I really meant to kiss her
right there,
but now I sit alone
and watch the clock.
"Time
goes by
so slowly"
Tick Tock, it goes,
Tick Tock
Tick
Tock.

But tell her I'm not lonely.
Tell her I'm quite alright.
I never needed someone to love me
or someone to hold me tight.
But tell her I wouldn't mind it
if she called me,
or took the time to write.
Even just to say good morning,
good afternoon, good evening,
or goodnight.
Tell her I was alone before I knew her,
that I got on just fine.
Just now it's but a little bit harder
So I'll sit down and sip on her city's wine,
I'll savour that bitter-sweet flavour,
and I will be
just fine.

Tell her Rome has fallen,
the war is over,
and I have lost the fight.
That she's better off without me
That what she did was right
But tell her that If I could go back,
and she knows that I would,
that I wouldn't hesitate to do it right
no matter what way God, fate, or karma
says it shouldn't or should.

Tell her I hope she's doing well
and that it isn't too late.
Though she might tell you
that too late it is.
And perhaps that's just fate.
Maybe we weren't made for each other,
like I had really hoped.
Maybe she's meant for another
and that's just how it goes.
Or maybe she needs nobody at all.
No one there to stand her up.
No one there to catch her fall.
But tell her I'm happy for her either way.
Tell her it's fine
Tell her it's okay.

But maybe you shouldn't tell her
anything that I have said.
I think it's best
for all of us
If any memory of me was wiped
away
from her head,
and she just forgets me instead.
It might be better if you tell her
That I never said a thing.
I think it's best if she forgets
Her forgetful little fling.

But wait.

I was more than that.
"And I know because she said so."
Tell her to forget my insecurity,
and please tell her,
because she might not know
that I was just scared
so afraid that she might leave,
that she might go:
That I pushed her away
that I pick up whats most important
disregard,
then foolishly throw.
But tell her I didn't mean it,
that it wasn't supposed to be so.

Tell her only good wishes to her I send.
That I was in the wrong.
that 'There are cracks in the walls
that I can't mend."
Again, to quote a song.

And tell her I'm a fool.
Not that she needs to be told,
because "only fools rush in"
and with her,
my heart was quickly sold.
Tell her I played the game,
I gambled,
and now all the dice have been rolled.
Tell her it's a strange feeling.
Tell her that "I will never grow so old".

Tell her when I asked for her kiss
and saw that look in her eyes:
I thought then she never wanted me.
Tell her I believed my own silly lies.
Tell her before I didn't see it
But God, I see it now.
Tell her I have to live with what I've done
but I'll get by somehow.

Tell her that in the airport
(for maybe she might laugh)
I was kicked out of a prayer room
for sleeping on prayer mats.
And as I lay on those mats,
a movie quote came to mind
"See you in another life
when we are both cats."
Maybe some meaning
I hoped she might find.

And tell her, before I forget,
on our last walk
she splashed a puddle
and I got wet.
But I didn't mind,
I didn't get upset.
Just tell her,
because I might not get a chance
that as she skipped, jumped,
gravity making her tied hair dance
"Well, it suddenly struck me,"
as she splashed that puddle:
and I knew, then and there,
I won't lie,
I would not deny
one
last
cuddle.
But such is life,
and life
is unfair.

Tell her I hope she finds her little house in the snow.
I won't be there, that much she will know.
Sad and regretful, maybe,
but spiteful I am not.
Tell her that I love her still.
Tell her
she'll always be my little teapot.

The bitter heart eats its owner
It's a fearful thing to love what death can touch

Their goodnight kiss felt like two blind animals bumping into each other in the dark
She felt in that moment that she loved him as much as it was possible to love anyone
What she felt was something like hard rain; violence
                                                                ­                      and brightness
                                                                ­                            and beauty
What formed in her mouth were the words,
Which of us is flawed?


He began to feel anger at the peace he found here and the complacency of the blue sky and quiet roads
His fists were in his eye sockets, his head exploding with the ruin of lives
As he set out, he felt a kind of happiness
He fell
            and he fell,
                               and the earth that we call sweet became his executioner


There is a point when the body relinquishes its pain
and waits dumbly
The savage animal eating his heart would someday grow weary
When do you stop being
                                           human?
When the body is so befouled, when you have groveled so deeply, when bitterness eats your
                                   bones?

The birds move from one tree to the next, building nests
This is how we live
The wind erases our footprints as we move
                And then one day, we are no longer alive on Earth,
                         And the footsteps are gone forever
The land is our blood, the clouds our hair

We are doorways, openings into something greater than ourselves,
Something that we don’t understand and will never understand
One cannot know why things happen as they do
We have nothing precious in and of ourselves
We are only precious that we are part of something too big to know
Every person alive thinks they are the center of the universe, that they are everything
When in fact each of us is less than nothing
Liquid, like a river
Season by season
Hope,
           and hope again.