There is a world where I sit in the back of a bus, going to work -
and another where I sit at a bar on a Friday night -
and another where I sit by a river in the evenings and draw what I see.

In that world, you are the woman who gets on the bus after my stop and sits in the empty seat across from mine -
in that world, you are the young man laughing carelessly on the dance floor with a drink in your hand -
in that world, you are the obscure figure in the distance that drifts by on their boat, feeding ducks and playing a harmonica as the sun goes down.

The me in that world will admire your pretty face from afar, too afraid to say anything -
in that one, I will force myself to stand and ask you for a dance -
in the last one, I will draw you as you pass by, your song leaving me in its wake.

What I'm trying to say is -
I think I got stuck in the world where I haven't met you yet and don't know if I ever will.

he calls me on the phone,
says he's leaving in a few days.

what's new?

the tears that threaten to escape me aren't new,
my clenched fist isn't new,
my picked, bleeding lower lip isn't new.

you've always left me, dad.
even when you said you were coming back,
even when you said it wouldn't be for too long,
even when you said you loved me more than anything.

your actions betray your words -
the silver shavings in your hair betray the test of time -
the wrinkles around your eyes betray the man i used to take you for.

i hate this time of year -
because all i want to do is hold your face in my hands -
and feel the skin that belongs to me -
and look into the brown eyes that belong to you -
and i want to tell you -
how much, how much, how much i love you.

how much i love you -
despite the hurt -
despite your absence -
despite you being a man that doesn't know he has a child that loves him so much.

i still love you, dad. i'll be waiting for you to come home.

I've been standing at the edge of the ocean for a long time -
watching the crystalline waves when they come close and yearn to touch my skin.

Just like how I want to touch yours.

There's been a thousand sunrises and a thousand sunsets -
after a lifetime or two, they don't really matter anymore.

I remember the way you looked when you left -
although your back was turned towards me,
I felt each tear when it bled across your face.

When you looked into the horizon and silently begged
for the courage to go, I felt it through each chamber of my heart.

Seeing is believing, they say.
I don't really believe you wanted to go.

i see her standing there -
and i'm wondering when she
will come inside.

it's below forty outside -
and the tears have frozen to her cheeks
and i can tell that she's becoming numb.

when will she come inside?
i wish she would -
so that i may wrap a blanket around her shoulders
and give her something hot to drink
and let the tears melt down her face.

i wish she would come inside.
but her and i both know better,
than to believe that we have any control -

over
this.
this.
this.
these feelings, i should say.

she'll come back inside -
when the feelings pass
when it's safe again
when i'm me again
when the world is righted on its axis.

For a long time, I didn't want to write because I was afraid of what would show up on my paper.
I avoided pencils, notebooks, and my therapist's advice to write down the feelings you have.

I know now that my mind was simply trying to protect me -
you see, the things I felt and the people I loved were too painful to think about.

I couldn't pick up a pencil and write in a notebook because that would have been the equivalent to picking up a handgun and loading it with bullets.

If I had followed through and pushed away my fear, I would probably be dead now. My notebook would be covered in blood.

Sometimes fear is a good thing - it keeps us alive when we need to be.

sipping a smoothie through my straw -
taste buds lighting up with how good it is.

but it's not as good as you,
not as sweet as you.

you're my favorite craving -
and i don't care about the toothaches
or the cavities
if it means i get one more taste of you.

tell me where to go
because wandering is what i know
tell me where to stay
because leaving keeps a light on inside of me

tell me what to do
because i've been laying in this bed for days
tell me what to be
because i believe this woman in the mirror is the one who won the part

tell me, tell me, tell me
won't you show me the way?

in the midst of a dream
on thanksgiving morning
i was snoring away in a peaceful slumber when
firm hands wrapped around my stomach,
a couple of long fingers rested familiarly upon my breast

your hot breath was lighting up the back of my neck like a bushfire
your whiskers tickling the top of my spine
now i was awake.

you were breathing so heavily -
“go back to sleep” i mumbled, making myself smaller in your embrace
you got even closer against me
unbearably closer
whispering like you knew something i didn’t
“i just wanted to get your attention”

nothing was thought of that
i wanted to go back to sleep, after all
and you are known for playing games
but i don’t think i would be lying if i said that
my heart started beating like a mad drum
the hairs on the back of my neck stood up
and my whole body became the most awake it’s ever been
when you said
“i...love you”

i won’t forget that moment -
and i still have the biggest smile on my face that
is beginning to hurt.
“i love you too” i said so, so, so quietly
because i was afraid i was still sleeping in a dream
and none of it was real.
but we did go back to sleep -
and when we woke up again later
i knew deep in my heart that we had spoken those words to each other
in the world of the living.
and i am thankful for that.

