I was not prepared
for this journey
in which I walk
alone.
All my life,
there have been
at least two
travelers at my
side,
but not now.
I have taken
a different route,
one that has no
path to follow,
no signs to
confirm that I
am walking in the
right direction.
Some have called
me suicidal
to choose such
a path,
for it is dark
and there is no
light to illuminate
my way.
Voices in the wind
urgently whisper
for me to
turn back,
telling me
that it is
a lost cause,
and that I will
soon be one
myself.
But I ignore
them, and press
forward.
My feet are sore
and ******
from wandering
barefoot in the dark.
My knees and palms
are bruised and
scraped from
all the times
that I have
fallen.
My face?
Tear-stained, but
determined.
I do not
know
how long this
journey will
take, but
I know this:
I will pursue
you until
I find you,
until you tell
me that you
no longer
love me.
Then,
and only then,
will I allow
myself to
die.

I’m starting to forget what your eyes look like in the sunlight,
Though I do remember how they looked on that rainy day when you left for home –
gray as the clouds in the sky, or was it gray as the ones in our hearts?
I’m beginning to forget some of the little things,
such as how many freckles you have,
as well as their location,
but I do remember those beautiful
leopard spots on your neck that I love to kiss.
I forget how large your hands are in comparison to mine,
But I do remember that your thumb and pinkie finger
are almost directly across from each other
when you spread your fingers.
Don’t ask me why I remember that,
but not how your teeth are aligned.
It’s not as if I didn’t spend enough time staring at your smile.
I tried to memorize it, but I suppose memory
cannot always withstand the test of time.
I don’t remember if you ever snored while we slept next to each other,
(Which may be a good thing)
But I do know that I never slept so well
As I did with you –
Safe from all the nightmares of my past.
I don’t remember ever having met anyone so remarkable,
But I do know, that I’m glad I met you.

Fatigue, frustration, abandonment,
turmoil, pain, and discouragement.
All these you have experienced and more.
The stories are written in your eyes and
etched into your skin,
though most don’t see or, quite frankly,
care enough to even notice.
but I do…
I do, because I wear the same mask.
You could probably use the rescuing,
but you’re too busy being strong
to call out for help.
Or perhaps you are like Atlas,
holding the world on your shoulders.
You can’t trust just anyone
to help you bear the burden;
if somehow the world is dropped in the process,
the consequences would be catastrophic,
to say the least.
So day after day, you don your cape
and fly off to rescue the same damsel
(who thinks she is in distress)
that you rescued just days before,
while still balancing the weight
of the world.
What amazes me more than even
your strength, is your ability to
laugh in the face
of such daunting circumstances.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
your smile says confidently,
“You can try all you want,
but you can’t steal my laughter.”
Yet there is no arrogance or pride
to be found in you;
only humble confidence and
gentle compassion.
Those are the traits of a true hero.

No, I am not a butterfly. I am a fluttermutt.

My
knight
in
shattered
armor
is
more
handsome
than
your
inexperienced
shiny
one.

My
nose
is
on
fire
yet
it's
called
a
cold.