He used to come over and we'd ****.
Then he would leave,
to go see her.
And I would wake up alone.

Over and over again,
I woke up alone.
Always alone.

Forgive me when it's hard
for me to say, "I miss you"
Never mind saying, "I love you"
I haven't done this before.

I'm selfish
I protect my damaged heart
Because next time, it won't make it through
I'm terrified

Normally by now, I've said goodbye
For one reason or another,
usually one that I've made up to sound legitimate
And I leave.

I leave before you can,
and before I'm left alone.
Again.

I could love you, if you let me
I've been waiting for you
The one that will stay,
The one that will run after me.

I.
So long are the thoughts of someone so beautiful
pulled in by a vision of body and mind so young
chasing inspiration to steal the gaze of a woman
like a fire that burns so to a heart seated in passion
and even harder to fight the warmth of attraction,
yet a gentlemen waits until he is given the pleasure.
II.
In a moment, one can see his eyes filled with pleasure
given a glow whilst reflecting something beautiful.
She never shies away from the design of his attraction,
hard to build a foundation on a ground yet so young.
Yet there is no limit, even one such as age, to limit passion,
rarely does time measure wisdom between a girl or a woman.
III.
His pheromones work magic to his beating heart for a woman.
She seeks to be the resting of his desires that fulfill his pleasure.
There is a slow creeping thought that feelings are merely passion,
and there is little but a burning lust rather than something beautiful.
Harder are the connections with the ones who venture young,
but an old soul has the experiences that altered fates attraction
IV.
There are those who walk away from such an attraction
Envisioning a different path with an older woman
Seeing little to gain mentally from a person fairly young
Never realizing that her mind was always his pleasure
Not just intellect, but thoughts that were oh so beautiful,
With words that reflect such a bright heart of passion.
V.
No matter resistances or distances, their connection is their passion.
They write to impress one another, flirting to increase the attraction.
Displaying their hearts for each other in writings so beautiful,
many poems composed for and because of, a certain woman.
Never by touch but a pen evoking feelings with written pleasure,
sharing in a cryptic way the hidden feeling from when young.
VI.
Still one cannot find the power to resistant a flower, young.
Merely looking for a fuel to fire our deepest passion,
never forgetting the strength of giving pleasure.
Baring his shyness to show complicated attraction,
in the pursuit of a hope that she is no ordinary woman.
Like hoping on a sunrise, but knowing it will be beautiful.
VII.
Intricate is the passion in the face of his attraction.
So too is the zeal of the wanting young woman.
Still the greatest pleasure is that she is beautiful.

"when was the last time you were truly happy?" she asked, finally looking up from her notebook. making eye contact, i discovered i much preferred her nose buried in whatever she's writing.
i looked away to break the tension, but that only did so much. her beady eyes bored into my soul, trying to pick apart the girl that sat before her.
it would be an exaggeration to say that i never felt true happiness. i'm sure when i was young, naïve, and unscathed by the world, that i was a happy child. however, to be perfectly honest, i could not remember a specific instance.
in middle school the sickness started and grew inside my chest. concreting my heart in its paralyzing notions. it metastasized to consume my body, everywhere the darkness touched. blinded my eyes and deafened my ears to where i was left alone with it. and it owned my life.
granted, there were days where the sun had managed to peak through the thick blanket of clouds. and there were times where i would smile, i would laugh, i would forget about life for a while. but its presence was constant, following me wherever i went. when i would get lost in daydreams, it was always there to tug me back to reality.
when was the last time i was truly happy?
"i honestly don't know."

I dropped three ice cubes in my glass
added three fingers of cognac
then I threw it back
poured another and leaned up
against the counter
and let out a deep breath
I know who I am
but I'm still figuring out how

there is a knock at my door
I'm not sure I want to answer it
could be anyone, anyone I don't want to see
or someone, someone I want to see, or family, so I open it
and she, with her hair and face
stood there, a partial smile
with a certain pain in her eye
she always knew when it was best
for her to show up, she had perfect timing

she sat down on the floor
as I fixed her a drink
she told me that life is magical
but there is white and black magic
and life isn't any different
she spoke of intense drinking
and constant, hollow loneliness
with the feeling of ambition
but she knew that something was missing
and at the time
the familiarity of it all
was too much for me
and I dropped her drink
the glass broke violently and sudden
the opaque cola took shape
as two blobs of darkness
on the floor
she laughed at me
and called me drunk
I called her weak
headed for my room as she followed me