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connor eickstedt Jan 2017
We met on a hilltop in the dead of winter--
      The wind bit and the world was in sharp focus.
                 The bitter cold, the 5 degree air, the pinch at the ears and the nose-- It makes edges hard and shapes stand out, it puts words at the front of the mind, puts thoughts into order. And no one is around.

Most of the time no one is around.
                 A hilltop in the dead of winter is an unusual place to meet a person.
                 He took me by surprise.
Who stalked through cut down cornfields in January when the weather advisor is telling everyone to stay inside?
  ---when he spoke to me and I looked at his face the sharp focus of the world dimmed a measure.  

                 Who is this?

Well we ended up walking along fallen logs, talking
and I ended up
     --glancing at him a few too many times.

A hilltop in the dead of winter is an unusual place to meet a person,
      it's an unusual place to see flowers blossoming in the air and
it's
an usual place to stop in your tracks.

I could hear waves crashing behind me but I don't think I ever looked back.
                       Until one day I stood on that hill again,
      ---heard his name from far away and glanced over my shoulder but,
I'd only imagined the sound.
                                                                ­   Right?


        I used to walk on hilltops in the winter-- it used to clear my head.
Funny now, it's over but
When we spoke up on the hilltop that was the first thing that he said.
,,thoughts
connor eickstedt Dec 2016
You ask for a poem?
There are no words left in me.
They were torn from my lips but an hour ago when her mouth slipped across my cheek and missed by a fraction of an inch,
There are no words left in me.
Not today, not after the moon has hovered so bright in the sky, too bright to let the darkness swallow me. Crouched outside, begging for the void to consume me.
It doesn't.
Not today.
There are no words left in me.
I screamed them out to the unaffected sky, the heavens that breathed back nothingness; the nothingness that haunts me.
There are no words left in me.
Only nothingness.
Days I grasp for meaning but my fingers just fall through the veil into darkness and it's all I can do just to keep my breath alive.
You know of it, the way silence can scream. How it can scream louder than a crowded room full of hungry children.
It's so familiar;
I'll take the mellow bite of sorrow over it's absence any day.
Pain can shout nasty words in my ear but nothing is as loud as the resonating echo of an empty mind, an empty heart.
Cold.
Her kiss landed on my cheek and I smiled at her. When she called for me, I tried to answer but somehow, the words were nowhere to be found.
They want for me to sing but I said I'm sorry,
I can't sing for you today.
A thousand words have hit my back and knocked my breath away.

— The End —