Lavender words written on perfect lined paper
I wrote you a letter; I’ll save it for later
Lavender tongues speak colorful phrases
I wrote you a sonnet; it only took ages

Lavender words penned in purple glow’d ink
I read you a book, it did make me think
Lavender songs turned clandestine quickly
I read you a poem, you listened with me

Lavender skies turn purple at night
I looked up and saw them; the world was alight
Lavender clouds unleash torrential showers
But here in the woods we’ll hide out for hours

I saw You again last night.
You smiled at me so beautifully.

This stunning mirage of You,
It blessed me when I awoke.

I held your hand.
I remembered what it felt like.

You still exist with me in my mind.
I still love you so much it hurts.

I watched as the flakes fell from the sky
Suspended as we held our time fast
In the snowglobe

Frozen minutes made the air thick
Seconds pulled from the future dusted your hair
We watched through the windshield glass

Now I see as your lashes collect our time
Showing you what comes next
Perhaps that is why your eyes sparkle so

The wind stirs the clock
You turn to me as the glass begins to crack
But the snow continues to fall.

I wish I could knit you a blanket
Of all the words you deserve to hear
The words that should never enter your ears would roll off like rain on a rooftop.

Unfortunately your kindness is so pervasive that you’ve left your sunroof open.

I wish I could knit you a blanket
Of all the warmth you deserve to retain
The cold of the outside world would melt away like ice in the sunshine.

Unfortunately your heart is so forgiving that you forgot to turn down the A/C.

I wish I could knit you a blanket
Of all the happiness you deserve to receive
The cruelty of others would dissipate like breath in a mirror.

Unfortunately your mind is so compassionate that you have forgotten to take care of yourself.

I wish I could do for you what you do for so many. You take away the sting of harsh words, you weather the cold so that we may not have to, you face the cruelty so the cruel can feel comforted.

Your heart is gold, and I cannot knit you a blanket.

But perhaps we can share the warmth of a quilt just a little too big, and someday you can tell the sky the words you wish you hadn’t heard and let the trees drink in the cold air and give you back happiness, and sunshine, and a world just as it should be.

Until then, I’ll be waiting, with ears for listening and hands for warming and a heart for smiling.

With a quilt just a little too big for one.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I hear the drumbeat of inadequacy
Keeping time to the echoed songs of a forgotten world.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I feel the bass of a billion irregular heartbeats
Ticking to to the sound of a broken clock.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I see the angry smashing of waves on skin
Crashing with the clicks of a slowing metronome.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I smell the metallic scent of a broken machine
Grinding to a halt while the societal dance speeds up its pace.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I taste the bitterness of infinite gray nowheres
Drifting endlessly while the band plays on.

we sat.
a woman passed.
she said,
"you look like you're enjoying each other."
she added,
"or the day."
you said,
"we're enjoying the day."
I was enjoying you.

She is the sound of the rain
Soft tapping on the rooftops
An inexplicably calm feeling that you cannot stop

She floods your senses
Rushing gently while you can only float
Who are you, atop the ocean of her gaze?

She is the longing for sunlight
Overwhelmingly beautiful on the brow of a new day
An incredibly powerful feeling that breeds bliss

She alters your heartbeat
Shining intensely while you can only stare
What are you, worthy of being the object of her desire?

She is the most beautiful music
Sending your mind to faraway places
A fantastical feeling that moves your entire being

She quickens your breath
Crescendoing endlessly while you can only listen
Where are you, in the symphony of her being?

She somehow seems to be everything

Your favorite color
Your muse
Your captor
Your love

Everything

She is.

Dearest,

       You wrote me a letter once and the last line said

       "I choose you."

       The words were musical to me, but they felt more like they were
       meant for you. I think that is what made them special, that they
       were the words you needed to hear whispered in your ear and so
       your heart opened and whispered them into mine, because just
       maybe I needed them too.
  
       Well I've written some poems for other people before in days
       gone by and I've poured words meant for me into the open hearts
       of other people just to find that their jar was already full, or
       perhaps it wasn't opened in the first place.

       And now I know you're scared because what if their veins hadn't
       been full of predetermined sweet nothings given to them
       unnecessarily by others in this confusingly backwards way? What
       if their jars had been open and accepted my insecurities just to
       sing reassurances into my ear?

