Wash
the words you
promised me
down the drain.
Rinse
the memories of
your long stares
out of my mind.
Repeat*
the cycle of
cleansing you
from my head.

Caught between
reaching out
and holding back.
Caught between
saying too much
and not saying enough.

I am jealous of your bedsheets,
the ones you wrap yourself in
over and over and over -
when you are unreasonably cold
during the long winter season.
I am jealous of the ever changing moon
who gets to look at you around midnight  
through the window in your dark room.
I am jealous of the warm cups of coffee
that get to touch your lips every morning.
(don't hide the dark circles under your eyes,
I think they're lovely anyway.)

l'esprit de l'escalier* -
The feeling you get when
you leave a conversation
and think of all the things
you should have said.
There is no word
in the English language
that could explain this.
You're thinking of someone
right now, aren't you?
Because I am too.

Empty classrooms
Filled with sunlight
Vacant stairwells
Accompanied by cobwebs
Busy city streets
filled with
Rushing  people
And loud children  
Deserted parking lots
With nothing except  
Bottle caps
And lonely pocket change
Placid libraries
With abandoned chairs
and desolate books
Familiar neighborhoods
and childhood streets
Thoughts of you
String along with me
Everywhere I go

This is a letter to you
we were young
you were in love
I was naive
I still wish you the best.



This is a letter to you
You are nothing but
a fictional character
in a book -
scripted
and made up.
My mind
has played tricks
with my heart.
Although
I've learned my lesson
I was infatuated -
I still am.



This is a letter to you
I don't want to forget -
but I can already feel
the fading.
I once heard that
someday, someone
is going to look at you
with a light in their eyes
you've never seen.
They'll look at you
like you're everything
they've been looking for
their entire lives.
So please tell me
please let me know
what happened.
You're probably
already beginning
to forget
the insignificant moments
that will continue
to haunt me.



This is a letter to you
Time is a humorous
and fearful thing.
I suppose
history does repeat itself
in ways I didn't think
would occur.
Just for the record
I still have hope.
I guess I'll always
find myself standing
at your door again.

Sometimes
all it takes is -
one person
one place
one touch
one word
one thing.
sometimes
that's all it takes.
and you end up
very in love.
or very hurt.