some days,
i let myself
love you a
little too
much

cold morning, warm heart
and burning concrete beneath feet
that are tired of playing along
to the off-beat rhythm of the cars that pass
covering any other sound

and i contemplate the difference
between the ocean and the sea
in an effort to stop thinking

well, there it goes again
no matter the metaphor, i'm always full circle
swinging back into this pattern
looking for noise, looking for colour
looking for a distraction

distracted from myself, i turn
to speak to empty air, just trying
to start a conversation with less meaning
than the days have been holding for me

give me weather talk, give me politics
give me capital punishment, for crying out loud
give me something to debate
that will not affect me

and i contemplate the difference
between me and my feelings
in an effort to prove that they are
without a doubt
separate beings

cold morning, warm heart
beating away from my chest
as fast as it can

april cut into the city
in long fingernail scratches
of running water and suddenly brown gardens
and the air fell heavy onto the eaves
of houses eager to open their doors

i stepped out and spoke
into a space filled with spring
just trying to hurry things along, i guess
trying to warm the air
trying to clear the path
trying to make some sense of this transition

i stepped out, leaned forward
and spoke
too soon, i guess
because the mercury sank coldly back into the glass
and the rain became needles, the trees thread
threatening to sew winter back into the sky
and the air retreated back
into a dull winter chill
as if afraid of my open chest
displaying december's frostbite
and january's cold words

and i apologized silently
to the city and myself
for thinking winter could be defeated so easily

present
for you, i’d remain standing
long after the trees sat down to rest
and the sun had done its best to make you smile

past*
i realize your presence was heavy upon me
for years, damning praise and sharp silence
like tags poking out from brand-new clothing, reminding me
to cover you up
and worn, fraying threads betraying the fact
that my feelings for you were long past their due date
and i should just throw them away

present
i never threw them away, i just recycled them
somehow knowing that one day
i would find a use for this feeling, a cause worth standing for
and a body that stood in the same crooked way
you are not the same, you are better
than any face i used to hate, or any voice
that used to grate upon my tired mind
love turned to hate
and now the cycle repeats itself again

i want to walk
the same shores
odysseus did,

i want to be
important like
him, i want to

be important like,
i want to be

important

I would have said so many things to you
But the words were too heavy
And my voice isn't strong enough
I managed, "I'll see you again"

We are not heavy.
Nothing in this life needs to be heavy
God was not a Mason, moving heavy brick
God was an artist, painting weightless strokes
Every second we had together was a stroke of God
On perfect canvas

The story of our lives cannot be contained on the pages between two covers
Sometimes the stories need space and more ink
She would fill an entire book

I would give up shooting stars
And making wishes
Because I had everything
And traded it for anything, which wasn't her
We all make mistakes; we all have our sins
But what would you give
To start it again

So I use my shooting stars to bless her life
I use my magic moments to ask for our life
To not be separated too long
Because that was the hardest goodbye

In our tears, I could hear
Her whispering profanities
Waves of my gratitude
For who she taught me to be
"You're such an *******," she said
And I know how she feels
How can goodbye be something that's real?
Our book is not done
There's more to be said
So instead of "The End"
"I'll see you again."