Not every trigger is on a gun.

Sometimes it is an action movie with explosions and car chases. My eyes close just before the cars collide.

Sometimes it is an eggplant in the middle of the store. The soft, purple flesh, bruised from a seatbelt.

Sometimes it is feeding a fire and being hit in the face with smoke from an engine.

Sometimes it is a nature show. Watching deer walk silently through the woods, bears awakening from hibernation, trees falling with such force that they fracture like bones.

Sometimes it is walking around the hospital and stumbling upon the labor unit. Hearing the familiar howls of pain as babies are pulled from their mothers and she is pulled from the car.

Sometimes it is waiting in line at the DMV. Watching the clock. Waiting for my number to be called and knowing that this is deja vu.

Sometimes it is hearing sirens rush by while I'm shopping and wondering if the socks I've just picked up, are the same shade of blue as her face in the back of the ambulance.

The trigger is on the neck of the bottle that puts me to sleep, when the barrel reaches my lips.

It is time to pull the trigger and empty the bullets into my grief and sorrow. I will lay them to rest in the plot beside my wife. Watching them flourish with forget me nots.

Dear Love,

I know what you look like:

You are flowers pressed between the pages of my poetry books. You are the pink and purple watercolors in the sky as the sun settles on the horizon. You look like the outside of an airplane window on my adventures.

I know what you sound like:

You are the bees hum around the hydrangeas. You are the playlist that is mixed with our favorite songs. You are the mumbled, "I'm almost ready!" from the bathroom while you're brushing your teeth when we are already 10 minutes late.

I know what you feel like:

You are dances in the warm summer rain, while we get soaked to our bones. You are the blanket my grandmother crocheted that keeps me warm. You are the fingers that run through my hair on late night drives.

I know what you smell like:

You are the sweet aroma of summer picnics in the woods. You are sunny drives with the dog's face flapping outside of the window. You are coconut oil that has permanently stained my skin. You are the "Hypnotic Poison" perfume by Dior on our wedding day.

I know what you taste like:

You are the honey strands that flow from her mind and get caught under my tongue. You taste like lavender ice cream, oversized chairs and long conversations. You are an omelette with all of the extras so I have enough energy to fight my demons for the day. You taste like home made chili on a winter day that was made to keep me warm.

I am familiar with you, Love. I have seen you before in my wildest dreams, but I was not ready for the weight of it all. Not quite yet. Give me time to show myself that I am deserving of you.

Please, Love. Take my heart, cover it in bubble wrap and place it in a time capsule. I promise to only open it when you know I'm ready.

Sincerely,
All of my heart

Hair of a thousand silver strands. Her beauty was forged from fallen stars. A present from the sky, too precious to be held forever.

On the contrary, your soul so tattered and weak, hungry with lust. The teeth of her ghost drag across your feeble bones, tasting the desire you have for her King.

Shame on you for playing with things that aren't yours, silly girl. Her howl shifted ocean tides and scarred the moon. No universe could've survived her thunder. Worlds had been slain and devoured by her wisdom alone.

Selfish child, did you think it wise to compete with the Queen? She will crucify you with her elegance. Her beauty will rip your heart out from your fickle body and feed it to the wolves.