I've fallen in love with so many ideas in my life,
but so far only one person.
I wonder if you were just all of those beautiful ideas
made flesh.

I never sought the simple.
Instead I chased the wild, winding uncertain path of youth.
Never wanting to reach the point where my well beaten, beatnik path
merged with the absoluteness of adulthood.
I mean where's the poetry in that?
There is something of strife that gives birth to beauty.
And so I lingered in the languish that is fumbling forward
with only the hope that nothing much will happen.
But the clock has conceded that the past has passed,
that the now never lasts and that the future has been forming
with a sort of quiet quickness that has slowly snuck up on me.
Without my conscious consent life has been lived,
and as I failed to flee it a new phase has found me.

There was this movie.
It was really popular when I was a kid.
I remember this baby-faced boy, and the old bald guy.
The one from the 90's.
Well he was dead, but the boy saw him anyway.

I'm like that.

I see dead people too.
Ghosts.
Walking around.
Talking.
Talking to me.
There are all these, shadowy figures.
These outlines.
Of people that I knew.

There's one.. he's blonde.. and he's high.
His hair is twisted and wild and he surfs, on snow.
He tells me stories that I remember, but the endings are all different now.
He's different.
Just a shadow.

I loved him.

But now I see right through him.
He shimmers and disappears.
All the while,
so certain,
that he's alive.

The years they pass and fade down into notHing
but mEmories still *Linger everywhere
I always knew my liFe was meant for something
and every step i guess has brought me hEre

the mysterY was never in times coming
the misery was never in times gOne
bUt Hope and ache and joy and pAin and loVing
brought faith and failurE and the strength to carry on

cause life is not soMe road that we're all walking
it's dAys and hours and momenTs spenT with you
and whEn the liaRs and deceivers S**** their talking
i can tell what's false from what is true

theY say each day's a gift thOUgh none are perfect
like broken toys reWrapped so carefully
stILl every Loss and victory was worth it
and every Scar's becomE a part of m*E

I'm sorry,
because when we first met I was completely and altogether taken with you.
You had this quirky charm that made me feel comfortable,
made me feel safe.
No matter what was going on,
you just seemed not to care and I took your indifference as a kind of
cold confidence.
And I won't lie,
I liked it.

In groups you shifted between being the center of attention
and having literally nothing to say.
Your social bipolarity
sometimes
led to late night blarings
of Katy Perry.
(I'm vaguely ashamed to admit that
I would dance like a loon, through my old house
and lip sync furiously
at the idea of your Hot and Coldness.)

I'm sorry
because of that one night.
That night when you made some joke
about how we were such good friends.
And I broke down crying and told you absolutely everything.
About how I had liked you,
for so long,
and other foolish things I should've kept to myself.

I'm sorry
because it turns out you felt the same way.
Feel the same way.
Feel that way.
And something happened.
And time passed.
And things changed.
Well, for me they changed.

I'm sorry
because I haven't told you.
I don't know how to tell you.

How do I say it is not you I care for in that way,
but the idea I had of you.
How do I say it,
when I only just admitted to myself,
that this time,
my idea was wrong.

I'm sorry
I was wrong.

Somedays,
it's like you were
never even here.

I walk, talk, and
live my life
like you were never
a part of it.

Or...
more accurately...
the biggest part.

But
other days
I feel I may be crushed
under the weight
of your absence.

When it must be said,
but you can't find the words,
know I understand.