I remember
when we were seven
we would sit on your porch swing
for what felt like minutes
but was probably more like hours.
We would talk about silly things
like your mom's hot dogs
and the push lawn mower
or how "cool" you thought you were.

And I thought you were cool.

I remember
when we'd spend the whole day
in your room.
Or until our moms made us come out.
You would show me your rock collection,
purple and silver.
We'd play darts,
or Monopoly
and talk about your crushes,
me hoping that my name
might come up.

I've always had a crush on you.

I remember
when we were twelve
we sat up on that hill
that looked across the whole
beautiful city
and we barely even spoke
a single word.
We just sat there
in the tall pokey grass
eating our dry sandwichs.
I would glance over at you.
I don't know if you were too.

Your mom took pictures of us there together that day, I wish I could see them.

I remember
when my mom said,
"Emme, you ride up with anomonys"
My heart skips a beat
when I hear your name.
I was so happy
to sit with you,
yet so nervous
hoping I wouldn't say anything weird.
The chair lift ride was quiet,
we were quiet.

I kept scooting closer to you, were you too?

I remember
when I looked into your eyes
when we looked
into each other.
The world stopped.
Something changed within me.
I felt something
I had never felt before.
I felt lost, stray.
I felt found,
like I finally belonged.

I turned away though because I got dirt in my eye.

I remember
for six or seven years
we were pretty good friends
or I felt like we were.
The past one or two years
our friendship has been
the best
and the worst.

I want our good friendship back.

I remember
how we were sweet
and "twitterpated".
I remember
how we were bitter
and in misery.
I want to stop this madness.
But to do that
I would have to let you go
and I can't do that.
Because what I saw
in your eyes,
was love.
What I saw
was my life
with you.

I miss you, more than you could ever imagine. I wish we could be together, but right now we are only memories.

Blue.
Blue eyes,
not like the ocean tides
or a pretty sky
but blue,
bright,
clear,
with strands of white
and miscilaneous colors
weaved into the fibers.
Blue,
like my sweater.

Blonde.
Blonde hair,
***** and smooth.
Not like the sandy beach
or the dry grass in the field.
But blonde,
thick,
wavy,
and you scratch your head a lot.
Itchy,
like my sweater.

Pink.
Pink Lips.
Not like any flower
or beautiful sunset.
But pink,
thin,
chapped,
with blinding white stars
hidden behind them.
Covering,
like my sweater.

Freckles
across your face.
Not like splatter paint
or migrating birds.
But freckled,
brown,
random,
little dots dancing
on your cheeks.
Cute,
like my sweater.

Skin.
Pale skin.
Not like fresh snow
or the paper these words are on.
But pale,
soft,
tight
and warm as you hold my hand.
Comforting,
like my sweater.

And with every
stitch and knot of this sweater,
I embrace your love
and how every morning you'll
walk that extra distance
just to give me a hug.
And I always wear our sweater.

His skin
is light and glows,
beautiful like snow.

His eyes
The color of a sunny afternoon sky
with pure clouds strayed off in another land.

His freckles
scatter across his cheeks
like migrating geese.

His lips
speak of beautiful breezes
and naked trees.

His hair
is warm and smooth
and curls in the wind of his mood.

He is Autumn,
late in the season,
my favorite.

His skin
is dry and faded
like the bark of naked trees gathered.

His eyes
are dark, stormy, grey,
like the sky of a snowy day.

His muscles
are lean and strong
like the harsh winds that blow cold and long.

His lips
chapped and pale
like foot steps in the snow that go out to get the mail.

His personality
is bitter and unmerciful
like the emptiness of the lull.

He is Winter.
Long and lingering.
His favorite.

His skin
is burnt and broken out
like cracked pavement trampled by children that run and shout.

His eyes
are wild and constantly changing
from blue, to grey, to green,
unpredictable like the teenage flings that are lovely and mean.

His smile
is bright and charming
like a sunny day that you just can't stop enjoying.

His hair
is brown and opaque
like the dirt that's under our feet.

He is summer.
When all the best times happen.

Somethings compels me to live in the night
to be normal in their eyes
how I wish I could

But the shade wraps me so tight
dragging me back to watch the fireflies
and it feels good

The serenity of moments in the dark
keep a man from the open eye
they don't know what I do

I run to the angels that hark
for they only know why
maybe someday I will too

I conflict with the lives that are beside me
for I do not please what they oblige
could they even understand?

I look to the air that guides me
open to it's pure skies
I'm putting it all in gods hands

I hate that I can never sleep like the rest of the world
but I love to be alone
so says the hopeless romantic

I think it would be easy if I were to find a girl
call her my home
My mind would be less frantic

For these arms are empty
these arms need to hold
so I can rest

Feel her gently
no longer cold
slow down my breath

I wish we didn't have to breathe.
That there was no need to exhale
before we take a picture
for things to look their best.
That there was no need to inhale,
because all that is left
is the pollution of a world
full of empty people.

I wish we didn't need to breathe.
That instead
all the empty people
were full.
That we inhaled
beautiful, undying, unconditional
love
filling our chests with it
to the fullest capacity.
And instead of Co2,
we exhaled
hatred,
sadness,
regret.

And watched it rise above the clouds,
above Earth's atmosphere
far past the stars
and into the corner of the galaxy
in Time-Out
until it can learn to love,
and it will come back as
the stars we gaze at this very moment,
my head resting on you.

I listen to your heart skip beats
and feel your chest
fill up
with my love
and breathe out
your pain.

You give me butterflies

I've never understood that phrase.
Butterflies are
majestic
beautiful
colorful floating snow flakes
in the summer breeze.

You don't give me *butterflies.

My butterflies
aren't light little fingers tickling me.
They are strong hands
wringing my insides
squeezing them out of me
like I'm a tube of tooth paste.

But what comes out is an unruly passion for you.

It seeps through my pores
and comes as zits on my nose,
but they don't bother you.
My passion
trickles
from my eyes
as tears at night
wishing I could be held
in your strong
yet graceful arms.
It arrives in words,
that I eventually stutter out as
"Hi"
when I'm next to you.

I sit on a porch swing at a friend's party one night.

You sit next to me
and smile
so bright in my darkness.
You whisper to me,
your lips wisp against my cheek
like delicate wings
and take my hand.
You pull a pen out of
your khakis pocket
and draw a
small
simple
butterfly.

And as cheesy as it was you whispered to me

"You give me butterflies"
A huge smile came across my face
glowing with yours in the night.
I took the pen in my hand
and drew another
butterfly
but on your palm
and replied,
*"So do you."

I fall fast
try and keep up
cupid's curse
my misfortune
but love late
is love lost
why wait?
Jump!
look later
or miss me
today and tomorrow,
our periods past
stay strong in the search,
live love lasts

If I've learned anything from this at all
it's that
I need to find someone like you
someone who knows what good music is

A free spirit who loves life
following it where ever it leads

Someone who lives, loves, laughs, and listens
as I aspire too

I'f I've learned anything from this at all
it's that
there are people like you
out there in the world

that could like me