People don't bare their souls-
but books do.
And-just for a little while-
when I'm buried neck deep in their spines,
I don't feel so lonely anymore.

I am looking for what's left of my broken heart
In the space between four and five thousand rpms.

There's a dark chocolate Milky Way in one hand,
And a noisily rattling gear shift under the other,
A steering wheel under my left knee, espresso
In my cupholder, and my right foot on the gas.  

As if tearing my way through the entirety of Virginia
With streetlamps illuminating tear-stained cheeks
And a voice gone silent from too much screaming
And eardrums dysfunctional from too-loud music
Can unmake the pain riding in my passenger seat.

I already know the answer, but I like playing dumb.

I know I'm just running; I know this is not healing.
But, for right now, it's helping. It's a local anesthetic.
It stifles memories of misplaced trust and heartache
And things that I know were not my fault but I blame
Myself for anyways. You. I blame myself for you.  

So here I am, world illuminated by insomniac headlights,
Looking for the face of God in a Christ-haunted world.

670

One need not be a Chamber—to be Haunted—
One need not be a House—
The Brain has Corridors—surpassing
Material Place—

Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting
External Ghost
Than its interior Confronting—
That Cooler Host.

Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,
The Stones a’chase—
Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter—
In lonesome Place—

Ourself behind ourself, concealed—
Should startle most—
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be Horror’s least.

The Body—borrows a Revolver—
He bolts the Door—
O’erlooking a superior spectre—
Or More—

Dear One,
I don't have much time,
Just a random assortment of heartbeats,
But there's something I must tell you.

Love.

It's a noun.
It can be a thing.
Or a feeling.
A flush of the cheeks
Or a steady hand.
Or a quiet understanding.
But, one thing is true.
It's worth living for.
I promise.

Love.

It's a pronoun.
It can be a name.
You are "Love."
They are "Love."
Either way,  
Committed for life.
Desperate and Chaotic.
But, sometimes, it is the only clarity.

Love.

It's a verb.
It can be imperative.
I mean it as a plea.
Love something.
Someone.
Love something so much your heart hurts
With the enormity of it.
Love the sun. Love the stars.
Love the flaws. Love the blessings.
Let love consume you.
You won't regret it.
I promise.

Oh, Dear One,
I am old.
Even if I have thousands of days left
When my heart will still be beating.
I have loved, and
I am young, but I am already ancient.

Life is a question that,
sometimes,
Only eternity can answer.

The mistake was the look
     -He won't see-
     -It's just a glance-

So I looked.

And he saw
     -Caught my eye-
  I looked away.

Too late.

I can see his eyes
     When I close mine.

I am betrayed
     -Not by love lost-
     -Not by him-

But by that look.

Here's to ridiculous happiness.
To laughing until your sides hurt
and not knowing why.
Here's to the reckless happiness
that laughs in spite of pain.
And absentminded happiness,
laughing at nothing.
Here's to joy.
May it always find you.