I heard somewhere that
public schools are going to stop
teaching kids how to write
in cursive.

Guess that means we the dying breed of fancy, huh?

But seriously, America, let's get real.
Cursive is the unspoken *** of penmanship.
Its stops and starts are infrequent;
one neverending pleasure stroke of
ups and downs,
comely curves,
delectable edges,
all made in one fluid motion.
It's always somewhat satisfying to pen...
                   ...no matter how sloppy the technique.

See, children need to learn
how to make love on paper
before they grow up
and slip between the sheets.

It's important to teach them
that it's not a crime to take the time
to practice a little patience and appreciation.

After all, that's how love is maintained, right?

Forget e-signatures.
Forget convenience.
But don't forget the simple fact that
everyone needs a little John Hancock.

3am is so unkind
to a lonely longing mind

Ask me
how it feels
to love you
and I will say
*"exhausting"

I loved you
but...*

I choked.

The only word that escaped from my mouth,

****.

Excuse me sir, but
"Heartbreak" isn't metaphor
It's physical pain.

We were
the most beautiful lie
ever told.

I don't need you anymore.
I have forgotten about the nights
Where we tumbled to the floor,
And whispered like lovers
Beneath dampened covers.

I endured frigid centuries
At the bottom of that old black sea
That I dug out of your skin.
In those depths I searched for you,
But you were on the coast, looking in.

It was around a card game at Devon's,
Amidst nonchalant laughs,
And burnt coffee, that I learned
That I do not care about you anymore;
That you are an old, forgotten name.

And I keep having this stupid dream
Of you sitting next to me
In my passenger seat
Where you whisper "I don't love you"
Then I stop the car.

So I'll drive home tomorrow
And I won't text you when I'm lonely.
I'll swallow the glorious isolation,
And I'll greet the rising sun.
When I visit town again, you won't know.