i am scared that my memory is a tub full of water
that spills over every time more knowledge is put in
and that if i put in too much
the memories of you will spill out too

The silence after the melancholic chord
Holds my breath in anticipation,
And when the soft notes begin to play,
The light leaks in, and you follow suit.

I think too much,
talk too much,
dream too much,
and write too much
in a desire to
illicit implicit
emotional responses
engineered in
the pursuit of
defining and expanding
the influence of
love.

If my pen leaves the paper I will die.
If my pen leaves the paper I will die.
If my pen leaves the paper I will die.

it's winter
and I find myself constantly surrounded by you.
your laughter and your smile,
the way you speak and the words that form on your lips.

but it's different now.
my feelings have faded, dulled in a sense,
they do not stab me in the way they used to, for time heals,
and like the cold winter wind, I have decided to move ahead.

but I still catch a glimpse of you every now and then,
and I see that glimmer in your eyes that I saw on those late July nights,
when heat enveloped the earth and crickets hummed long into the night,
when you would look at the stars as if they were your only hope in the world.

that intelligence is still there, crystal blue, but it's winter
and I am cold.

I constantly feel like I'm running out of time,
the fine grains of it slipping through my fingers like sand,

like a drop of rain in the Sahara, I search for some relief,
some feeling of completion or satisfaction.

but instead I am met
with deadline after deadline
of work that I love to do

so I toil relentlessly
to hold onto the sand
as the wind blows furiously around me.

But we stay up late talking, talking about nonsense things
And for what? What does it lead to?
To say that I strive for some sort of label would be just as nonsensical
As the words that leave your lips when you talk this late
Because I like you. And I like where we stand,
And I like how warm I feel when you hold my hand.
And when you speak, I can see the heavens in your eyes
And nothing can label that. Not a word, not a paragraph, nothing.