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One morning you will wake up
And all the monsters
You've been keeping in your closet
Will be lying in bed with you
With  love , kelsey
Oh, what blossoms from dark earth have I found?
Tis but a flower, growing in the sun.
Refracting light casts rainbows on the ground
and I ask what contains more beauty? None.
A stem of glass, as fragile as a heart,
from which its petals of pale crystal grow.
Seem they to smile, when tears of joy do start
within my eyes. True bliss, at last, I know.
Yet when, with longing, I extend my hand
the shadows loom and terror grips my soul.
Though peaceful my intent, no malice planned,
I know my touch must surely take its toll.
So here I stand, gazing down at the earth,
aware myself judged of little worth.
To Julie. Because you're beautiful.
Wide awake, though I was sure I was going to slip into the dark of unconsciousness the moment I reached the mattress

Lying there, I listened to the sound of other people dreaming

My own mind wandering around today, tomorrow, and the unknown

I felt strangely calm, as if knowing somehow that everything I ever worried about, whether it happened or not, was purely irrelevant

Because, whatever tomorrow or the next day may bring, I know I will walk through whatever awaits me

I know I will face joy and pain and that we will laugh and cry and argue, just as we always have

My life is changing, but I will not desperately attempt to keep what is not mine

Some things and some people we are only borrowing for a while

I feel, in my heart, that this is not the end of my reality, just a reality

And I'm perfectly alright with that
Hey you poets.
Stop making me believe in romance.
It doesn't exist.
And I know I sound bitter.
But trust me, I insist.
It doesn't exist.
But reading your pretty confessions
makes me wish it did.
And now I have this unrealistic expectation
of how I'm going to kiss.
We are pixelated people.
desiring a little more than a glance.
Romance is only fiction
on a bookshelf in a prison.
And I know I sound bitter.
But trust me, I insist
It doesn't exist.
I have died a million deaths
most in the future
some in the past
all fictitious
yet still
I write.
It's 3 AM

And i keep trying to figure myself out

Ordinary questions...
things we all ask of ourselves everyday

But I guess I expected something a little more definite from myself

I keep remembering eyes

Different eyes, different looks of disdain, different continents, different faces, different genders

Broad spectrum of statistics

I wonder what exactly anyone is here for

I find it difficult to discern why are these people in my space?

It's so difficult to tell

Courtesy? Loneliness? Fascination? Routine? Misguided sense of doing good? Misguided sense of displacement? Some mid-life crisis? Need to be diverted? Curiousity?

Ah, it's just too difficult.

Why do you linger around?
Someone answer please.
Hey, its 3 AM here and I haven't been able to sleep in days.
Friend of mine,
Distant and between us
is death and time.
To you I sincerely write,
Let us meet once again
In another life.

Showing to me
What it means to be
A bona fide friend.
Showing a shoulder
Always one to depend.
Of this letter I send,
To you I hope it shall ascend.

Burn it with prayer
To travel through the realms
and traverse the air!
Breakthrough to heaven's lair,
Hoping one day I will meet you there.

One last time I wish to say
What was missed and left out that day.
Twas that you had an exceptional mind,
Your heart was spread and unconditionally kind.
So sadly caught was I, and to this I was blind.

So signed here is what was missed
Pinned with tears was this to your bier
Wishing and emotional that you were here..
emotional one.
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