he wasn't an angel--
but he wasn't the devil either.

like most of us,
he was caught floating
somewhere in between
wandering
and wondering
who
      exactly
               he
                  was.

i am
healing
the wounds
now.

bit by bit
piece by piece
they sew themselves up,
leaving little bitty scars.

this is not the first time
and it, most likely, will not be the last.

every year the cycle repeats
its ups and downs.

the more familiar i am with the cycles
the more i embrace the darkness.

summer's sunny disposition warms me up
like butter in a microwave and i
melt into some sort of vision of contentment

but sooner than i realize, winter comes again,
angry and cold, to plunge me into its icy depths
where i stay, waiting for some sort of solution
to a problem I rarely address in any serious sort of manner.

they all say, you can't do it on your own.
stubborn natures persevere, fighting against other instincts
that say, this isn't right.

every time I climb back out of the hole where I live,
it is impermanent.
the dark, sorrow-filled, and angry  abyss is my home.

if you have any interest in taking it off my hands,
i hear the price is just right for that sort of neighborhood.

they say with the highest highs
come the lowest of the lows.
i am pretty **** low.
lower than i told myself was acceptable.

and i have you to thank.

not in a facetious, bitter way
because i mean it:
thank you.

appreciation for the high
is the only hope i have left.

and i want to think i'm fine.
because in the grand scheme of it all
i am. i'm fine.

but.

nothing replaces the emptiness,
the large gaping hole,
the anger and sadness.

nothing fills it up and keeps it secure.

tears fill my eyes when i see your face.
only in photographs, a video,

a constant reminder that you saved me
and for that,

i thank you.

it was like if colors could make sound:
an aria of light and I was the soloist,
slowly singing, linking each note with the next:
dissonant noises.
not all sounds are pleasant.

thank you
for teaching me that hurt heals
and anger subsides.

lessons worth learning are hard.
hard as rocks, which press you, mash you into pulp.
but even mush and marrow have purpose.

(thank you). the bitterness of my
appreciation does not escape me.

signs say: moderate yourself
I put up a sign, too.
one that no one will read but
its important. You must—
Leave your mark.

I lost my mark (my point)
I can’t find…
Who I am.

unidentifiable places in the
creation of time and space

Wait. Suddenly I am in the Milky Way.

I see them: my points
They battle and break.
I weep.
They show me who
I could have been

he's a:
seasoned chocolate milk drinker
man-child
annoyance
testy *******
best friend.

he touches
my arm because he knows I'll let him
and we both need it.
some sort of physical acknowledgement of
our own existence.

two small children figuring out their future,
longing for a relationship to call our own.
we aren't the perfect soul mates for each other,
yet he is my other half and I his.

we aren't sure how we feel about each other.
there is a mutual timidity, fear, reluctance,
down right refusal to acknowledge the tension.

he pulls in closer, I move away.
I move in closer, he pulls in closer.
we realize. we both move away.

we make eyes from across the room.

there is a comfort in knowing that
he will always care.

that's the hope,
the desire.