       I'll entertain Fate on my doorstep for long enough to tell her
       that I am glad, for if she had allowed this to happen I would
       have been unhappy. Fate crafted the individuals before you
       with a fatal flaw because she knew that I would have
       ultimately been disenchanted, downtrodden, disturbed. And so
       with a gleam in her eye she led me to you.

       And perhaps you'll theorize that this, then, was no choice. Fate
       did it for me, yes? My response is as follows:

       I chose you long before Fate threw her hat into the ring. Or
       perhaps she had thrown it into the ring and blew the wind just
       so on that first summer day when I saw your face, red-cheeked
       and blue eyed, brown-haired and loud-laughing. Even if she
       had, she still let me choose. For Fate only modifies the
       environment, but the heart is a complex, wild thing that is not
       to be tampered with. So when a million fireworks rattled my
       ribcage the second I saw you, Fate smiled. Her plan had
       worked. I did not decide that I would feel a small earthquake
       inside of my body every time I laid eyes on you. But my heart
       chose you. Unashamedly. Instantly.

       Perhaps it once chose the others, too. But upon seeing that they
       were not for me, it paused. It took a while, but it moved on.  
       Then there was you. It was afraid at first, but Fate took it by the
       hand and showed me that your jar was not empty. And then
       you showed me that it contained everything I needed to hear
       within it.  So I did not move on. I chose you. I choose you, still.
       Forever. Until your jar is full and Fate tells me that it is time to
       close the curtains, draw the shutters, lock the front doors and,
       someday, leave the house.

       But something tells me that I will begin to send postcards to my
       former address. And perhaps I'll stumble upon the threshold,
       years later, and find a jar.

       And I'll choose you.

Enamored.

Oh, but what does it mean?

I am enamored with you.

In which way?

Enamored.

E-N-A-M-O-R-E-D.

Verb; be filled with a feeling of love for.

Or

Have a liking or admiration for.

You are enamored with me.

In which way?

I know that I am enamored with you.

And I know in which way, too.

But this word,

This word that so easily slipped off my tongue,

Now catches in my throat.

We are enamored with each other.

But in which way?

Red light cast on the side of a hotel
City colors bleed together
Crimson stoplights wail until their throats burn

Red light covers my hands when I write
Cars slice through the summer night
Rouge flushes her cheeks so that she looks alive

Red light shows hollows under your eyes
Chitchat cuts through urban soundscapes
Veins of traffic light up the dark with a golden pulse

Red light reveals the emptied sidewalk
Breaks pierce the air in shared cacophony
The heartbeat of the city spills into a cold and cadaverous evening.

I don’t know what home is

I smell it in the smoke of a leaf pile
I see it in the mist that envelops mountains
I hear it in the soft patting of rain on roofs
I feel it in the sun that kisses skin
I taste it in the swirling dust of roundpens
Most often.  

But once

I smelled it in the perfume of barbecue
I saw it in the land that rolled on forever
I heard it in the crunch of snow underfoot
I felt it in the sting of rugs on knees
I tasted it in the crunch of donut holes

And sometimes

I’ll smell it in the must of old homes
I’ll see it in the color of muraled walls
I’ll hear it in the music played far too loud
I’ll feel it in the love of parts unknown
I’ll taste it in smiles given and received

I don’t know what home is

But somehow I always find it.

Rest now,
For the darkness is coming
But perhaps it is not dark at all
You will discover it soon

It is frightening,
Littered with notes as yet unheard
Perhaps dissonant in key
You will discover it soon

Rest now,
For with the darkness
Comes a sunrise
You will discover it soon

It is beautiful,
Because it is the next step
Maybe you will enter into morning's golden light
You will discover it soon

Rest now,
For the darkness is not known
But the unknown is not evil
You will discover it soon

It is new,
This curiosity we all must meet
It is merely another chapter to be read
You will discover it soon

Rest now,
For though I cannot go with you
I will be here knowing
You will discover it soon

Rest now,
I will meet you on the yellow hillside
Past the cloak of darkness
You will discover it soon

Rest now,
I will wish you well before you go
Perhaps it won't be as we dream it
You will discover it soon

Rest now,
For I have known you for a time
You must do this alone
But I am here

I am here

I am here

And you will discover it soon.

