Sometimes I forget how well you write
Until I see your words
Laid out before me
You always seem to know exactly what to say
And when I read those words
I feel it
Leaving indents in my brain
Pumping blood through my body
I feel it with every inhale and exhale
My heart stops for a second
Your words paralyze me
And I search for you
Waiting for the next rush

Sometimes I tell myself I'm happy
Even though I'm not
To take away my pain
After all, it's the thought.

These days, I feel I've lost my spark
That flicker of creativity.
Well yes, I lit the candle;
I knew it was time for it to burn,
That eventually it'd burn out:
The dulling light emanating faint warmth.

But I think there's something poetic, too
About blunt truths
And being so honest it feels bland—
Bland enough to make you feel.

She was a poem that a poet was never able to write
He was knight that was never able to fight
She was the cake that a cake maker was never able to make
He was the goal that a soccer player was never able to score
She was the rhyme
He was the melody
She was the sun
He was the moon

They were star-crossed lover
Always passing each other but never colliding
Maybe the timing was never right
Or maybe they were always meant to be another poem of two star-crossed lovers

We are not in love.
We are not the Jim and Pam of our time.
we are not poetry in motion,
or any kind of rhyme.
You and I are just
You. and. I.
And it makes sense to me now.
Right now...I believe it.
But when you smile at me.
Dull life lights up and I believe,
You just might mean it.
That my day dreams
could be
reality.
That you could be
with me
Who would believe it?