It’s the color of her dress the day that you first met her
“I’m not bold enough to wear purple,” she said.

It’s the color of the smoke that comes out of your ears when her touch sets you on fire.

It’s the color of the sweatshirt she stole from you freshman year of college and never gave back.

It’s the faded color of the asphalt beneath your feet on 7th street where you proposed.

It’s the color of the dog that you share. You wanted to name him Ash, but she said that would be taking the easy way out.

It's the color of her matching bra and underwear set. Every woman deserves to have one in her favorite color.

It’s the color of the blanket that you wrapped around her when it was too cold in your bedroom.

It’s the color of her eyes if you look closely enough. Although they got this way because of old age, you still think that they are just rare enough to make her beautiful.

It’s the color of her hair as she is lowered into the ground: breathless and leaving you behind.

It’s the color of the cloud over your head when you wake up to an empty bed every morning and remember that she’s never coming home.

It’s the color of the sky when it spits at you, reminding you that life without her is as pointless as an umbrella when it’s too windy outside.

It’s not the color of your breath when you exhale for the last time. In that moment, you were yellow.

sometimes, girls with monogrammed
backpacks will hold the boy with
the tattooed arms a little closer
than you want them to.
remember that there has to be a girl
who gets movie nights with her mother
instead of a date with the boy
with the candescent eyes. and sometimes,
that girl is going to be you. but not always.
oh darling, not always.

whatever you do, please remember
the sound of your little brother’s voice.
it’s not going to stay like that forever,
no matter how much you want it to.
record it. save his voice mails.
do anything you have to do.
because that’s what’s going to
make you feel at home when it’s
three in the morning and you’re alone
in a city that no longer belongs to you.

The lightning cracked down the sky
Like my heart did
The night you didn't say goodbye
Pitiful, behind him you hid.
How dumb I've been,
I'll stay here and listen to the faint beat of thunder while I try to hum,
The song we loved, this boring restraint.
Oh wait
This is heat lighting.

you felt like music in my bones 
then suddenly you changed keys 
i was out of tune 
and we forgot the words
it's four o'clock on monday morning
and all that's left
is the memory of your head
on the pillow next to mine
it was here
like this
that we used to listen
to all my favorite records
but I can't now
because when the needle hits the vinyl
i start thinking of you
it's the early hours of the day
when the streaks of morning light
break across the clouds
that I realize
i'm not a morning person
i'm a mourning person

[holyoak]

we can only
take each other in
if we can turn ourselves inside out

and we can only
turn ourselves inside out
if we can take each other in

We once walked these streets together
at a time when 'forever' was something real.
Our kisses were gentle pecks, here and there.
Missing our aim, on occassion,
but sweet with a purity I long for still.

We didn't lie about our dreams together.
We just bent our desires to fit our wishes.
Our ignorance caught up to us soon enough.
I took the high road while you descended
down an easier path.

I recall that first morning so long ago.
Awaking to a vacancy of empty fitted sheets
and tears that replaced the echo of our routine.
The sounds of our love absorbed by
the plaster walls, still jingle at times.

The pain is gone,
and tender memories remain.
The high road I treaded upon gives
clear views of our long lost past.
But, only the lonliest of broken hearts
can travel that path.

The streets are quiet now.
And I remain,
still in love
and never the same.

~~~

"Men are accessories and not necessities,"
she proudly remarked with a
delicious smug.

"Well then,"  I replied.

"You should strap me on
until you've worn me out!"*

;-)

~~~

we are the dreamers. we are the pranksters,
the pillow fort makers, and the lightning rod keepers.
we are the runners, running away from
everything we’ve ever known, but we always come right back.
we don’t know black and white, we never did.
we make each other’s lives a little more colorful.
the rest of my life, I will never have anything quite as beautiful.

I want you to look at me when I walk in the room.
I want you to forget how beautiful you think I am,
and for me to see you remember over and over again.
I want to talk to you for hours on top
of the parking garage and if it’s too cold,
I want to wear your jacket without even having to ask.
I want to know your favorite song and why you care
about it so much. I’m sorry; it’s just that I’ve never felt this way
about anybody before. I hope that I’m not invisible to you.
Nashville brought us together, but New Jersey might tear us apart.