No one ever said that you have to
listen to me or anything that I have
to say. And still you show up here
every day ready to feast on my thoughts.

Today seems like a good day to
thank you for that. So, Darling,
you are my biggest fan and I will
always remember you as such.

In case you have yet to realize it,
you are nothing more than an enigma
shrouded in the best mystery ever written
and never solved. Perhaps that is
the only reason so many people have
begged you for such small pieces of

your tiny,
shattered,
charred
heart.

I miss the way you rolled over and kissed her
as the sunlight delicately tiptoed in through the curtains
and the way that the aroma from your coffee so
beautifully accosted my floorboards each morning.
I remember the way laughter echoed off of every wall
when the kids got home from school, their jokes are
still whispered from time to time just between the walls and I.
I still feel your routines and the subtle ways you'd shake
my very foundation once the stars came out to play.

What happened to the good life of my forty-five year long friends? Where were you going as the rain beat down harder than
ever before and why couldn't you find your way back?
Your daughter's doll weeps on her bed. Your son's blanket is
lonely and cold. The ring you gave your wife has lost all
it's perfect shine. The scratched CD you forgot to turn off
still plays the heartbroken songs you two loved dancing to
on repeat. We all remember you, but do any of you

remember us?

Even after all this time,
you are still my password,
the face staring back at me
every time I check my e-mail,
a voice whispering words
no one will ever say to me
as Sleep comes
to pull me away

gently.

They tell me you are gone,
that you won't be coming back
it's not like your vacation
across the pond or the summer
you moved back home.

You left clues for me
as you contemplated whether
I was strong enough on my own
or not, I see that now,
words and stories of hope
or encouragement
to hold me up in your
prolonged absence.

But they don't help me
because you were the kind
of person that changes a girl
without even trying.

Even after all this time,
you are still my password,
the face staring back at me
every time I check my e-mail,
a voice whispering words
no one will ever say to me
as Sleep comes
to pull me away

gently.

And if you are reading this
as you always did, I just hope
you know I miss you so
much more than words
can ever

explain.

This morning someone called me asking to speak with you,
I sighed and explained that you haven't been here in
over a year. They apologized for my loss of such a remarkable soul
and said that they didn't mean to bother me it's just that
they saw you recently. You were looking worse than ever,
unhealthy, unhappy, broken even and they wanted to tell you
that you are still the most beautiful person they have ever known.

Even in your pain. So I'm sure you'll never listen to this message,
but ***, if they were able to find you, please, give them a chance
if you're not already in someone else's arms because it's so rare
to meet someone who can find pure, genuine beauty in a soul
instead of a body. And there was something in their voice,
something so honest, so kind that they are so much more than
someone to hold on to.

Because people who find pure, genuine beauty are among
the rarest in the world.

And you deserve nothing less
than perfection.

Warm colors light my way
as I walk around town
looking for something
to do with my day.

There's not many people out
cause it is beginning to rain
and this street's dangerous
there's people outside looking in.

I don't know how they
can see us or what they think
they see anyway, but
their eyes keep accosting us.

Some of wonder and delight
others cold and dark as night,
there's chatter coming through
the frame like an open window too.

warm colors light my way
as I scratch my head and
think of something good to say,
who are these people?

Why do some laugh, like they
want to take my place while
others cry as if seeing this way
reminds them of their own pain?

There's nothing wrong. At least nothing I know of.
The tears just don't like my eyes. And my mind
is tired of developing blurry pictures -
its such a waste of energy.

My shadow sits against the wall wondering when
I'll hand her off to a decent conversationalist,
even though walls will never talk and floor boards
just complain. I know it's all fun and games to you,
to them, to everyone else, but my mind just can't
pick up on that - just can't grasp why something
so cruel could ever be so funny. There's a person
stuck in the mirror staring back at me,
they say it gets better, but they've got the devil's
famous grin buried beneath countless layers of
make up and lies.

That stupid voice in my head, the one deeper than my own,
the one everyone knows to ignore - everyone that is but me,
reminds me just how tiny i am in this great big world. It's like
my mind doesn't know when to stop, the pain brings more pleasure
than the strangers calling me pretty as they offer to
buy me some fruity drink down the block (I love the look
on their faces when I end downing **** stronger than their own.)
there's nothing wrong. At least nothing I know of.

I just woke up today and realized that i'm not who I thought I was.

That I'm not who you think I am.

I am just another
impostor
in your bed.