I knew you were there —
knuckles resting like they didn’t know what to do.
I heard your breath through the wood.

You almost knocked. I felt it —
the air pulling back,
the hush flexing its muscles.

I almost opened the door. I felt that too —
the lock daring me to turn it,
the weight of the air leaning hard against my chest.

But neither of us moved.

We just stood there —
two statues pretending not to be waiting —
except I heard you breathing.
And I know you heard me too.

I fell for him, not in whispers or sighs,
But in crescendos, in rhythms, in skies
Painted with notes that danced in the air,
Each song a thread of the love we’d share.

He wasn’t just music—he was the sound,
The hum of the earth, the pulse underground.
A genre, a chord, a tune soft and true,
Would echo his soul, would carry his hue.

But now he is gone, and silence remains,
A hollow refrain, a ghost in the strains.
Yet when music plays, I’m drawn to the year,
I search for a sign he might have been near.

Did he hum this tune? Did he hear this beat?
Did it brush his soul? Was it his retreat?
The thought is a comfort, though bittersweet,
A harmony bridging where life and death meet.

For love like this does not fade away,
It lingers in songs, in chords that replay.
So I listen, I wonder, I dream him alive,
Through melodies where his spirit survives

Something is coming
That will put us all to the grave
Everyone’s waiting
But they take it as a day like others
Pretending like it will be a day like others
Maybe if think about it
Its a day like others
You say I‘ll see you later
But will we
Cause everyone says its coming
What will you do
When the time comes
How will you protect your loved ones
Accepting your own death is easy
But what about family

I could describe
everything about you
having never met you -
recite your words
like a Silverstein poem,
sketch every
imperfection, and
feel every embrace.

So believe me
when I say you're
the one I've always
wanted and that
I loved you before
I knew you.