Unlike the missing piece
on a puzzle;
an incomplete work of art,

the unfinished
written poem,
and the scribbles
along the walls.

A blank canvas
caught by the eye
could give
the greatest lesson
of them all...


Emptiness isn't worst
after all.

Still water
resting
at the
bottom
of a
Pacific ocean
tide
pool,

reflections
of you
in my
mind
in the
Sunday
morning
light.

sometimes
I can imagine
I hear you
laughter
carried in
harmony
to me
on a
a salt-kissed
circling
wind.

and I
sit for
a moment
and smile.

I always
smile.

it is
a giving
thing that
you do.

your gentle
manner
of truth
and innocence.

I can always
feel it
there in
you eyes...

you are


where
good  poets
go to
die.

I think of the nights in your car.
Watching the stars.
I pointed out the ones that fell,
While you watched me from the driver's seat.
One night I saw three,
Set ablaze by gravity.
I silently wished upon them
For it to always be that way.
You telling me such sweet things.
Making me feel wanted and understood.
Sliding your hands through my hair.
Fingertips dancing across my skin.
You didn't pay attention to
The falling rocks,
You watched as my heart fell
From the sky and right onto your lap.
You were the one person
That made the world disappear.
Now we're strangers.
You've hurt me like I've done to others.
Past pain floods in my ribs.
I suppose the tears
Are just the ones I owe.

I wish I can go back in time,
and take back everything I've done that has damage us.

I wish I never fell in love with you,
I wish I had listened to myself in the beginning.

I focused too much on the idea of you and me together,
I forgot that expectations never met reality.

I just let everything flow itself,
and maybe someday faith can bring us together.
Only if someday ever exist.

i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.