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I*                         I                I                   I                 I     I                                I         I      I           I            I           I    I              I            I                       I                      I                             I            I       I         I            I         I              I         I       I             I      I                    I                                            I           I
                I            I                   I            I               I              I                        I   I             I            I           I                      I                I             I                 I                     I
I                         I                   I          I              I                I       I             I   I        I
                        I                                              I                                                                                     I
  U                                      U           ­                                                 U

I fall, infinitely
bursting onto the ground,
into splashes of **U

You're a house in a field blanketed in snow
Your doors are locked and windows are closed
The chimney takes foggy breaths,
Drawn by your fireplace, fervently ablaze
I can almost feel the glow
emanating from your windows
How they look at me,
so enticingly, invitingly, I could almost mistake it as lovingly.
But I am forced to stay, deeply rooted into crystals of cold
Although your doors will never open for me.
I am incessantly yearning
for your warmth.

Days drift by, our pillows collecting dreams and the mind dust that trickles off during sleep.
I fulfill my needs every day and forget to do slightly more important things -
like making sure I have enough time;
time that I don't spend worrying
on not having enough time

It is five in the morning, maybe a little later.
The clocks stopped working,
or perhaps it is just that I stopped reading them.

I forgot how far away you were until
today you pulled at your side of the string
And I felt the years of distance it took to reach me
(how many things one can lose in a year never ceases to surprise me)

I can only write when I am
sleep-deprived, and the silver dust
seeps into my mind like an hour glass
that wasn't meant to be turned back around just yet.

I watch the sun tear into the darkness.
The horizon smiles at me. "You'll never reach me," it taunts.
I know I'll still keep trying.
Today my pillow is emptier and my heart is fuller.

It is so quiet now.

I can hear my heart beat against everything;
knocking on every door, hoping for someplace to be let in.
It is so quiet now that I can't ignore how lost I am.
It is so quiet now, that I can't pretend I don't hear myself.

Every night (without her) he watches the sun set on his ceiling. Warm tendrils of light seep over the white paint like a high tide rushing onto the beach.
(He) keeps forgetting to replace the curtains she took with her.
The bed feels soft but (is) too warm; over-used.
His body leaves a crescent-shaped depression
(constantly) reaching out to the cold side of the bed
where she used to sleep.

life stretches on slowly
the previous rattle of scenery sliding past his eyes
has been reduced to a static hum
– like the sound after a rainstorm –
(falling) asleep is easier now.

I remember when we wrote our names on each other's arms.
the ink sank deep into our skin,
enough to seep into our veins, tinting our bloodstream
I felt your presence within me.

…But eventually even permanent marker fades away
When the black curves of your signature chipped off of me
and your name washed out of my body

– that's when I realized you wouldn't stay