Dear Coshocton, Ohio-

           I remember how warm you seemed. Not in the traditional sense of the word, but in a way that evoked feelings of safety, comfort, and care. In a time before I knew the true meaning of red and blue, did not realize the depth of ideological division, and assumed that nothing existed beyond the eggshell walls of our town, you taught me the meaning of community. Perhaps you were a community to which I never fully belonged, or maybe I just never earned my place, but you are also a world from which I know I will never be apart.

          Coshocton, you showed me the strength of caring for everyone, young and old. Your chipped-paint homes and run-down factories and aged population all represent a better time but possess the undying hope that this better time was only a state of mind which you never left behind.

          I remember the trips to the library, where swarms of sticky-fingered children and their families listened to story time as I clambered to make conversation with people nine times my age, stumbling over my words and speaking with the staggering and lilting speech of one who has not yet learned what not to say and when not to say it.

         Coshocton, you gave me the first memories I ever had, laughing with friends and sledding down hills, wandering around a house much too big for me, wonderfully satisfied with what life had provided and wishing for nothing more than to continue being happy.

          I know I will always be indebted to you, and for that I apologize, for I will never return what you offered. But you are so much more than what I owe you or what you granted me. You are a community, a city, a history, a people, a tiny dot on a map of cornfields and flatlands and run-down highways, a little theater in a dilapidated strip mall, an annual fair in the midst of an ailing community, a possibility for revitalization at the hands of your now-grown youths, a piece of flypaper in a sea of mousetraps, you were a gift.

         You are a gift.

         Thanks for everything.

My first poem did not come to me
Shrouded in darkness
Not shuttered with wisdom
Nor carved with sharpness.

It walked with others
Hazily defined
It breathed my sorrows
It glimpsed my mind.

My first poem did not leap
Across the abyss
‘Stead wand’ring through meadows
Tracing Earth’s kiss.

It read all old memories
Built a new bridge
It called to the past
It raced through the mist.

My first poem was imperfect
Shapeless in ruin
Thin bone of poems proper
But extremely human.

To whomever loves her next-

Make sure you remember to leave out some Arizona tea.

Take her on downtown dates and ask her just why she loves the city lights so much.

Picnic under the stars and remind her that the abyss isn’t as lonely as it seems.

Listen to music far too loud and have dance parties with her when she’s sad.

Remember that she likes to go on walks when she’s upset but she also likes when you run your fingers through her hair.

Offer her all of your shirts; she’ll take each one and wear it to think of you... or because it’s cute.

Always bear in mind that her heart is far more delicate than she makes it seem and you should care for it well.

Know that to you, she’ll speak soft words and laugh loudly and you must cherish every phrase as gospel for she is everything.

Buy her mochi every now and again, preferably red velvet or blood orange and make sure you don’t forget how much she loves when you rub her back.

Ask her if she’s alright often, for she hides her pain behind a veil of bubbly effervescence that seems impermeable until you remember her delicate heart.

Hold her at every chance, and make sure not to knot her hair when you play with it because she won’t let you play with her hair if you tangle it.

Cause her to smile constantly, for it is like the sun and the moon and the stars and the cosmos and all of your favorite things combined into one glorious human being who is happy because of you.

And don’t forget the Arizona tea.

I love her.

Sometimes, I sit with my love for her. We chat awhile. I ask why it has come, why it is so powerful, why it never leaves. It tells me that it has been waiting for her for a long time.

Sometimes, this love breaks down the front door and enters without asking. On occasion it finds me with my head in my hands, weeping or worrying or wondering. Other times I am joyous and allow the waves of excitement this visitor brings to wash over me, erasing all other thoughts. When the love does this, it usually takes the additional liberty of freeing the butterflies in my chest. It is worth noting that I never ask it to do this.

Sometimes, the love is silent. Perhaps it is asleep upstairs, or dozing softly on the couch where I am reminded of it only in its gentle snores and even breaths. There are times when its slumber is deeper than others, when I am upset or angry and want to wake it up and demand its attention but find that it has been locked in its room and somehow I have the key in my pocket.

Always, the love is present. It has made a home within me and it has changed around the decorations so much that I don’t even remember what some parts used to look like. It has hung artwork that I don’t think I’ll ever take down, even if it decides to leave. I like the renovations, though.

Oftentimes, my love opens windows that were once shut. The air smells a little sweeter. The sun shines a little brighter. Every time it comes home, I ask it to tell her to stay. I hope it has made a home within her as well. And maybe, someday, its two homes will be one.

I love her.

