her sorrow,
sometimes
soothed by his
scent

we sit on the windowsill,
your cold fingertips grasp my thigh.
drinking cranberry juice, pretending it's red wine and that we're somewhere else right now.
somewhere where only we exist, somewhere pleasant and fulfilling. somewhere where
plants grow and leaves turn into dust
when the slightest breeze hits their tips,
where the chlorophyll soothes the atmosphere with oxygen and green.

we have a weird relationship.

it's like we both want to talk to each other,
yet we have nothing to say

or maybe we do
but we don't want to say it

or maybe we actually do want to say it,
but we don't know how to phrase it.

though we do have the words..
but are they the right ones?


maybe we don't talk to each other
because of the things that run through our minds.

soft fall,
empty love notes

she cursed at her cursive writing, it having absolutely nothing to do with how horrible she (thought) she was. Her fingers ached as she cracked her knuckles. She was such a perfectionist, seeing everything but perfection in her eyes. Plants came alive when they saw and thought
of her. She was the earth and it, her.

Everyone tried their best to enjoy her while they could. While she lasted.

I've never gotten drunk before
but I've been hypnotized by the feel
of your fingers on my skin
is the feeling the *same

the moon looked lonely tonight and I felt alone.
I wondered if the moon needed company from time to time just like we humans did, if the moon shined bright against the contrast of the never ending Black Sea of sky just because it was tired of not being noticed;
if it changed it's shape from time to time
because it wanted some attention.

the sun slips
through my cold hands

this wasn't suppose to be a love story
and yet I fall in love in your eyes
everyday

I'm longing to fill
th(e)mptiness
inside me
with things
that make me
think of you

Just thinking
of nothing really.
Just of how fog
can lay over grass
Correspondingly
and some things on earth
aren't even possible.
Like the fact that I can't even go
anywhere without thinking
of nothing really.
just of how you
correspond with me

you wanted everything
except me and I wanted nothing
but you
(I wanted to think like you
and explore the place and the space
inside your mind)
and you wanted more, everything
and everything that came with
having everything
and I was confused because
I was your everything; or at least
I thought I was.

I missed the sun fall tonight and
the sunset was you in a day: stubborn
and obnoxious and everything I wished to be.

I wished that I could hold you
in my hands, like a hot cup of coffee.

you drink cheap wine
from expensive stores every evening
in my dreams.

like red dust and I,
easily picked up and thrown away,
I missed you, a lot, I mean,
I missed a lot of things.
the sunset, the moon,
the curve that resembled your smile,
though I missed you the most.

I wanted you
to miss me and I wanted you,
just because.

Pizza stains stain her rusty old books;
pages dog-eared and smelling like coffee dates and drags of a stale cigarette, she wishes for late night walks and New York subway rides, the green-blue hue of the underground’s lights swirl by like she was casted in an independent movie film filled with drunken stupors and graffiti-filled alleyways.

He walks back to her creaky-old apartment, her college literature class starting at 8:30am tomorrow yet he persists in walking back to her creaky-old apartment, green flannel catches her apartment's door with the broken lock, his beer-induced thoughts infused with the idea of her in his green flannel, laying on a sofa that’s 70% fluff and 20% couch;

my fingers tremble and
my heart stutters and
my mind wonders and
my eyes question and  
I don't exactly know you and
I don't exactly know why,





but you make me nervous

Write
until your thoughts become words
and those words become spelling mistakes
and those spellig. Mistakes make sense
to everyone ecvept you
and your worfs become jumbled
and make no sense
and are illeterate
and until they make no sense
to anyone
except *you

if I spoke in tongues,
would you understand me better?

if I contrasted with you,
like the sunset and the sunrise,
would you finally noticed me?

if you inhaled the moon
and your body exhaled smoke,
from my lungs,
would you be able to breathe again?

she bakes cakes
and probably waits for you;
and you,
you, failing every test
saying your life
isn't the best, and me,
not knowing you, so thinking
you feel the most comfortable when there's a bass guitar in your hand and music notes on your mind.
Like me,
music is the only thing
that you can run to, arms
open wide.
So I guess I don't know you
but I guess in a way
I sort of understand you
because you're just like me.
or maybe your eyes
just said it all and I can't translate it clearly because your mouth,
and your words had little to do with the explanation.
sorry my sentences didn't come out
at all too.
I guess we are alike
in many aspects.

I first saw you in a coffee shop:

you were a few feet away from me. your feet tapped absentmindedly underneath your crooked chair while black and blue pen ink residue resided on your fingers. Your eyes were reading a newspaper yet your mind was paying no attention to the words. I was in such deep thought studying you that my heart skipped a beat when I saw your eyes glance up at mine. You started studying me instead of the crinkled worn out paper in your hands. A smiled played across your face as the radiant warmth of it touched my eyes—