I can't seem to figure out if it is love itself that I fear, or if it is the possibility of never being loved back that scares me.
There are billions and billions of people on this Earth, and yet I haven't felt a single spark with anyone of the two thousand people that surround me.
Not one.
I've come very, very, very close, but the match was just too far from the wick.
The irony of it all is that I don't even know if I long for love anymore.
I've craved it and held onto it for so long, but after a while the taste was familiar, bland, and sometimes even a little bitter.
People don't fall in love anymore.
Some may kiss a smitten crush, others may hold "their one" so tightly, and some jump in the sheets with a new endeavor everynight.
But this isn't love.
Love isn't possible nor does it exist.
It was simply glorified with the glitter pens of old english literature, and fed to our souls to give us a reason to stay.
But it doesn't exist,
So why keep lying to ourselves?
As much as I'd like to blame it on what he said, or what he did I cant.
Because he did not make love extinct, dissolve, and blow away in ashes from the palm of my hand.
I did.
I burned it all because of a broken heart, and now look where it is.
gone.
And I can't get it back,
so I'll just have to live
without love.

Am I really that much of a problem
am I tone deaf to the vain that I speak?
Do I really never listen, constantly interupt, and drenched so deep in selfishness that I wreak?
Am I really that much of an issue
no one is fighting when I am around.
Thats why this teepee of a bedroom is home
Because if I step out  don't know how to stop the sound.
Am I really that horrible to close to
no one rushes up to see me like sea does to sand.
And the worst part of it all is falling in love
because I could freeze and shatter their hearts with ust the single touch of my hand.
I wish being me didn't **** so much
and maybe I'm just better off dead.
Because no matter how oblivious I am to my bloodthirsty language
I'll still play the victim in my head.

The trees have shed the snow that sleeps on their branches,
and the rivers are starting to crack.
The wings of the geese are once again heard in the distance,
and icicles are creating puddles on my front porch.
I'm packing up my winter gear and saving my galoshes for next
December.
The Sun is once again peeking behind locks of cirus clouds.
Sofly kissing my cheeks and nose.
My back is warm, my toes are wet, and I finally remeber the smell of, "green."
As the Sun soons sets, the smell of a campfire cozies my lungs.
And I think I forgot how bright stars could shine, until now.
Polaroids snip snap click and clack as I gather and scrunch up with two friends to get the perfect scrapbook shot.
Burnt smores and belly laughes fill the air until we all pass out- and do it all again.
hope.

i’m having a hard time understanding
because it shouldn’t feel this way anymore
but how do you let go of poison
when you can remember how water tasted before
when you can’t trace back the days when roses smelled oh so sweet
when you can’t trust enough to even let the soft grass kiss your feet
when it’s too risky to take off the blind fold that once hid you from the light
because you’ve just learned to love the abusive night
when you’re too numb to move a muscle
or too tired to even care
so you hold on and let them strip you down
because when you’ve ignored it for so long you tend to forget it’s even there
even though it beats me badly
i simply don’t know how to let go
because when you replace your water with poison
your roses will refuse to grow

where is the place where they won’t fight
where is the place where i can find sleep at night
where aching and hurting blow in the breeze
and the only noise present is the soft blowing of the trees
where what he says and she says and he said is dead
where i’ll finally have room for a thought in my head
i’ll set inbetween boxes of boxes in this unwanted place
because bad memories tend to take up a lot of space
i long for this place to rest infront of my eyes
but i know if i believed that i’d almost be as stupid as the lies
because as nice as it would be to rest in the dream i consider home
i might be happy, but they’d still be alone
the irony of it all, is either way it won’t mend
because when you hope for two to fall back in love it’s bound to end.

Do you miss the warm rain like i do?
The way it would caress our skin; it’s touch was light as a feather. Almost unnoticed, but too nurturing to be forgotten.
And when warm rain fell, the sun always followed.
We’d bathe in tender golden light.
And she would wrap us snug in her rays, only to let us nap on her sister’s green quilts of velvet.
In this moment nothing mattered.
There was you
There was me
And there was the warm rain.
Nothing mattered except for us.
We didn’t have to argue or yell, and no tears were shed.
Just you me and the warm rain.
It would dance across our sunburned cheeks and shoulders, mingle with our freckles, and get lost in between our intertwined fingertips.
Although my eyes were closed i knew you were smiling. Smiling the smile that i’ve longed to see since September.
I didn’t want this moment to end i just wanted to stay
stay
stay
here
with you
forever.
Mom yelling for dinner woke me up.
There were white tiles under my head and a shower head infront of my face.
i stood up, wiped the running water from my eyes, and turned the **** to the shower off.
pearls of water formed and chilled as i hopped out while looking for a towel frantically.
I paused the outdated song playing from my phone, that i once resonated with you.
I look through the fog on my bathroom mirror
and i see me.
without you
but i see love.
love inside of me, past my now fair and satin skin
beyond my fading freckles and rosy cheeks
there is love.
and maybe one day when the grass is green again, and the falling rain is warm
i’ll find love there too.
In the warm rain.

My father once told me to always except the best and worst possible outcome.
And for the longest time i was completely baffled.
"How could I be okay with the worst possible outcome?"
"It's impossible to be okay with the worst possible outcome."
But what I think I was really trying to say was," It's impossible to be okay."
And I remeber the day loud and clear.
I was shaking and in utter destraught.
I wanted it all to end, and I too thought it was the end.
But despite the chaos
for a slim slip of a second, I was okay.
Not only with the "Worst possible outcome."
But I was genuinely okay.
Because that was the day I realized, that no matter what,
through the worst and best "possible outcomes"
I had Grace.
I had me.