As I kiss goodbye
The last days of 17
I feel my youth leaving me
This sorrow is the most I’ve borne
For growing older has never left me forlorn!

As I wave goodbye
My teenaged youth
And into adulthood begin to troop
I realize that I’ve much to learn
Much to live for, much to earn!

As I hug farewell
My dependencies
I relinquish my crown as Dancing Queen
I feel I’ve squandered this prime year
I hope I’m not too old for immaturity, I fear!

As I whisper farewell
To this white winter’s hymn
Where my cup was nearly filled to the brim
Could I look back with wisdom of a sage
I would meditate on more lessons from this age!

As I say goodbye
To the oldest I’ve been
And the youngest I’ll be with my dreams but a whim
I relish all I did as this number
Yet I’ve heard that where adults lie, dreams aren’t left as mere wonders.

If I had an orchard, I’d read beneath trees
If I had virtue, I’d give it where I pleased
If I had a timer, I’d spend my days wisely
If I had more kindness, I’d live less blithely
If I had a garden, I’d sow it with seeds
If I had a forest, I’d write in the breeze
If I had peace, I’d give it freely
If I had patience, I’d make living easy
If I had a brush, I’d paint the world over
If I had drive, I’d fix the ills we’d discover
If I had empathy, I’d nurture with feeling
If I had confidence, I’d shatter the ceiling
If I had a novel, I’d write the right answers
If I had grace, I’d become a dancer

Perhaps I have all of this, and do not realize
Perhaps it’s all within me, lying in disguise.
I know I have gardens and forests and trees
I know I can dance and write with the breeze
So maybe I will
But, perchance I won’t

I’m afraid I will fall.

I don’t have the gall.

Well, as long as I know that when I look inside

I have it all.

Feelings
They come trickling down
Washing like waterfalls wonderfully whispering white lies in your ear
“Why don’t you listen?”
Enticing,
“Come closer, dear.”

Feelings
They come angrily,
Stomping like soldiers soullessly
hurling daggers at your heart
Waiting for it to start
Or or maybe to stop
Beating

Feelings
They envelop you in their embrace
Eagerly reaching like they need attention
or they will die
Yelling
Until everything else
Becomes a lie

Feelings
They are why we live
Holding fast to us like they will never let go
We know they won’t
For fear of leaving us lost, wonting
In a world without beauty

In a world without

Feeling

Her hands are winter.
Frosted fingers interlaced above frozen windowsills staring out into the great unknown and that big blank canvas of snow that is our future, us, we.

Her eyes are spring.
Bright blue alight with life and happiness and rebirth, a freckle on the side like a cloud in the clear blue sky, like the first blossoms on the branches of the weeping cherry trees, arms stretching into forever and ever, amen.

Her laugh is summer.
The peals of schoolbells rung for the last time, the joy of escape and endless sunshine and golden days filled with potential, rolling through hills that continue on and on, never ending like the constant whispers of “I love you most.”

Her body is autumn.
Beautiful like the palette of gold, orange, and red leaves and the sunspots shining on the cool ground and the crisp scent of a new season turning itself over into something magical, cooking and baking and cinnamon and wondering when exactly our tomorrow will begin.

She is a nature girl.
The seasons spread over her body like tattoos, the warmth of the sun is enclosed in her soul and sometimes she protects herself with the ice of winter but when you learn to peel back the snow’s frosty bite you discover you have stepped out into the crisp autumn air and once again she is here, the sun of her love warming your back and your upturned face looking into hers although it’s bright but you don’t have to squint because it isn’t harsh but comforting, oh so comforting because she is love and you are love and suddenly once again it’s summer.

I'm still in love with you.
And that's okay.
I think about your hands
How they touch the light of day.

I'm still in love with you.
It hurts a bit.
I imagine your smile
What might be causing it.

I'm still in love with you.
I will be fine.
Yet I cannot help but think
What if you were still mine?

I am powerful.
For I have the mountains in my veins
Older than the trees
Protecting me from all that comes my way.

I am beautiful.
For I have the air in my lungs
Higher than the sky
Clearing away all that clouds my mind.

I am wise.
For I have the stories in my mind
Louder than the opposition
Painting a picture of all that will guide me.

I am driven.
For I have the warriors in my footsteps
Faster than the rivers
Pushing me to keep moving forward.

I am a North Carolina girl.
For I have traditions in my heart
Love in my soul
And a fire in my eyes

I am a North Carolina girl.

