there is so much I want to say to you
but should I really say it?

I want to tell you just how beautiful you are
I want to tell you how much you mean to me

but I'm afraid that if I do
it will only add to your troubles

Forgetting someone is like forgetting to turn off the light
     in the backyard so it stays lit all the next day

But then it is the light that makes you remember.

i use big words that you
     sometimes don't understand,
          and i'm sorry.

this time i ran out of words,
     (thinking you might be thankful) -
thinking it might be easier
     to say nothing at all.

               cleaner.
              simpler.

so the words left,
     chased away by shock
          replaced with soundless
               undefined tears
that did not reach
     your flushed cheeks until
          too late.

today i realized that not only
     do you misunderstand my
          words,

but you misunderstand
     the lack thereof as well.


next time,
     if the answer is silence,
          
          *ask again.

I know what it is to be deceived.
I know what it is to say blindly and devotedly that which ought to be said.
I know what it is to deal with those who open their mouths and say all that is dishonest, disingenuous. Predictably so, leaving you wondering exactly why any of us bother with any of it at all. Leaving you wonder whether our persona is what are we are told to be, rather than who we are.
Surrounding me, enveloping me, suffocating me are the actors, trampling on this world they use, unashamedly, as their stage.

How lifeless they are. How robotically, disingenuous they are. Yet, how enthusiastic they are in the delivery of their well-learnt script!  Those words that come pouring out, stolen from a script they've been given, those words light as air, float above us all, without weight. Meaningless
Yet, with such energy and enthusiasm they deliver these words.
They are either uncaring or unaware that they trample all that matters in the process. On all that makes life not a repetitious slog of playing a game. No. They do not understand the destructive activity they are partaking in with such fervor.

As, the ritual ends, and the curtains close, how hungrily they grovel for appraisal, every last drop of it. Lifeless, without a soul they are, yet artful in the game of deception, they have learnt to be. Able to appear filled with energy and glee, leaving it unbeknownst to anyone that when looked inside of mechanisms and cold metal is all that will be discovered.

I wish it was easy
Love and stuff
Saying 'I love you' without fear
Its so strange to think about.
I love you is like a loaded phrase
Don't you dare say it too soon
Too loud
Too young
Too close.
Like a gun.
Aimed for your head.
Aimed for your heart, too.
A pistol with three chambers loaded
I
Love
You
Each a separate shot.
First in the throat, and you lose your voice while you wait
On baited breath for the rest of what they'll say.
Then the stomach, when the meaning of that word is suddenly
Printed in bold-face type on the backs of your eyelids.
And finally, your heart.
When you hear the last word, and you get a sweet, bitter ache in your heart
Because they love
You.
You, with all your flaws and cracks and fears bared to them
You, with every anxiety and heartbreak you put them through daily
You, who couldn't
Shouldn't, would never
Deserve to be loved.
But they say it, and the truth just hits you.
So hard, it hurts.
It feels good.
Why you?
Why them?
...Why not?

I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
Only...
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."

There's a reason there's a path outside your door
that leads to a road
that leads to an interstate,
that leads to an airport.

And there's a reason that planes fly from that airport
to one near here.

Same reason that airport has a road
that leads to a highway
a highway that they are repairing as we speak
that leads to my town
to a path that leads to my door

And its not just coincidence.

Any more than its coincidence that you are reading this.