Grey-blue water lapped at our toes,
The sky above rolled with darkened clouds.
Your heart uttered words that not even my lips could set free.
You don't know.
Digging my toes into the sand, I rose.
I turned, and walked away.
I cannot live a lie.
I cannot live a lie.
I cannot live a lie.
*This is goodbye.

The carpet squishes between my toes.
Your shirt is smooth against my skin as I pace.
The sheets are in a tangle around your legs,
Your hair is a mess of curls on the pillow.
I stand, facing the window with the coffee in my hands.
The sunlight streams through the greenery & glass,
Illuminating the magic still lingering.
It's a lasting state of disbelief.
I see the reflection of your olive skin,
Feel your lips upon my cheek.
I wonder what it's like to love you.
To wake up every morning bathed in sunshine,
Drenched in the aroma of coffee, roses, us.
To be a pile of skin, smiles, and Egyptian cotton.
To be loved by someone like you.

I sip the whiskey from the glass and sigh.
I feel an itch to speak the words on the tip of my tongue,
The words burning in my heart like the whiskey inside me.
The moon is glowing through the window,
Illuminating the satin sheets on my bed.
There are cars on the street, far below.
Voices in a language that is not my own
Sail above to my window.
This city is not my own.
It is both quiet and loud, at all the wrong times.
It is foreign and contrite.
Upturned noses & curious aromas.
With a sigh, I retire.
To the morning, these words shall yet again wait.

The light was dim, but you could see the smoke swimming in the room.
His cigarette met the lip of the ashtray,
tap tap
Inhale, exhale.
He rolled the filter between his fingers, studying it.
There was a faint yellow coloring on his hand from all the stress.
His brown hair fell into his green eyes, and he shook it away.
The hanging lamp cast a shadow across his face.
The photograph frames on his desk were face down,
Hidden from view.
His family?
"****," he muttered softly.
He inhaled, exhaled again,
smothered the last few centimeters of smoldering ash.
He rose from his chair, turned, and walked out the door,
Shutting it loudly behind him.
A picture frame fell from the desk.
It hit the tile floor and shattered.

I could say you were like the sun peeking from behind the clouds,
After weeks and weeks of rain.
I could say you were like a life preserver,
In such treacherous seas.
I could say these things,
They're just similes.
Do they even really mean anything.
Let's just be honest.
*You're the best thing to ever happen to me.

The woman poured herself another glass of wine,
Like another night alone.
The house was empty,
And the humming of the dishwasher bounced off the walls.
She sat by the window and pulled the black heels off her feet.
This was beginning to get old.
People outside paced in pairs.
Her house was dark.
The only light came from the kitchen,
glowing out to the adjacent ro0m.
She sipped at her wine, and rested the glass on her knee.
With an exasperated sigh,
She threw the wine glass against the opposite wall.
The glass flew, sparkling in the dim light
And merlot ran down the white wall.
She dusted off her hands, and undressed silently.
In the bathroom, she started water for a shower.
In silence, once again, she stood under the rush of water.
An hour's time went by, and the water was shut off.
Without bothering to dry herself, she stepped out,
And fell into bed.