I would like to preserve you in a glass jar.
I would like to preserve you in a glass
I would like to preserve you in a
I would like to preserve you in
I would like to preserve you in the sunlight.
I would like to preserve you
I would like to preserve
I would like to
I would like to end this finally.
I would like
I would
I would have done anything.

The difference between

Love

and

Infatuation

Is that love is an impossibly bright sky, but it is also the night sky

It is a stormy day, but it is also a sunlit afternoon,

It comes in flavors that we have not yet tasted,

It completes you in its presence and in its absence it is hollow,

Infatuation is the bright blue in the sky, but it is also the darkness of night,

It is the storm itself, and the sun burning above,

Its flavors seem sweet at first but quickly become sour,

It is a perpetual feeling of never enough,

It does not complete you,

But we all must feel it, for love and infatuation are often confused,

But I assure you,

The mask infatuation wears is not love.

What is happiness?

It’s cutting the brownies right as they come out of the oven
and burning your tongue on them because you ate them too soon

but it’s worth it.

It’s the leathery scent of the old saddle you used to have
dusted with memories that make your eyes wet so you wait to blow the dust off

and it’s worth it.

It’s the puffy red wrists in winter
after your gloves came off and you didn’t put them back on because they were too cumbersome

but it’s worth it.

It’s the hike that made you fall and skin your knee
but you kept walking because it was so beautiful

and it’s worth it.

It’s saying ‘I love you’ for the first time and not even caring if they say it back because you mean it with all of your heart and you’re still scared

but it’s worth it.

It’s riding a bike own your own finally even though everyone else has known
for years and you’re a little behind and ashamed to admit it

and it’s worth it.

It’s friends and laughter and adventures
and telling your deepest secrets
and hearing theirs and hoping to heavens they won’t tell

but it’s worth it.

Happiness is many things.

and it’s worth it.

With you, I want to be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.
I will touch you carefully,
I will leave you if you ask.

With you, I will be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.

I will hold your hands delicately,
I will speak softly and listen well.

With you, I hope to be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.

I will protect your heart,
I will hold your hopes and your sorrow.

With you, I know I’ll be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.

I will learn your story by heart,
I will keep it safe inside.

With you, I swear I’ll be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.

It is amazing
How real reality feels
Until something shatters it

I was looking through the stained glass window
When I bumped it with my hand
Fractures spiderwebbed across its surface
Yet I continued to gaze into the great beyond
I’d seal the cracks another day

It is amazing how real reality feels
Until something shatters it

I leaned up against the stained glass window
I hoped it would support my weight
It did, but the splinters grew
Yet I continued to lean inches from the great beyond
I’d fix the what was broken another day

It is amazing how real reality feels until
Something shatters it

I gazed out, far past the stained glass window
I was yearning for the great beyond
But then a glimmer caught my eye
The window
It was so intricate, so colorful, so close

I reached out to touch it

It is amazing how real reality feels until something
Shatters it

I reached out to touch the stained glass window
And the lacework I’d get around to fixing someday
Grew into fractures, valleys, impasses
Snaking across the face of the great beyond

I finally touched the stained glass window

It shattered.

And the great beyond was no longer so bright as I had hoped.

I had a dream you messaged me
I heard my phone vibrate in the night
Blinked through dusted eyes and saw

Miss you

A small garden bloomed somewhere nearby
The harsh blue sunlight hit my face
And a warm smile was there

Miss you

I grinned because I wanted to say it
But I couldn’t, not first at least
I was afraid you were giving up

Miss you

Written in your effortless slang
The most casual of phrases, stripped of its vulnerability
Like you, but somehow still intimate

Miss you

A reassurance, a calming tide
After the tsunami
A gently rocking wave

Miss you

When I awoke, the dust in my eyes clouded my vision
I could not see, for the sun was too bright
And the warmth on my face was replaced by numbness

I miss you

I did not remember the dream until later in the day
Perhaps it was for the best
My muddled morning mind knew I could not have borne the truth

I miss you

And because you are silent
So am I, but I know I will give in
I just hope you will first

Because I miss you.

What do I see when I look in the mirror?

I am made of measurements.

I measure the space between my thighs,
The width of my arms,
The time since I have last worn my glasses.

I measure my achievements,
The weight of my successes,
The heaviness of my failures.

I measure the sharpness of my jaw,
The veins on my hands
The blue in my eyes.