They ask me a question.
What are we without love?

I am this. In this moment, I am not love.

Have you ever seen the aftermath of a plane crash?
The plane simply becomes an empty shell and bodies are strewn across the earth. There are no heaving lungs, no crying eyes, no twitching fingers.

Every living thing is dead. That's what I am.

Don't ever let anyone fool you into believing that you can't be dead in this life. You can and you will be.
There will be a moment when no heart pulses behind your ribs, no tears are left, and your hands feel nothing tangible.

It will only be you and the ground. You'll look up into the sky and maybe, just maybe, ask a question.

"What are we without love?"

This is that moment. Close your eyes and feel all of it.

I never should have said anything -
I should have kept my mouth shut, but I didn't.
The words were pulled out of me like an anchor hauled from choppy waters -
I had no choice when it came to if they were going to be revealed or not.

"Have you ever been suicidal?"
"Uh, yes."
"Are you currently suicidal?"
"Um. I don't really feel comfortable talking about it, to be honest."
"I'm going to make you an appointment with one of our crisis counselors. I think it would be a good idea..."

It's not funny at all to find yourself in an office with a person who genuinely believes they have the capabilities to fix you.
I know I want to die. I know nothing is going to change that.

I find it more saddening to sit across from a person who looks at you with false pity. They can't fix anyone and I know, deep down, they're waiting for me to leave.

I'm waiting for myself to leave, too. I should have just kept my mouth shut like I always do -
Never let it slip that you have the desire to be dead. What ensues afterwards is more humiliating than the moment you finally do **** yourself.

Father, don't go.
Mother, don't go.
Lover, don't go.

The moment he stopped looking at me as if I was something precious was not the moment my heart broke.

The moment she stopped waking me from sleep with a kiss to my forehead was not the moment my heart broke.

No, neither of these were the moment. I did break, yes, but I continued to move forward in increments.

When I gazed into the mirror and didn't recognize the face looking at back at me...

That was the moment.
I stroked a hand across the glass, touching the stranger's skin.
But that's all she was to me. A stranger.

Self pity is strange -
it makes you acknowledge that there's a separate part of you looking down on a lesser version of, well, you.

Can we be lesser in some parts, and greater in others?

When I look in the mirror and see a woman who has no courage to let any tears fall, a woman who fears what comes after the rain has left, a woman who is barely breathing -
does she exist?

When I look in the mirror and see a woman who has cried so long that her eyelids are swollen, a woman who gladly walks outside when the rain has stopped, a woman who is breathing so much that her heart is asking for mercy -
does she exist?

I know these two women have the same face, the same eyes, the same trembling hands, the same black ink that litters their skin.

But I'm concerned with what the mirror doesn't show. Are they the same on the inside?

Do their hearts beat in tandem?
Do they recognize each other?

I think one of them would place a palm over her chest and the other would allow a tear to fall.
That would be the only answer I need -
after all, they know more about me than I do.

For me, love is a desert.
It's a horizon that never ends and a scorching heat that burns my skin when I walk.
It's sore feet and a mouth that hasn't had a drop of water in years.

There is no oasis.

For me, love is dust that coats my body. Sand that irritates my eyes and gets in my hair. Love is an attempt to speak but no sound leaving my throat when I try.

Love is no one. Love is nowhere. Love is nothing.
Night never comes, an oasis never appears, a gust of wind never blows my tears away.
This is love.

There was no time for the heart.
The heart had to be buried somewhere safe and sound, somewhere dark and quiet and possibly unknown even to me...the heart needed to survive.

So it was put in the ground.
And now, it is banging on the door, clawing at its coffin, panicking and screaming to be let out.

It can't breathe. It can't breathe. It can't breathe.

Sometimes feelings don't hit you until you're ready.

In the midst of battle, we have to be strong. We cannot be vulnerable when we are being watched, being attacked, being torn apart.

You cannot shed tears when your enemy is standing in front of you, yelling words that might as well be bullets because they sting when they hit your body.

But you're strong. You're bulletproof.

You fight back with everything you have. You close your eyes, keep your mouth shut, tuck away all of the parts of you that are fragile.
You lock them inside of your chest, deep down, and throw away the key.

The enemy never leaves. They are always there.
Everyday is a battle - every moment is spent looking behind your shoulder, every second of every day is spent brandishing your weapon.

You cannot sleep. There is no such thing as being safe. You cannot do anything but survive.

One day, you will find yourself alone. You will continue to survive even if the enemy is not in front of you, no longer in sight.

We've been doing this for so long that it becomes a part of us.
Did you know things can become a part of you without you realizing it?

You should probably look down at yourself and see if you are wounded - if your body is littered with cuts and gunshot wounds and if your fingernails are caked with blood.

