When I think of you, I think of time.
I think of the privilege of watching each and every line,
Deepen on your face.

How like rivers they’ll weave and dip,
Bending and stretching as the curve of your hip,
Stories told as we’ve grown old.

When I think of you, I think of flowers.
I think of all of the blessed hours I have spent in your presence,
What a gift!

I see fields teeming with lavender and rose,
Fireworking nature, in all of her prose,
Mother Earth describes you better than I even know.

When I think of you, I feel effervescent of limb,
Like I might float away, on a whim,
And land just outside your door.

When you’re near, my heart thrums,
My foolish body goes nearly numb,
And I’m not quite certain what my brain becomes.

When I think of you, I am elated,
No, more than that, though no word really conveys it,
Suffice it to say:
I am hopelessly, splendidly, dreadfully in love.

and here comes the rain
        
        it
        
drips
        down

the
       petals

leaving the damp contrails of its journey behind

       falling

ever
      so

slowly
        
almost achingly so
    
     it

still
     brings

life
    to

all
    it

touches

and despite the teary-eyed greenery it leaves behind

it makes the whole world

beautiful

Sometimes the mirror speaks to me.

Shh... listen closer

Can you hear?

Sometimes when I walk by, it speaks in tongues I once did not understand

But now I speak the language fluently.

‘Not good enough, not good enough.’

Sometimes when I speed past, it grabs me, shaking me urgently

I must know this information now, not later!

‘Look at yourself. Just look. What happened?’

And now it has me trained. I stop whenever I pass it, for I know it wishes to speak.

Sometimes I even talk back.

Sometimes I simply walk past.

Until it calls me again, declaring in its mocking tone:

’We need to have a talk.’

When you leave me, I think of small things.
How long the towel you used will stay on the rack.
How long my pillow will smell like you.
How long I’ll keep finding your hair in my shower.
How long my bedsheets will stay the way you made them.

When I leave you, I think of little things.
How long it will take my toothbrush to dry next to yours.
How long the silverware I used will sit in the drying rack.
How long the loaf of bread I ate from will remain in your cupboard.

When we leave each other, I think of tiny things.
How long our swapped sweatshirts will go without washing.
How long your fingerprints will stay on my counters.
How long my boba cup will stay in your recycling bin.
How long it’ll be until someone else is the passenger in my car.
How long until we see each other next.

I have made this decision.
I have made this
I have made
I have
I
Will this decision make me?
Will this decision make
Will this decision
Will this
Will

I am tired.
I am tired of being force-fed lullabies
By those who have forgotten how to sing them.
I feel as though I am immune
But what do I know?

I am tired.
I am tired of those who long to sleep being kept awake
By those who close their eyes easily every night.
They feel as thought they can carry on
But what do they know?

I am tired.
I am tired of wanting to protect those whose eyes are pink with exhaustion
But discovering that I, too, am wiping the sleep from my eyes.
They tell me I lie
But what do they know?

I am tired.
I am tired of saying that I will change,
That I will pull the blanket over those who have had it ripped from their grasp,
That I will sing the lullabies that have gone unsung for far too long,
That I will stay awake while others finally get the chance to sleep.
I tell myself I am wrong
But what do I know?

As the seasons change, I realize there’s no one I’d rather weather the weather with than you.
In six months, the sun has sung the green leaves of the poplar trees red with delight and the autumn rays are finally solid enough for me to hang my coat upon.
You are the first crisp air I breathed in the summer and the last warm blanket I’ll clutch in the fall.
In six months, the chime has tolled last year gone and this year new and the streets which were briefly ours are now everyone’s.
You are frozen smoothie bowls and salty New England air.
In sixth months, I have made my peace with twenty-one and, as she waits excitedly, you are crossing the threshold to meet her.
You are a fallen tree over a creek, perfect for two “friends”, and a soft-clanging bell delivering her soliloquy to the listening sea.
In sixth months, the Earth has travelled two hundred and ninety-two million miles to spend each morning and each night lain next to the sun while I have travelled two thousand and ninety-two miles to be lain next to you.
You are a boot-tappin’ Appalachian folk song and that first triumphant forkful of Trader Joe’s gluten-free pumpkin bread.
And as the seasons change, I realize there’s no one I’d rather be here with than you.

you trusted me,
and you collected the trinkets i gave you and made me an altar by your bedside
you trusted me,
and you broke pumpkin bread beneath the trees on a picnic blanket in april

i love you,
and i still did when i went to her house and slept in her room
i love you,
and i still did when i welcomed her into mine

you believed me,
and you gave me handmade gifts with love in every stitch
you believed me,
and you rubbed my back while i cried and held me when i was scared

i love you,
and i still did when i sent her letters and told her my dreams
i love you,
and i still did when i betrayed the very thing we'd created together.

It is 2am, and I am remembering how you used to hug me.

Like your whole life depended on holding me as tightly as you could.

Now, you apologize when your skin almost brushes mine.

A mistake.

This is the hardest part.

I’ve been asking myself the hard questions.
Where is the girl that I seek?
She’s right here, with me.
Am I bleeding her out with every tear?

I’ve been asking myself the hard questions.
What should I do?
I want to believe in a God now.
Is She with me, leading me forward?

I’ve been asking myself the hard questions.
Who am I?
I don’t feel alive most of the time.
What do I do when I’m dead?

I’ve been asking myself the hard questions.
Are you reading this?
You’ll probably see it soon.
Will it make you cry like I am?

I hope not.

I’ve been asking myself the hard questions.

I made a wish on 11:11.

The same one we’ve always made.

It will never change.