at times I do look back upon the past, and wonder whether or not I could have altered things so that my life now would include you still.
but then it occurs to me
every single time
that you do not miss me at all.
and that genuinely,
I do not miss you either.
because here's the thing; you are correct, in that you can once again reach the past. may it be across an unstable bridge, swaying with uncertainty and apprehension - or a dusty path, of which you eventually lose track of as the sandy gravel begins to tire you immensely and so you unsatisfyingly turn round and work your way back towards the present.
one thing I have learned is this. people are right, a bridge to the past can be built. but over that bridge, you may not bring with you bricks or metal or other material to fabricate things that were not there, that did not exist before. because all that will happen is the bricks will disintegrate into dust and the metal will melt through your hands and evaporate. these worthy materials that you have brought from the present, are useless in the past and will be wasted if you try and reconcile. think of the past as a museum of emotion, you are there to observe, not to construct and deconstruct.

The sun beared down on us as if it were an eye of fate, noting our every move and gesture.
Leading us to inevibility, your hair was short that summer.
I kept reminding you to grow it because I told you it would look good.
Now I see that currently you have although I thought you never would.

I guess I'm just embarrassed that you gave me so much and I meant so little to you.
I guess I'm just ashamed that it took four days for you to break me.

Running from normality, our friends couldn't quite understand, our gestures full of haste and enthusiasm.
We took things so seriously, in the most enjoyable way, I felt some sort of balance with you and now you've left I simply feel misplaced.

If I kept my head up, and my eyes down -
And left the concept of love to tv, films and books.

If I kept my guard up, when you came around -
Could I be like you because even now I constantly waste my luck.

I could never hate you, I'm sorry if you want me to.
And to be quite honest, it hurts - that I must associate you with negative words.

And well honestly what I said I meant,
My time with you I could never repent.

I swore to myself I would never let your name weave its way into my mind again, and splatter itself along the lines of my notebook, but darling its late, and I am sad.

I do still remember the day we spoke for the first time. The air felt peculiar and the water tasted different. We stood in the courtyard, love and lust and teenage angst pulsing through our veins. If I do recall correctly, you waited for me. You waited for me and you walked with me back to my room. And that night I waited up and I prayed that you would call. I prayed to a God I previously denied my soul to that if there were a chance in hell of pursuit, you would knock on my door.

The next few days do blend into one, I must admit. I do remember vividly the climb up la tour Eiffel, also our discussions and talks on the boat we took along the Seine. I remember le Louvre and how I cried and how you apologised. ****, I wish you'd apologise. I recall the most mundane things; like how you'd call and when I said I had to go, you'd be reluctant to talk to anyone else.

That phone, we must have spent hours sitting up next to that phone. 1079. I'm sorry, I am so sorry. I am such a mess. It's not your fault. I'm not making sense.

That day we took the bus around the city was a funny day. My boyfriend was mentioned and your eyes rolled. You never quite looked at me the same. I felt that. McDonalds was our destination at one point. ****, how did you make McDonalds seem 5 star? You made everything seem better than it was. Or maybe it was my rose-tinted ******* glasses, I wish I could see without them.

Recollection of glancing upwards and seeing the sunlight dance off the Chanel logo. You point across the road towards a homeless man with two cats; you make a joke and we both laugh. You start to tease me and you hit me, so I hit you back and you hug me. I swear in that second I could have altered the universe.

I never did understand the contrast in Paris. Whether it be the melancholy in Disneyland, the monotony in le Louvre, or the look of boredom on a beggars face, staring at a multi-million dollar clothing line; it was all confusing. I think the most confusing thing was figuring out just what I wanted, just for me to have to give it up, and be expected to give it up just as easy as I gained it. I gained you and you were something I never wanted to lose, and you gained me, you gained me and you felt baggage.

But if there was one moment for you, if there was one millisecond; maybe where you glanced over at me in that restaurant and wished you were sitting next to me, perhaps in the store when you strolled past me and wished you'd have stayed to make conversation, EVEN going to dial my number and refraining - if there was a moment for you, in which you wanted me, but were unsure of my feelings, that is enough for me.

I don't need you to love me now. It's been over a year and it still hurts to hear your name sometimes, but I've learned to laugh with the pain. I just hope there was a moment for you in which you wanted me, and assumed I didn't want you. Because if there was, ******* it if there was, you must know I feel that every ******* minute of the day. Still. And I wish you love and I wish you all the luck in the world for wherever life takes you, and maybe someday we'll meet in a coffee shop, and we can laugh about all this. Maybe we won't. But despite my best efforts to keep this going, despite the downfall and the loss, I wish you the best. And I think that is both the hardest and the most satisfying thing for me; letting go.

Do you remember when you gave me your hoodie
And then got angry at me for messing with the strings?

