she’s the girl who will remember everything. from your birthday, to the story behind that scar on your left arm, to the number of freckles on your body.

she will love every inch of your body and your soul and even the heart you didn’t know you had.

she will take in everything you have to offer and give you back so much more. so much, that you won’t even know what to do with it.

she will open up the world for you. from books and music and film to things like culture and race and language.

she’s smarter and far more beautiful than she dares herself to show.

and you will love her.

you will love her like you’ve never loved anybody before.

she will level every winter your body has suffered with all the springs her bones have weathered.

and when you go, because you can no longer handle her, she will drown herself in alcohol and drugs and sorrow. and wonder why she wasn’t good enough.

she will refuse to be saved by any other hand because nobody can touch her quite like you.

she will **** herself with loneliness and then resurrect with her own scent.
and then she will do it again.

and again.

and again.

and again.

she will be weak and strong and bold and shy and mean and nice and everything in between.

she will grow. she will grow strong and tall.

and so will you.

and in ten years from now, when you run into her at the supermarket, she will ask about your marriage.

and while you’re there telling her about your wife, who is home with the kids, and your job, she will feel genuinely happy for you.

because she forgave you. she forgave you for walking away and she forgave herself for ever thinking she wasn’t good enough.

she will have realized by then that sometimes life will give you somebody just to watch you break when it takes them away from you.

and she will be okay with it.

and so will you.

but, she will walk away without telling you about her life because she doesn’t want you to hear it in her voice that she still remembers your birthday, and that birthmark on your right shoulder.

and that ten years ago, she had hoped you would run into somebody else and told them all about her being at home with the kids.

It's almost 2 at night and here I am again.
Sleepless and empty.
No bottle is full enough to let me drown in itself.
No pill is effective enough to let me lose myself to it.
No needle is sharp enough to enter this cold ****.

It's almost 2 at night and here I am again.
Tired and alone.
No memory is sweet enough to give me solace.
No words are compelling enough to heal my wounds.
No friend is close enough to understand my pain.

It's almost 2 at night and here I am again.
Done and gone.

he's like that familiar smell of
freshly baked cookies my mother used to bake
when i was a kid.

and now i miss them and my mother and him and myself.
i guess i miss it all, every thing.

and i sometimes wonder who will win the war, my head or my heart, when i'll see you again after years.
my head opens its case by saying, "you don't need him cause he left you."
whereas my heart closes its case by saying, "you need him cause he left you."
and somewhere between this trial
i lose myself to my heart and mind

Just to feel better, he smoked his life away and now I am left here, picking up pieces of him from his ashtray.

And as I woke up in his favorite black shirt, I realized how much burden he had carried all his life.

I collect stones from the places I visit. It's like a bargaining thing. I give that place some part of my soul, a sweet memory and in return I keep a stone.
I like to believe that when I'll be gone, these stones on my grave will guide you to all the places I have ever been to so you can visit them and hear tales about me from the winds of different lands.