I measure my intellect,
The depth of my vocabulary,
The numbers on my report card.

I measure humanity,
The accomplishments of others,
The good and evil of society.

I measure myself,
My looks,
My mind,
My intentions,
My actions,
My triumphs,
My shortcomings,
My reputation,
My future,
My past,
Me.

hey!

i dont know what im doing actually
im 17
im stressed sometimes but a lot of things make me happy
do i have to know what i want to do already?

im excited for the future
but it also scares me a lot
isnt it crazy how people are just a bunch of contradictions?

isnt that word weird?
a contradiction shouldnt work
so if people work and they are full of contradictions
are they really contradictions?

or do the people really work?
as people, i mean
i dont know

it can be pretty wild man
theres a lot i dont know
sometimes i worry
do i know less than everybody around me?

i know more in some areas
but probably in fewer areas than they do
im so impressed at the ability of humanity to know so much

but we also dont know that much
we make a lot of mistakes
i make a lot of mistakes
so maybe

maybe humanity is just 17

maybe humanity has as many questions as i do.

Your body is the soft light filtering through green leaves,
The sunrise over the water that reflects into infinity and infinity and infinity.

Your eyes are the gentle clouds floating by on a blue day,
A bygone, lilting breeze where cares are carried carefully away.

Your voice is the sweet birdsong on a warm summer's morning,
The deep church bell that rings so divine that people begin to believe it is the sound of God himself.

While there is no shortage of syntax that I can use to suggest the sweet serenity which serendipitously serenades all souls you surround,

When I see you it is as though I have found myself idle in an idyllic meadow, ignorantly inarticulate in the face of inescapable, unimaginable splendor.

The brushstroke curve of your lips and your neck and your hips and your hands is my favorite painting in the world's museum.

You are so much, you are waking up from a nightmare only to remember you are safe and warm in your bed, you are the rushed, breathless heartbeats after a first kiss, you are July on film, you are the first sip of a perfectly **** strawberry lemonade from the Cheesecake Factory.

But most of all, your body is the soft light filtering through green leaves,
The sunrise over the water that reflects into infinity and infinity and infinity.

I do not understand
How someone can rob me of air without hesitation
Effortlessly

But here you are
Perpetually taking each breath
Just as I catch it

I do not understand
How someone can transfix me without trying
Easily

But here you are
Constantly hypnotizing me
Before I can break your spell

I do not understand
How someone can captivate me without realizing
Masterfully

But here you are
Forever trapping me in your gaze
Before I can escape

I do not understand
How someone can tell me that I do all of this to them
Wildly

When that someone is you.

she is truly indescribable
when i tell you there is a universe which she inhabits, solely--with a few pine trees and visited, on occasion, by the raspberries of reddened cheeks--would you understand?
of course not, for everyone has someone who occupies their own universe.
if i told you she was the best of them all, would you believe me?
that her universe has the most beautiful vistas, the clearest skies, rolling hills stretching to infinity and unfathomable sunsets
would you agree with this fact?
perhaps, if you knew her.
to know her is to know of what i speak. at least, you'd be able to peek through the telescope and gather some version of her temporary eternity.
she gets stuck in my throat, sometimes.
all lovers say that their breath is taken, but how might you know what i mean when i say that sometimes i cannot breathe yet my lungs continue to function?
to glimpse her universe is to plunge into the darkness fully, with such uncertainty that you are certain to find a garden bursting with flowers, the most beautiful flowers. you are certain to find untamed happiness, wildly stunning serenity, and two or so campers in maine looking on in awe.
her universe is heart-stoppingly astonishing, incomprehensibly astounding, unendingly, stupendously amazing.
i never want to leave.

My friend-

This is for you

For you who walks in the valley of uncertainty
Tracing the footsteps of a thousand before you
Lighting the way for a million behind you

You will know this path well
Perhaps you will memorize the fissures in the walls
They might line up with your own

I will call to you from afar
But this journey is meant to be alone
And that is okay

It is often dark
But on the best days the cracks fill with light
They illuminate the path and you can see

The tunnel has an ending
Another one waits beyond it
But you will soon know that they are your tunnels

The path is winding and unceasing
But the stretches of light grow ever larger
And you will have time to stop and smell the flowers

It will be okay
For the path is long and dark and tiresome
But it ends and another begins and it ends too

A time will come when you stop seeing the tunnels
And only see

The path.