I want back what I have lost.
To be whole once more,
To find the piece that fits.
I can't feel much;
But what I can,
Is just enough
To get up again.
The hope that tomorrow,
I'll find someone new,
To help me place the pieces;
To show me love again

Do you ever hear a song and less than a minute in, you already know it’s going to be your favorite?
You were that to me.
And much like a song, from you I could not flee.
You were chords and melodies I had never thought of putting together: and you were beautiful all the same.
If only you knew the way your heartbeat has become my favorite sound.
And much like the song, I could listen to you over and over again and each time fall more and more in love.
Because in a world of chaotic noise, you were my lullaby.
I would forever hear you in bits and pieces of other songs,
I would hum your tune absentmindedly as I go down a street I once walked with you,
And if I ever forget, I am sure my mind will wander to the songs we once made and remember,
Remember the beats and sounds that brought me to you,
and even if the melody has faded or become outdated,
I will always want to press repeat.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

Keep up thy vigil, dimpled shepherdess!
Gift night a lantern light to guide lost stars
Strayed from the flock, treaty with tenderness
Soft grazing grounds in heaven's nebulas,

Look low for lone stars fallen from on high,
Feasting on kindling tree-tops laced in cloaks
Of lily blossomed snowy dew drop sighs
Billowed from scattered cushion clouded smokes,

Look further still beneath the ice-fringed eaves
Of gold-spun thatched roofs dotted down the lane,
Footfall echoes stolen by kingly thieves
Triumphantly majestic in their rain:

Look last for shadow framed in windowed light
Keeping thy lonely vigil through the night.