Perplexed.
As I looked into his eyes, replaying the conversation in my mind...over and over again.
Studying his mouth curvature and ****** expressions, change from confidence to bewilderment. As I confronted his most recent "story".
Stumbling over words, not even remembering his own storyline, it all came to a head.
It's all a fog. The last 11 months of my life.
A tangled web of fulfillment..loss..love..pain..a seeming friendship..laughter..hurts..euphoria..
..Lies..love making..confiding..trust..deceit..
half truths..embellished stories..frustrations..
Anxiety..joys..thrills..adventures..irrit­ations..charm..
Dream making..intense loneliness.
He built walls...constructed of flowers, love notes, thoughtful gifts, candle lit baths with rose petals and love songs...all in hopes to keep me within the realm of his safety lines.
He lied to make me love him..I lied to myself into believing it was all real.
When lies become your reality..nothing stands against it..not even..the Truth.
Now I sit. Alone. In the center of the shambles of what we fabricated, fallen at my feet.
Eyes opened. Accepting the reality. Weaving through the confusion.
Hope in the unknown..the sun still continues to rise..hearts heal and Love still exists.

"You were born to do this."
I reminded myself as I sat there feeling encaged in a flurry of endless thought and emotion.
"Why do I have to feel every aspect of every event of life, so deep?"
I thought as I fought myself once again to simply pick up the pen and drain the overflow of despondency onto paper.
"Breathe."
The words, letters, verbs and thoughts continued to swirl in my ever rampantly unsettled abyss of ideation.
Once I surrendered to the raging of the erupting of the soul..there was calm.
It's likened to the deaf..taken away their ability to sign..The dancer with both feet removed.
Had I no other pleasure but to expel grief, fervor and elation and form them into words to heal the shattering so entrenched..they appear unreachable..I'd beg to be buried with just a writing utensil and endless reams of freshly pressed paper.
"Theres Light."*
I mouth that..as I continue to jot as if I were stitching my heart back together with this pen.
Even though I'm within this seemingly grave like cave of aching..I can write.
The beauty is in the creation..The ability to construct, like a carpenter..all that your heart desires with your own two hands..to simply Heal the paragraphs of life that were written badly, write over them or erase and rewrite..if only it were that easy.
I don't aim to undo..I cannot.
Just to poetically fabricate from this point on..allow the stumbles to happen and Love greater than thought fathomable.
Surrender. To the page.
Scribble it out, empty it onto line after line..and crawl atop..until the words fill the fragments and the ink stains your fingertips..Keep climbing upon the proverbial stacks of paper until the towers reach the aperture of the pit.
Creating the mending of affliction, soothing the misery of the choking of words you cannot utter, but you can scratch them onto tablets to deplete the churning of the mind.
Write. Write badly.
Write as if in a mad race to the finish line, then start over again..Until the trails of Letters stretch so long..you could dance upon them for days.
Then Breathe.
Soak every word into your skin as if attempting to heal the afflictions..
then Become it.

"Dreams" he said, "I want you to write about your dreams"
I watched his expression full face, talk with his usual infectious vibrancy...
candle flickering, between belly laughs, raw unscripted stories, uncensored truth and the feeling of complete freedom to be human, his pouring over the brim life experiences..dripped from his fingertips as he spoke with his hands.
I'm Lucky. I thought. As I sat there, sinking into his words and gentle loving soul.
Just to simply know him, to hear of his adventures, heartbreaks, falls and climb to the top of life's list of goals and successes.
So I meditated on this writing assignment...for weeks.
I've written of Love, Loss, Heartache and Regrets.
But Dreams...I've yet to fall into ink drenching grains of paper and be completely free of the ever ticking time...to do just that... Dream.

I met a man.. that I believe..I have dreamt into existence.
He spoke life into my dreams, dried my tears, when I cried from my ever healing soul, planted lavender below my window sills, surfed the ups and downs of my complicated moods and patiently waits..

He's the constant, I never knew was real, the strength that keeps my back from bowing, the gentle...that soothes every doubt.

He's the description of what Love..is truly meant to be.

One more breath..
I promise..when I fully allow my lungs to inhale..ill listen for you.
One more exhale..upon the last release of pain from this chest..ill utter praise..
One last fragment of my heart dropping like glass on a stone surface..crumbling before you..hear my hearts plea..
Gripping the surface of the earth with all that's within me..prying at the crumbles of gravel below my knees..crawling..at the pace less than a snail...hear my heart...it wails..it sees the wholeness of all that you offer...
Scratching at hells door..knees bloodied..screaming at the top of my lungs..

I think you should love a girl that writes
Live her many different imagined lives
In her vast collections of created worlds
Find her somewhere buried beneath them all
And when you find her pressed between
Scribbled pages and coffee cups filled with pens
Kiss her ink black fingers
Let them stain your lips so when she looks at you
She won’t forget
You’re the hero her books are about.