We don't realize how long we've been fighting. We'll **** anyone that tries to take our weapon, our last bit of primal defense. Every single person we see is the enemy and we are ready to fight them off.

We could never anticipate the feelings.

Feelings are snakes in the bushes, slithering their way across our bodies while we try to sleep. They bite and infect us with their poison until we wake up screaming, clawing at our chests to get the venom out.

Feelings are butterflies in the sun, coming closer to us and settling on our clothes. We try to step away and avoid them. They land in our hair and sit in the palms of our hands, content with a place to rest.

One day, we will find ourselves alone and it will be more terrifying than waiting for the enemy to appear.

We will bury our weapon in the dirt because the feeling that begins to bloom in our chest will be unbeatable. We will rest our head in our hands and bite our lip until it's bleeding. We will squeeze our eyes shut so the only thing we see is darkness.

When the feeling hits, there is no defending yourself.

*You have survived.

gentle calloused hand -
on my stomach,
rubbing and stroking.

gentle hot lips -
on the back of my neck,
your whiskers feel
foreign
yet
familiar.

i feel as if
i've looked into your eyes before
i've stroked your upper brow before
i've felt your hair between my fingertips before
and i've done all of this already,
yet it all feels so new.
it's very nice to meet you.

When I look at you,
something strange yet familiar washes over me.

I stand under the shower of emotion -
lathering it into my hair, scrubbing it roughly into my skin, allowing it to wash away every sin I've ever had.

I've had many, so I stand here for a long time.

But your voice, your voice calls to me and beckons me to come out.

Come out of there. Come to me. You're clean now.

I've never been clean, or at least I don't remember a time when I wasn't. But I trust you. Your eyes are gentle and there's no hint of malice in the corners of your mouth when I step into the room.

Come here.

I sit next to you on the bed and you pull me into your side, my head instinctively seeking the beat of your heart.
It mimics the single thought that throbs in some dark corner of my mind.

I trust you. I trust you. I trust you.

Trusting another heart has been my biggest sin. But this doesn't feel wrong.

Maybe I'm making a mistake,
but everything about this feels right.

i won't lie
and say we haven't been like two fish
swimming circles in our fish bowl

one night ago
on the eve of our anniversary
we sat in silence and ate sushi
and all i could think was -
how distant i felt from you
despite our legs touching underneath the table.

how can this be,
when we've been swimming circles
in our fish bowl?

it's been two months
since the betrayal
and
i won't lie
and say we haven't been like two fish
swimming in two different oceans
in two different parts of the world.

things are not the same like they used to be -
but i have some hope that
we will stop swimming circles
soon.

What do you do when the best part of you crumbles,
tears itself to shreds,
slams its palms on the table and says no more?

What do you do when you find yourself begging that piece of you to stay,
to please don't leave, I need you so I can breathe?

What do you do when that shard of you looks you in the eye,
presents you with a gaze that is nothing less of indifference,
and murmurs who are you?

You won't know what to say -
because the best part of me was always you,
and you have chosen to leave me over and over again.

kissing you burns me
fingers covered in ash
eyelashes singed with hot tears

i cannot love anymore
lest i lose myself
inside the fire

“you are likely wounded by your understanding of love”

wounded like a kicked puppy
licking your wounds -
sharp claws on a marble floor
wet nose smelling someone that’s no longer there
licking your wounds -
the floor is slippery
with blood
with your messy understanding of love
licking your wounds -
no one loves a hurt animal

there are two types of creatures in the world
those that inflict the hurt -
and those that lick their wounds

I'm tired of waiting -
waiting for the person who will take my hand when they see my downcast eyes and my bated breath.

I'm tired of waiting -
waiting for the person who will kiss me until I'm breathless, breathless with rebirth and filled with an ache for more.

I'm tired of waiting -
waiting for that person who will soothe the ache with three words.
I love you.

There's so much love that I have to give,
and the person I want to give it to most - isn't here.
I'm a patient person, I swear I am. But -
I don't want to spend my days and nights waiting anymore.

I want to write about the strength of your hand when you held me before you left,
I want to write about the way your voice broke when you tried to say you were sorry,
I want to write about the way you sounded when you cried.

There are so many things I want to write about -
but I'm afraid.

This desire of mine will hurt me more than anything else.
It will hurt me because to write about you is like wrapping my heart in barbed wire and taking it out of my chest because it doesn't belong there anymore.
This desire of mine may **** me. But, don't we all die in the end?

You already know that.
The pain will last for only a moment -
but I do have a reason for being afraid.

A moment can last a lifetime.
I've been living in the moment of your absence for my entire life.

