Shattered glass, salt sprinkled sand.
Ruins. That is all that remains.
Nothing but bleak sorrow left to inspire.
Nothing but music to express.
Black and white shades adorn a piano untouched by the flames.
Yet how does it manage to capture so many hues?
My fingers rise against their own will,
I might be the pianist, but this is the melody my heart sings.
As soon as the first tune hits the bleak backdrop,
I realize how different it is from anything I have ever heard,
Anything I have ever created.
It inspires life, it inspires growth. The world starts to heal itself with these tunes.
It begins simply, this cacophony my heart is creating.
But with an arresting phrase. So simple, that it is as eloquent as her voice.
She speaks beckoning gently,
As the music unwinds, rising and tensing.
It spirals upwards, the tension growing with each repeat of the phrasing,
Yet at the same time, the music is more expressive.
It is free, wild and feral.
It is me.
The notes which flood out of the piano are surely more than a mundane one can hope to play,
Yet this is anything but mundane.
It is a piano made of dreams and hopes.
It is an orchestra.
The music. Oh the music.
More seductive than poetry,
Far more blinding than light,
Fare more comforting than the darkness.
It is moonlight cast into tunes.
Beautifully contradictory,
Extraordinarily breathtaking.
It seemed impossible to breathe,
Yet that was all I could do.
The music seemed to waft into something tangible.
It demanded a palpable presence.
And like something out of a myth,
She stands over the ruins that she has created.
And the dam bursts. The music changes.
It becomes a hurting tune,
One which is resigned.
A cry of heartache which resounds over my entire dreamscape.
How can pain be so beautiful?
"Why?" Her image asks of me.
"Why can't you end this?"
And I pause.
How can i remove her from myself?
The one who shines with the brilliance of a thousand suns,
Whose smile dims the entire universe.
Her voice like quicksilver,
Her lush curls.
Eyes like pools, lined with kohl.
I would pay any price but these memories to forget about her.
But sadly, my dream self asks me a question and I must oblige.
Maybe she'll know why as well,
For all dreams come from one.
"Do we not dream of dreams?
How can erase my most beautiful dream?
The one which changed me the most?
Stripped me of my armor and left me vulnerable and broken?
Do we not dance on the notes of lost memories?
I am adrift on the sea of trials and tribulations,
Waiting for my ships to take me home.
But till then, till when I reach the promised land,
Your voice shall call out to me,
More treacherous than the sea itself."

You were as stealthy as a slow gas leak, by the time i knew i was in love with you, i had succumbed to you. You were in the drivers seat of my car lighting a cigarette with the windows up so i could breathe you in. I quit smoking so your secondhand smoke was all you would allow. I watched as you brought the cigarette to your lips and dragged in as if your life depended on it. It was your third one today and i told you that you should stop, maybe breathe me in for a second. Do you know what i would give to become second hand smoke from your lips? All you would have to do is kiss me and i would vanish into thin air, become a noble gas in the periodic table but there is nothing noble about the element of disappearance. I have been shrinking away from you ever since you held my hand in that convenience store a year ago. I'm trying to convince myself to get over you because all i am to you is someone to **** slowly through your second hand smoke. I never knew I could get so addicted to nicotine until it came from under your tongue. When you're gone, it's hard for me to breathe which doesnt make sense because when youre here my lungs are filled with your sweet black tar. But you will be gone for months when you leave in two weeks. You said you'd write to me, but written words can't carry your second hand smoke. You can't build a home out of a human being, but that doesn't mean i cant find a home in your bed.

Fine, I will confess.
You have me.

You have me smiling at
the perfect shape of your perfect words.
Though half the world
create the distances between us
you map them with
the mere presence of you.
And I feel lonely no more.

You have me awake at night,
combing the depths of my half-awake mind,
searching for pieces of you
to go to dreamland with.

I sometimes blink twice
on a perfect moment,
as if to take a mental picture for you.
I sometimes rub my hands together
to feel how warm your face might feel like.

You have me.

You just do.

December falls upon my eyes;
I am scared as hell.

The numbness of limbs,
the sorrowful gray
that casts over me and you
and what we once used to be.

December will be the death of me,
I know for sure
because this time
I sit alone with my sword unready
and the candle flickering.

The winds will whisper
in my ear, things I already know
and unto you,
the realization that will never come.

December,
I am afraid.
I am not strong enough
to face you.