That cute dimple on the right side of his face only revealed itself when he flashed a wide satisfied grin.
Just like that, I melted.
*-My heart is made of Nutella & Chocolate

I do not deal well with death/illness/suffering.
For someone who always seems to know what to say,
when it comes to this,
I am at a loss.

I am certain that is so
because I know all too well
there is nothing to say.

Deafening silence.

There is no right thing.
No words to make you feel better.  
There is no consolation prize.
With sadness in my eyes,
I have nothing else to offer.
Just these two arms and lots of love.

Sometimes (most times) that is not enough.
These two arms can’t take away the pain
and trust, it is not for lack of trying…
I try. sigh I try….

And if I say “I’m sorry” that just might REALLY **** you off.
You think I’m apologizing for your condition,
like it’s my fault or my decision.
I know it’s not, I know.
Truth is, I am sorry...
I’m sorry I could not give you more.

I wish I had more.

All I have is these two arms.
No words.
Lots of Love.

It’s not enough.

this isn't heartbreak,
no,
this is swollen
and there's a difference between the two

heartbreak is what you feel when
you get your heart broken
swollen is what happens when
you give too much of yourself away

and I do
too often
without thinking

I love
like everyone is dying
and my passion is the only thing that can save us

like the end of the world is coming
and all we have to save the human race
is my weakness

I care
like it is an alternative to breathing
and every available ounce of oxygen has gone missing

I give
like a one time supply
that thinks itself endless

like my limbs can regenerate without trying
like my lips are incapable of cracking
like my bones were made for splitting

I give
like if I were to empty out completely
I could still call myself whole

like I can auction off this body
and still refer to it as home

like I can hand out my vulnerability in pieces
and still have something for myself

this isn't heartbreak,
no,
nor is it swollen

this is a resignation
from my conscience
to my desperation

this is a reminder
for my own
to give all I have sparingly

and this is an apology
to my sanity
for when I don't listen

there are too many people writing about the moon tonight,
too many hearts lonely from the thought of her greatness,
wondering how it is possible
to love something that makes you feel so small,
that in comparison,
renders you insignificant.

this is how it was to love you.
this is how it is to still do.
to look up at a sky that is too big to notice you
to imagine a selfish lover as the vastness in which
too much attention is granted
this is how it was,
this is how it has always been,
this is how it is,
loving you.

there are too many people staying up late tonight
to watch the atmosphere unfold its secrets
open-eyed anticipating some kind of beauty unfrequented,
I will not be one of them.

waiting is a chore I no longer perform
willingly
the only galaxies I admire
are those I create.

there are too many people writing about the moon tonight,
and I have become one of them.

I can pinpoint
the exact moment
you cross my mind--
(I mean,
besides all the time.)
That moment I think of the way your mouth presses against my skin,
l involuntarily bite my lip,
remembering the way you kiss.
Enraptured and tangled,
like the secrets of the universe,
the meaning of life,
the cure for cancer,
would be found on your tongue.
It would take every single fiber of my being to will myself away from your embrace.
I still feel the weight on my chest,
as I breathe heavy,
and e x h a l e.

So now,
I think of you,
and bite my lip.

They say the world revolves around ***.
I say LOVE makes the world go round.
Wait...
maybe I meant, money.
I want it to be love.

Many breezy nights spent
wrestling with my bed,
seeking the warmth of his chest,
so I can rest my weary head.
Sheets tangled round my limbs,
seems I always think of him.
A cold pillow cradles all the thoughts I've left unsaid.