There are some loves
that are so powerful and
they support each other
by being apart.
Like the sun and the moon,
they will never collide
because they are too busy
letting the other one shine.

Within my heart
you planted a garden.
Each compliment left a daisy.
Each kiss, a rose.
But then you forgot
to water the garden.
You left
and left it all to die.

Do not fade into the anonymity of everyday life
Find the avenue in which your voice echoes
Cling to the thresholds of any success
And never let go

I only know my idle shows
When the beads fall down my back
The more I show my colors
The more my favorite's black.

It surrenders to the drain
No symmetry, no pain
And I wonder why
I can't wash away like that
When the people that I've come to know
Would rather
Let their idle show
It paints one of the colors that I lack

If you could drag a brush through time
Smother it, and stroke a line
I'd want it to be solid
And precise

Cause when you soak the paper through
With a wet brush with little hue
You think that I see something
Then it rips, and I see you

Let's skip the part where
You pretend to care
Cause your kind of cruelty's very rare

So with peace of mind
I'll wave and smile
And won't save you from your self denial

If the heart is glass, then its bound to shatter
If love is death, then a kiss is its dagger.

If the mind is ignorant, then the soul shall weep
If the body is stubborn, then there's nothing to keep.

How I adore your nerve
when you kissed me in your closet upon sheets made of legos
and all of your childhood dreams.
How easy I am for you to draw when you play on stage the song that you wrote me,
The one that feels like rock climbing by the river,
Like naps in the summer when I drool on your chest and you don't mind,
Like kissing you until the very last minute of my curfew,
only to break it for the miracle that is your lips.
How alluring is your breath on my neck,
Your voice in my ear when you told me that you loved me
and you didn't stop smiling,
even as the years went by and I did.
How I craved, longed, begged for time to be still
the time you took me to the highest hill you could drive to,
You called it my mountain.
"At first, you look at it and it's so small,
but once you notice it, it's all you can see," you said.
How my stomach floods with waves of nostalgia and a taste
of everything I've ever had to live without,
With complete and utter spell-binded devotion at the simple familiarity
of your smell.
How addicted I am to your laugh when you're happy and
the mastered impression you do of your mom.
How weak I am to your intellect and your appreciation of literature
and real music,
Your enthusiasm for art and the "name that note" game you force upon me
as you stumble onto the classical radio station.
How in love I am with your romance that is as childish as my attachment
to my baby blankie and my mother's childhood walrus that you never ceased to insult.
Our pajama day that we decided over our prom,
When we turned on John Mayer and slow danced in your room.
Your idea of a date consisted of fake wine and me.
How incredibly warm are the coldest of nights,
On the side of your dirt road as we lie in the snow that is too cold for comfort,
yet holds us there with the fear that one day will not look the same as this one
and I would bear any amount of cold winter to keep one more moment of yours.
How I cherish the way you latch my pinky with yours when we walk
And the face you don't know you make when you play guitar.
The rooftop where you kissed me for the very first time and the string rings
we wore to remind each other we were still there.
How incredibly and unfortunately devout I am to all that I remember of you.