When it rains, I see your tears. When I'm in a crowded room, all I hear is your voice. When I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, I can feel you holding onto my arm until it begins to hurt.

This is what I'm living in and this is what I want to write about.
After all, I will die if I decide to write and I will still die an even harsher death if I continue to live this way.

little girl with the cherry in her mouth,
i feel sorry for you and your big brown eyes.

little girl with the brown sandals
and hair so messy
it could be a wasp's nest -
i swallow my regret because i know,
i know you are enough.

little girl,
you with the skip in your step,
and skinned knees
and ugly birthmark on the back of your leg
and big - fat - ugly - nose
and hairy eyebrows,
you are braver than i am.

your soul has a piece of the sunrise
that i witnessed this morning
and it has the same sound
as the wind i hear howling outside my window at night.

little girl, what you are on the inside
will never die -
cherish it well,
it has more meaning than you could believe.

What you need,
is someone who will place a finger upon your heart's lips and silence the words that always tumble out.

Someone who says, shush. Don't you hear that?

What you need,
is someone who gently turns your head towards the source of the sound. The sound of waves breaking gently upon the shore.
The quiet sound of your heart rearranging itself.

What you need,
is someone who presses their palms across your eyes.

Someone who says, don't look. Just listen.
And you do listen. You hear more than the sound of waves crashing.

You hear someone's heartbeat beating faster than your own.
You hear someone's eyelashes fluttering closed against the back of your neck.
You hear someone's breathless words being brought to life against your lips.

I love you. Can't you see?
Yes, I see. Even in the darkness of my own heart, I see.

There's a large whirlpool in my dreams -
I sit at the top of a cliff and watch everything in the water
go around and around until it disappears.

What's in the water?

Well, there's only one thing. They're memories.
Memories of us in Paris, Rome, New Mexico, our bed.
Memories of you laughing so hard until you beg me to stop talking.
Memories of him dancing and singing until we all beg him to stop embarrassing us.
Memories of me in between you two, happy, as you both talk over me when you think I'm asleep.

You are asleep. You've been sleeping for a long time.

Have I? That can't be right. All of this didn't feel like a dream.

It was. All of it. I'm sorry you had to find out this way.

The whirlpool seems to be forever -
the memories are endless and all I can do is look down, watching them go away one by one.  

No, this isn't right at all. None of this was fake. It wasn't a dream.

Yes, it was. You need to accept it and let go.

No.
Standing up, I take a look around. I take a step closer to the edge.
Right there. I can see it towards the center.

There's a memory in the water, barely visible.

It's a child standing in a desert, crying out as the people she loves most in this world leave her. The car kicks up dust and the sun beats down on her when she chases after it, finally falling to the ground in defeat.

"Mommy! Daddy! It's me!"

That's the dream. That's what I should be going after.
It's been hiding among love. In between bed sheets and music and laughter.

You're making a mistake. It's just another memory.

No, it's not just another memory. Far from it. It's the truth and I'm going to follow it. I should have followed it a long time ago.

I take another step closer to the edge. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. In and out. Within and without.

When I open my eyes, I jump into the whirlpool.

The world will burn -
our eyes will close,
and our lips will forget each other's names.

Every lover's whisper has been lost to the wind -
every sweetheart's kiss has been long forgotten.
Isn't that the saddest thing you've ever heard?

Why should I tell you my name when you'll forget it?
Why should I whisper secrets to you when they'll become lost in all of the noise?
Why should I kiss you when even my touch isn't permanent?

i don't cry -
not in front of others
not at any time during the day.

but at night -
when everyone is dreaming
i can't sleep
because my own dreams are dead
and all that's left is my wet pillow.

i wish i could dream again.

we were sitting in my car
eating food that we shouldn’t have been eating
a comfortable silence existing between us
a single overhead light illuminating us

you looked over at me, gave a quiet smile
“you’ve got something on your face”
i shrugged and replied, “i know, i’m enjoying my food”

a delicate hand appeared, using a napkin to wipe the corner of my mouth
i chewed my food slowly, eyes blinking to the left in careful curiosity

“thanks” i replied, my stomach doing something other than digestion  
you took another bite
then looked over at me again

“can i kiss you?”
my eyes blinked to the left again
my cheeks turned a shy shade of pink
**** it, **** it, **** it

i turned towards you,
eager, smiling, wanting
“yes”

and you gave me the sweetest kiss -
there, in the silence of my car
out of nowhere, unprompted -
our food left, abandoned -
my stomach, feeling true butterflies for the first time -
an honest smile, never leaving my face.

You do not know pain until you tell someone you love them,
and they don't reply.

You do not know anger until someone tells you they love you,
and they have been gone forever.

You do not know love until you tell each other I love you,
and neither of you mean the same thing.