It would be comical if it weren't so sad
How I find myself drawn inexplicably towards
Images and instances of you which still cause so much pain.

Moth to the flame - it's just nature - might explain this need found in me,
And I can't help but find the utmost pleasure
As I rub more and more salt in the wound,
Following each and every round with a squeeze of lemon
To add some spice and variance to the exquisite fair
That I have been feasting upon with my soul.

Try and deny it as I might,
It is in the depths of this despair that I delight.
Seeing your name is a shock and a stab
Of emotion that cuts so poignant and so true,
A breath of fresh air that makes me feel boundlessly alive
Inspite of the abyss it creates inside.

Old World Juliette, it is a sad day which has come true.
My skill with the English language failed me
And I said things which no man should ever say to you.

We did come to date for a while like I had wished,
But then it all came crashing down around us
Because of those ill-advised words which I said
In worse-fated moments of desire and despiration.

I wished to be the one, your protection against the world
But all I did was turn and cut you down again.
I claim to be a Modern Day Romeo,
Thinking of us as star-crossed lovers destined to be,

But we, like the original pair of this namesake, are fated to be separated
By the poison I have taken, crafted by my own hand
And put in each arrow of each word to you I had spoken.

Then, in Juliette fashion, I came out of my stupor to find our love dead,
Poisoned by my vial - by the vileness of my own creation,
Stopped before the budding love-lily ever truly started growing.

You only remember the good times when you're all alone late at night.
When you sit there and write by the light of a single lamp
Throwing shadows which creep out of the corners of the room,
Turning the familiar into monsters of this lonely gloom.

You only remember the good times when you're all alone late at night,
Forgetting all of the fights, the hesitations, and all of the insecurity, lack of surety.
These are the witching hours when those ghosts come out,
Always out of sight but never out of mind,
Reminding you of all the good times that you had,
Reminding you how much better it felt having someone there at your side
During those long, lonely moments that the dark of night has in store ahead.

It's in times like these that you must take strength and heart from the good times you had,
Knowing that the relationship built on such poor grounds was driving both of you crazy,
And that despite being alone, being by yourself lying in bed,
Missing the presence and companionship the two of you had,
This break from the insanity is the best thing for the both of you in the end,
And at the very least, in time, you will still be able to call her your friend.

So stay strong my friend,
Don't give into these ghosts,
Don't show weakness and fall back into dead ends.
The pains cuts deep and sweet this late at night,
But with the morning comes new light,
And with the day comes new hope,
Banishing the presence of these nightly ghosts.

I sit here, it's late at night.
I know I should be asleep but I have a need - I am compelled to write.
I spent all day being hungover, avoidng homework and being useless
So it's necessary for me to burn the midnight oil
In order to create something fruitful out of this lost day.

I also need to push forward now and
Guide the pen across the page
To maintain and foster the habit,
To help it grow and develop,
So that in the end I am a better writer.

There are times when I'm not feeling the words and I fumble awkwardly,
Or that I am too busy to be bothered to pause for a scribble,
But my goal is to make this time of writing and therapy
A daily habit.

If I am honest in my wish to be the crafter of words I envision,
I first must show the drive and determination, the dedication.
For the novice, words will forever remain words,
Only the truly gifted ever form sentences.

The last few nights of sleep have not been nearly as restful as hoped they could be
Seeing as those strange dreams linking you and me have been a recurring theme.
No, it hasn't been a repeat of that first odd dream where I
Sought to avoid you - something I am unable to do despite my best efforts.

No, of late it has been one where I am sitting at a bar and through the door walk in
A number of men who I've encountered in my life, some I've known well, and
One by one as they come in, they come up and sit down or stand next to me.
Clearly they are talking to me and trying to impart words of wisdom
Won by hard years of growth and experience gained by walking through this world,
Words by which they hope to save me untold years of toil, of pain, frustration, and yet,
When I wake each time, I only have the vaguest impression, no recollection
Of any of those poignant words which those men might have said.
And that surreal feel of the need to discern meaning from these meetings
Comes as I realize that one of the men coming to talk to me in the bar, in my dream,
Was your father.

He is not there in anger, he is anything but imposing, he is merely speaking,
And as stated before I have only the faintest reflection of what he said
Upon awakening.
That he is your father, coupled with these troubling instances of you
Popping up in my life in the most odd and beyond coincidental of circumstances
Leaves me desperate for any glimmer of clarification.
There's some message that's clearly here to see
But to my eyes that slips and escapes me
Unable to fathom the reason that these phantoms of you
Keep haunting me even into my sleep, into my dreams,
When all I want is to be free of you
As you are obviously free of the chains and snares of me.

I got my dancing shoes back on again today.
**** did it feel good!
I also got back into the rhythm and began tutoring for the beginner level class.
I can't believe that I would really miss that, but I did.

My excitement for dancing has been relit,
And the chance to pass that onto yet another class has me smiling.
A new class and a new semester of opportunities,
With growth and learning available to both the students as well as me.
It's such a great feeling to help them succeed,
As well as helping them progress, especially when they thought they were beyond saving.

Dance is a passion which burns within me.
I can't describe how good it feels to be back,
Adding fuel to the flame which burns in me so brightly,
Adding fuel to a flame
That I almost let get extinguished.