I used to have to wait for the snow to fall to feel true silence
because that isn't something you hear,
That would defeat the point of silence.
No, silence is something visceral. It has depth and sensation.
I remember the first time I felt it when it wasn't snowing.
The final whispers of summer air were slipping through my fingers as I sat with my knees to my chest in a plastic Adirondack chair.

You tend to hear a lot about all of these 2 AM thinkers, I guess none of them were out that night.
There, I looked up and could see every star in the sky
The hazy strip of light of our corner of spacious vacuum. The constellations for which I had learned the stories by heart.
I suppose the moment
would have been romantic had I chosen to share it with someone but
I wanted this for myself.

  There was silence. An orchestra of solitude, and peace, and total disregard for what comes next.

I keep my box in the back corner of my closet
Behind the shoes and last year's projects
It is a boring little box, wouldn't want anyone who stumbles upon it to think to peek inside
The cardboard is slowly peeling away from itself
Pieces of tape slashed across the top
But the box keeps things neat and tidy
Sometimes I feel like opening it up, ripping the tape off
And sifting through it all to see if anything has changed,
giving everything inside away to interesting people.
But I have seen you make that mistake before
It usually ends in drama
The kind of pain that ruins your mascara
Destroys the walls people have so carefully built
Blasts through sensibility
I keep them in that drab box for one reason only
Emotions are messy
I'd rather not

I though about him again today
Or should I say
I never stopped
But this time it wasn't about
His voice
or his mannerisms
Or the way his hands would lead me around
By the small of may back

Today I thought about how I let him get to me
How I wanted to hold on so tight to something that wasn't mine
I considered the facts
analyzed my options and the supporting evidence
Turns out I romanticized you to the point of giving you life
I gave you meaning and depth and soul
I gave you what I wanted you to already have
But you, unfortunately my dear
Have none of that
In bearing all of those things I value so close to my soul,
You have no interest
So I am gathering these up and taking them with me
Never again to dump my treasures so haplessly at some poor shmuck's feet...
To keep them near may mean that some of us are going to live and die alone.
It was unfair of me to expect you to be anything more than a coincidence of mother nature and father time