As we fold each page,
It's important to note,
The past is but a whisper
Of a paragraph already told.

Pen in hand, ink dripping,
We write our future.
Scribe our dreams and hopes,
Upon the paper ledger.

Each struggle, a crease.
Each success, a chapter.

Our birth, the prologue.
The title, the cover.
Our death, the epilogue.
Das ende.

Along a tenacious cliffside,
Peers a lone sailor.
Spectacting the silent war,
The unyielding assault of waves.

Patches of grass, green with hope,
Litter the gritty sand.
Each shell sweeped upon the shore,
Entrance the young man with glee.

For he studies the horizon,
Searching for whom he's found.
A half scaled belle,
Of which he's called his own.

She swims the calloused tides,
In search of his arms called home.
Upon the beach she lay,
Covered in the sea's salty foam.

The sailor found her,
As the sand blends between his feet.
Next to her he rests,
Next to her he is complete.

The maiden turns to him,
"Jimmy Gray" she whispers.
The sailor replys inquisitively.
"I love you"

            ~

Jaw clenched tight, almost painfully.
Watching the door, I caught your glance.
Managed to drape a smile upon my face.
Those 20 steps you took to reach me.

That feeling in the deep pit of my stomach.
It never subsided. It will never calm.
The feeling of immense anticipation.
Jumping off a cliff. No parachute.

Taking your seat opposite me.
Nervous laughs, small talk.
Edamame and Riesling.
Tense muscles tore through my body.

You wore a braid consciously.
Almost spitefully. Almost dangerously.
Dumbfounded at your beauty,
I swung at your wine glass. It was mocking me.

The night progressed. I felt more at ease.
Heart pacing faster than a failed trapeze.
Finished up our meals, we entered the cold night.
Frigid air graced our cheeks.

Finding ourselves inside a local bar.
Curiously attracted to the curious brews.
Conversation became much more organic.
Flowing as efficient as the drafts.

Sneaking peeks at you in the mirror.
Wondering what thoughts reside inside you.
I couldn't have possibly left a great impression.
Nevertheless, you wore that Riesling with pride.

                                           -

A month melted. It cannot possibly be just that.
For years, I've had these butterflies trapped.
Just for you.

I must have heard your song,
Whispered past that rocky coast.
Finding myself washed upon,
A shore lined with glass jewels.

Resounding voice through my heart,
Bounced up your throat, out your lips.
Carried me here, Directed me here,
Past the ships filled with other fools.

A hand lifts me up from the beach,
Pulls me close to your chest.
It is you I sought, It is you I found.
Brought by a Siren's lulling sounds.

I believed my scribbled words were therapeutic.
Fluidly leaving my head through my pen.
Crafting symbolic thoughts, now seen useless.
With the rip of a page, do I feel comfort again.

Notebooks filled from cover to cover.
Each word was once said, each once felt.
Don't ever reopen them, don't ever rediscover.
Leave the wounds open, as scars or as welts.

You crept up on me.
Slowly, then abrupt and quick.
You gave me eyes to see.
Clearly, almost intrinsic.

There was a time before you.
Or was there?
I feel like I'm born anew.
A golden heir.

The world bestowed.
Contained in your blue marbles.
Both show me home.
Both sensational and artful.

Time stands still in your gaze.
Portioned into hours and minutes.
Overflowing into weeks and days.
But I feel no travel, I feel no grit.

I feel humour and passion.
I feel life and death.
I feel laughter and spite.
I feel everything that's left.

Perhaps we are bound by our desires,
And vices never quite behind us.

Perhaps we destroy our humility,
In the search for our own certainty.

Perhaps we've become too inspired,
To become more than our desires.

Perhaps, Perhaps.