When he died I believed that everything would stop. The clocks would not tick  and people would move as if suspended in water. Letting go of his ashes in the breeze would have been enough, but he held onto my fingers. I saw him land in the water, in the sea of green, and still felt him on my hands. It was as if he had never left. I never cried during his celebration of life, and maybe I was just too afraid of washing him away. I wish I could say that I never cried while writing this. It might have made me appear strong and confident. One cannot wish for these things. Appearing strong and confident is much more trouble than it is worth anyhow. Some things are meant to hit you, square in the chest, knocking the wind out of you. Unfortunately or fortunately, death is one of those things, death is a 1,000 pound weight that hits the front of your car, damaging the way you move and leaving you with a couple bruises. The problem is you live. Death has been romanticized to a fault, in which I thought that I might be able to catch my breath, if only for a minute, before moving on back to the present. Reality has never been a friend to me. Instead of slowing down it would seem to speed up. Leaving me to run to catch up, short on breath, short on water. Leaving me in rivers down my face, and exhaled through my mouth so that my rhythms would make a tragic waltz. I could have composed a symphony of my mourning, as if music could bring him back to me. It’s quite tragic, humans, at the passing of another they only think to cry. I believed that one would have to break my arms to get me out of bed that day. Yet, he died before the sun came up. I was awake, I remember being awake. An hour away in a bed that wasn't my own I said out loud "it is to early to be alive" and it was. 
Two day's earlier I had perched myself on a chair overlooking the hospital bed. And I can't remember much about the room but I remember his eyes. Staring as if they were trying to drink my soul. Taking everything in as if it would be the last thing he ever saw. Looking at him brought a quiet calm to my mind. I drowned out the crying and looked directly at him, and he, looked directly at me. I swear a smile crossed his face looking at mine, and I did my best to smile back at him. Part of us both knew, this would be the last time we would ever lay eyes on each other. I touched his hand. He looked so small, under the lights. He was always the tallest in my life. I still saw the man who taught me to dance under those blankets. And in that moment, I know he saw me as the little girl dancing around at his feet. Some moments, you want to last forever, and I would gladly still be in that room if given then chance. It was not that the moment was perfect, it was real. And maybe the last peace I will ever see. A knowing, of the end, but simply watching. Walking out of the room, the last thing I ever heard him say was "I love you all" and he did.
No, time did not stop when he died, in fact it went so far as to carry me away. A three hour bus trip to an unknown city, and back again that day. Part of me must have known. I found out from a text message, a friend saying. "I'm so sorry to hear about your grandfather", 2 hours from home.
My parents were too afraid to tell me.
If time did stop, it was only for a second, 
and I think I heard his voice:
"I love you all"
"I love you all" 
and then, 
time continued.

the world sits on the tips of peoples tongues
one day someone might talk a little too fast
and it will fall off
but until then we will be content to look for it in others eyes that we might happen to see while walking down a sidewalk

this is what searching for love is

we all hope to catch a glimpse of the world between cracked fingers
or within the echoes of thoughts we pick up from crowds
but I believe the best way to find love is to wait
wait on the edge of the room
wait between the silences
wait until the night has broken
eventually you will find the world rolling across the floor
with a mouth wide open
and eyes
shut

I keep a jar in my corner of my head,
to the left
in which I keep all my fears
along with a couple unheard phone messages and some unused anger. Sometimes I'll go over just to look at them
sift
shuffle
turn over and over again
put them into boxes
take them back out of boxes
put them in other boxes
Most of them are silly really.
I fear either too much or too little,
But the jar completes the little room inside my head
so I keep it there.
I'll pull them out one by one.
I am afraid that when the sun comes again I will pale in comparison
I am afraid that I am not as much as you say I am
I am afraid after the winter you will no longer need me to keep you warm.

I used to break bottles on the ground
and the glass I would use to fill my words
just like people
glass never breaks the same
some will find its way into weapons
and others are simply
echoes in the night
some words are empty
and others are so full
that they spill all over the concrete
filled with water
or rocks
I want them to weigh you down
sometimes
and other times I want you to be able to stand on them
like I do
when I scream messages on street corners
blood dripping down my face
I will promise myself I will never write another empty word
and instead of filling my words with weapons
I'll fill them with sunlight
or unused happiness

I don't break bottles anymore
the only thing I can break well
is myself
and
silence

I am afraid that everyday I am becoming increasingly better at impersonating myself
the ticks of another hum in my bones
and I am standing on a balcony
watching myself walk by
I hear my laugh coming from other peoples mouths
and I see my sad eyes
when I look into the faces of the crowd
I am afraid that everyone around me will know me too well
or not well enough
the wind will blow my hair on this balcony just as it has
to the people below
I have no idea what I'm doing
neither do they
I wonder if they see themselves in me
I mean whoever I am
we all use each other
to build ourselves
recycling feelings
expressions
combinations of words
until we find something that we can live with

I am afraid that I will find myself if I jump off this balcony
I am afraid that I will lose myself if I jump off this balcony

I am not sure which is worse

I am afraid.

the first thing I want to tell you is:
I was always jealous of those kids who had glow in the dark stars
that they put on their ceiling
they could create their own personal paradise
and I wanted that power
to create something to stare at during the night
and if I can't play with the sky
I'll settle for plastic
and some tape
when you put your hands in the sky
some might call it playing god
but I'd like to think of it as creativity

you talk about God as if he was holding a cigarette
and
I talk about him as if he was holding a sword
but what if we combined them
a man
dragging a sword through new york
leaning against it on street corners
and asking for a light
they would wonder
wouldn't they
who he was
jeans
some armor
but only enough to cover his battle scars

It's becoming a right of passage
to pass out on the floor
someday
I think I'll wake up
under the sky
and when I look to my right
I'll see a man
with a cigarette
and a sword
that's when I know
that I've made it
I may smile to myself
comforted by the fact
it seems we all end up
on our backs facing the sky

God included

I heard this theory once
that we have tiny red threads
coming out of the centers of ourselves
and they connect to other people
they pull us together during life

invisible
but existing

some call it fate
but when I think of fate
I see you
taking your heart out of your chest
just to look at it
set it on the ground in front of you if you must
to study the contractions
cross legged stranger
to yourself
I'll do the same
sitting across from you
I'll set my own heart on the ground
We'll flip a coin to choose which heart goes back in your rib cage
and I'll tell you that you are better off
with mine
and I am better off
with yours
my veins are still connected

invisible
but existing

maybe that is what they mean
when they tell us we are connected by tiny red threads
seeing my hand on your chest
they must think we're crazy
but I'll tell them I know two things:
1) I love you
and
2) there's blood all over the floor