lately i find myself often thinking about you and my past and the bittersweet connection of the two.

and i see you in the morning and your hair's a wild mess that keeps the imprints of your gentle fingers fresh and pull each strand back with the effort of a breeze pulling flowers taught.

and i see you at noon when the sun is its brightest but everything around you seems to expect a grander light to emerge from you and i see that light and feel it's warmth on my cheek. and i wonder if my mother was right when i was a child and if i should be wearing sunscreen but i think i am willing to be burned by your presence rather than separated by the thin layer of protection i know i should have. i know i should protect myself.

and i know it in the evening when you look through me with your tired eyes
and i know it when i ask you how your day was and you reply with "fine" and i know too well that fine is not a synonym for "okay" or "happy",
and i know it when i feel alone on the couch with your body next to mine less than a centimetre a part yet you cannot hear my plea for you to hold me once more.
and i still know it in the middle of the night when the stars sneak away and pastel clouds burst from the horizon and i have woken up today, a good start i remind myself, but you are not here again and this time i sink into my bed and i let the realization sink in too.

i wish i would've listened to my mother because i can not live with your burns anymore.

It's 2:04 am and you're on my mind again, I miss your stupid hands on my stupid back when you kissed me with the same stupid lips that wanted nothing more than a second chance which was wasted in haste and you left and seem so fine, so happy now so what the hell were we and who the hell was I and when the hell did things become so complicated? When did tired eyes and late night talks turn into me wondering over and over again what I did wrong? You said you liked my eyes and my music and my plants and so they remind me of you and now my plants are dead and that music keeps playing but I am alone and my eyes are drooping and dry and you are so unaware.

Sometimes I like to think about how your eyes met mine
For the first time
And how we drifted
Closer,
But never close enough.
And I didn't know, then
How I longed for your touch or
How every fibre of my being
Craved your warmth.
And we walked along
In parallel it seemed but God knows
We were destined to intersect
And all at once we connected
Hand to neck
To back
Chest pressed to pounding chest
Sharing breath in the longest conversation known to man.
I think I lost a piece of me
When your lips met mine,
Because when we were apart I felt empty
In places I never knew had any feeling at all
And only you,
Your touch,
Could fill my longing and stop my pain
And babe, we were so great.
Though we were not parallel
But rather intersecting lines meeting
At an angle sweeter than any before,
And I think we both knew
That our lines would drift
And stretch upon a surface greater than space or time
And I think about this, still.
I try to fathom ways to bend our lines,
To find myself back in your embrace,
Lips to neck
To chest
Your eyes on mine again.
And lately I have found myself
Desperate to feel anything again
But it seems that nothing
Can duplicate the pain that you left
And all I have is some scars
And a gaping hole
Where you took that piece of me
That very first night
And I hope you hold it dear,
But I don't need it anymore.

It's 2:32 am and I'm thinking about him and how he thinks and speaks and I wonder if he's thinking about me too as he crawls into bed tonight. He is so wonderful, it's like nothing can taint him, his simplicity. Every time he looks at me it's like he has hand painted my most inward corners with a fresh coat of paint, and when he laughs I can feel the ground shake as the earth shivers into itself absorbing his warmth. And his smile is so incomparable and it makes me wonder how something so simple can put me in such a place, isolated from words and pictures and logical thoughts and there is just him. Like an outstanding presence that won't go away and I'm not quite sure if I want him to anymore. It's as if merely trying to think of a word to compare him to rids that word of it's meaning and replaces it with him. I have written books in my mind about his smile but they will never compare to the stories and questions and really bad jokes that pour from his being. He really is something special, and being around him makes me feel like I must be, too.