I originally wrote this as a song, but after a while I came to like it better as a poem.

I remember the first time I saw you,
It was a star filled summer's night.
I couldn't find the courage to talk to you at first sight.
No tight game to run
No tricks up my sleeve
My heart said "you have a chance", but my brain wouldn't let me believe...
That the most beautiful girl I had ever seen would talk to a geek like me.

It would be a year or so before our paths would cross again,
Maybe it was luck, or maybe I had some help from the wind.
It blew me in your direction...
No course. Me young and reckless, you fragile and the essence of perfection.
On that day we met I found my courage, opened up and made small talk as we passed back and forth a bright, alive ciggarette.
To you it was small talk, to me it meant the world
To you it was nothing, to me it was one step on a long road that ended with me calling you my girl.
Years passed and we grew close, but my confidence vanished, like an apiration, a ghost.
I had my chances, knew what could be...but my brain still wouldn't believe that a girl like you could see something in a geek like me.

More time has passed,
And our distance has grown.
All that signs that I once saw have now vanished on that road.
The love I was trying to weave, could no be sewn, and the word love has become nothing more than a hinderance, a drone.

The nostalgia those times hold will never be replaced
and neither will the feelings I get whenever I come across your grace.
Those star filled nights will be held as some of my best, I know this might come as a surprise to you, but I just had to get this off of my chest,
Needed to leave them etched in every line of this song...
I knew the queen in you wouldn't fall for this geek all along.

We sell dreams at a cheap cost to the young, and the hopefull.
Handing them out, but allowing very few to actually achieve, and once you reach the real world, or the guerilla warfare plagued hallways of your local high-school...the dreamers suddenly turn into the outcasts.
The "foolish few", so to speak, but before you ever scoff at someone with a dream...think back to a time not long ago, when you were young, starry eyed, and ready to take on whatever this strange world threw at you, now ask yourself this...what happened?

Who's the man behind the glass?
No face, no mask.
He is neither white, nor black.
He cries out for peace, and for once...they listen.

The days stretch apart, no recollection of the last.
I guess that's how it goes, living young, dumb and fast.
I show no anger to the past that has molded me, but regrets I still hold with greif.
Still hold belief that dreams can really happen, their picturesque beauty understood...no need for any caption.
An everlasting passion bleeding out of me, I'm not sure what else I can do to make you see, this nostalgic feeling still haunting every breath I breathe, every step that I take toward this sea. I can almost see your heart, equipped with a windchilled lining and snow to patch the holes from where your fear seeps, before you sleep...convincing yourself that love is dead, with every beat.

This calm, is always sweeter than the one before it.
It's voice smooth as silk, like always, but each time it is made with a finer thread than the last.
This calm is as soothing as the steady rain that interrupts a hot summer's day, and yet...thunder will come and shatter this calm, leaving me waiting for the next.