Do you remember when you gave me your chips
And then got upset at me for messing with the cutlery?

Do you remember when you gave me your phone
And then got frustrated at me for messing with the camera?

Do you remember when I gave you my heart
And then got angry at you for messing with my feelings?

I should have known

You never dealt well with change,

But you did **** well better than me.

I am so sick of having to go to mass to please my family who will not accept me otherwise.

I am so sick of having to walk down the street covering myself because men can't de-sexualise normal human body parts.

I am so sick of the arguments of sexism, racism and overall discrimination.

-if someone accepts you, great.
-if they don't, grow a thicker skin and rise above.

I am so sick of being afraid of things like trying new food and roller coasters that make me feel as though I'm missing out.

I am so sick of being so extremely misanthropic that when someone says they can relate to my sadness I get angry that another human believes they can empathise with me.

I am so sick of being told what to do with my life.

I am so sick of not knowing what to do with my life.

I am so sick of acting like I know what to do with my life.

I am so sick of my life.

I am so sick of myself.

I am so sick of looking at my features and scrutinising them.

I am so sick of being alive.

I am so sick.

the light of day peers in through the blinds

the darkness of night lurks into every room

and I am torn

between both;

longing to avoid loneliness

and longing to be left alone

and I am not sure how to achieve happiness

with these two aspects

counterbalancing

so bitterly.

it's so difficult to attempt to speak my mind.

to explore and explain how I feel,

how my thoughts are inexplicably different to any one else's.

but in reality, they are not.

I am the same as everyone else on this planet in the sense that we are born alone and we die alone.

And I'm not quite sure how to react to the simple concept that I am forced to live my life to the fullest and make extreme efforts, with the knowledge that I am so insignificant.

It has just hit me that

This is life.

This is all we have,

Every chance, every moment and every day

An opportunity to move closer to what we desire

And yet we waste away our current days,

Wishing for the past, hoping for the future,

Oblivious to our current affairs

And we pay no attention

Until its too late and

We're looking at it in retrospect

When we didn't even appreciate it in the first place.

I lie awake with the night's tranquil motive soothing me.

Usually my brain over thinks as a computer would over heat.

Tonight I lie and think of you.

It's so difficult to be so far away, and I wish there were a less cliche way to word that - but unfortunately, my mind isn't capable.

Your features and phrases are beginning to blur and slip from my lonely mind.

Your lips and the trace of your spine are beginning to dissolve from my weary eyes.

Oh who am I kidding,

We aren't in love.

You don't even know I am writing this.

We are friends.

And so I'll resume my dreaming, maybe I'll see you then.

Love can be compared to sleep.

In deep sleep we dream.

When we are deep in love we dream.

If in deep sleep we are woken, we aren't well adjusted and we wake up tired and longing for tranquility.

If in deep love we are broken, we aren't well adjusted and we break up lonely and longing for peace.

Daydreaming is lust.

We are sleeping when we should not be, when the time is not well suited. Just as lust is not healthy and not always acceptable.

I'm too tired to function, and I'm not sure how I mean that.

it's silly to assign a word to an emotion.

Love.

A two-way street.

A maze.

A roller coaster.

Seemingly, if poetry and literature were people they would obssess  over how next to label love. Every angle is observed and every simile and metaphor is scrutinised.

It was his first day at school
I noticed him amongst a crowd of people
I passed him in the hallway and
I admired his hair
At lunch I spoke and
He told me of his day
He smelt like home and he looked like it too.

It was our second year at school
I noticed him amongst a crowd of new people
I glanced at him in the hallway and
I noticed he altered his hairstyle
At lunch I cried and
He told me it would be okay
He smelt like mystery and he looked mysterious too.

It was our third year at school
I noticed him amongst the crowd that do silly things
I peered at him in the hallway and
I noticed he had covered his hair with a hood
At lunch I spoke and
He sneered and left
He smelt a lot older and he looked it too.

It was our fourth year at school
I noticed him amongst the crowd I'd been warned about
I darted from him in the hallway and
I noticed he had grown his hair to cover his eyes
At lunch I sat in silence and
He ridiculed me
He smelt like cigarettes and he looked like he hadn't a clue.

It was his fifth year at school
He drifted from the crowd every one knows about
People shift away from him in the hallway and
They notice his hair covers his sunken eyes
At lunch he sits in silence and
They ridicule him
He smells like regret, because I left too soon.

People often tell me:

The sun doesn't shine when it's night

Well of course the sun shines at night

It always shines

But we can't see the sun at night

Because it is simply

Shining on somebody else.

ramblers often traipse through depleted and damaged soils, to discover new realms, new places of beauty.

I am a rambler of language.

I often find myself traipsing through discarded and disconsolate thoughts, to discover new expressions, new articulations.

New ways of telling you

Just how I feel.