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.

Tonight, I'm falling in love with myself.
I will study her hands so closely,
I will marvel at each line.

Tonight, I'm falling in love with myself.
I will hug her body so tightly,
I will be so glad she's mine.

Tonight, I'm falling in love with myself.
I will love the way her hair falls,
I will cherish all her time.

Tonight, I'm falling in love with myself.
I will want her sense of humor,
I will smile at how she's kind.

Tonight, I'm falling in love with myself.

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.

Nineteen revels at nineteen!
First, how can I be so old?
Second, how can I be so young?
And how can I possibly navigate the world?
Fourth, what if my inside doesn't match my outside?
Fifth, how do I ask for wisdom?
Sixth, not a question, but an enunciation: I am beautiful!
But what if I'm not beautiful?
Eighth, remember when I was eight?
Ninth, I'm not sure I do. But maybe I do.
Tenth, the next decade is coming for me soon!
Eleventh, I rather dread it.
And how do I handle loss?
Thirteenth, is thirteen unlucky?
Fourteenth, it doesn't seem so.
Fifteenth, I am the same distance from fifteen as I am from twenty-three.
Sixteenth, I've only been driving for three years.
Seventeenth, I've only been driving for three years?
But I feel so capable!
Nineteenth subsection a. the world is so large, so unknowable, and that is scary.
Nineteenth subsection b. I will revel in it.

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 feel nothing, but in the best way.

the absence of artificial asinine archaic and endlessly echoing internal emotions.

all is well here, all is well here.

i feel nothing; no worry.

this peaceful presence propagating powerful pleasantries within a quiet mind.

all is well here, all is well here.

i feel nothing; no longing.

the first fantastical hiatus from forceful fateful phantoms gripping at the heart.

i feel nothing; no anger.

this incredible introspective break with inimical irate iterations intruding upon this space.

all is well here, all is well here.

i feel nothing, but in the best way.

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.

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

O Lord, my God
Would you consecrate my lungs such that the air I breathe be holy?
O Lord, my Savior
May each shuddering breath be yours; Divine.

O Lord, my God
Would you consecrate my throat such that the water I drink be wine?
O Lord, my Protector
May each desperate swallow be yours; Heaven.

O Lord, my God
Would you consecrate my palms such that the ones I touch be angels?
O Lord, my Guide
May each careful stroke be yours; Blessed.

O Lord, my God
Would you consecrate my soul such that my deeds be pure?
O Lord, my Shepherd
May each deliberate act be yours; Transcendent.

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.

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.

do you remember when i asked if i could kiss you?
it felt like the time i stood on that rocky ledge and couldn’t jump into the water below because it seemed so high.

do you remember when i told you i like you?
it felt like the first time i rode that roller coaster and made it over the biggest hill (without throwing up, too!)

do you remember when i asked you to lunch?
it felt like the time i took a deep breath and got in that rickety old plane just to jump out of it and soar through the clouds.

do you remember?

i do.

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.

im scared when im with(out) you
im so scared
i love you.

thats all i even know anymore.

i love you.

does this even make sense?
do i even make sense?

i love you!

but how can something so beautiful last?
how can something so lovely be perpetuated forever into infinity and beyond?

forever and ever amen.

i believe the universe is fundamentally good.
i believe you are, too.
i believe this is.

but im so scared.
ive never loved anyone like this
im scared when im with(out) you.
i love you.

will you always love me?
if you dont, that's ok.
i mean it's not but it is because you'll be ok and i will too someday but i love you now and i want to love you forever and you can never ever know how i feel because it's like im stuck watching a never ending film reel of our happiest moments and youre just a movie, just a story for me to tell other people about forever and ever amen and i hope it will never end.

i love you.

im scared.

i love 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.

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.

The happiness falls like rain
Only to drip through my outstretched fingers
Turning to the inevitable, inimical, immutable mud of you.

I dredge through this monotony so often that it becomes routine
The muck which traps me so wholly feels natural
It flows like a river.

And then I remember you and I am frozen
The boulders which obstruct my path double in size
And I slip beneath your filth.

somewhere in the past, I am looking on You for the first time.
You make me smile, and we walk for far too long.

somewhere in the past, my palms are sweaty for the first time.
Yours are too, and we laugh about it.

somewhere in the past, I am hearing You laugh for the first time.
You are so beautiful when you laugh, and it makes me happy.

somewhere in the past, You are holding me for the first time.
You are so comforting, and every time we're together, I don't let go.

somewhere in the past, we are falling in love for the first time.
You are everything, everything, everything, and I am obsessed.

somewhere in the past, we are watching our show entwined.
You are forever and ever and ever, and I am content.

somewhere in the past, we are planning our future.
You are in a wedding dress in Washington and Oregon and Colorado and I am so lucky.

somewhere in the past, we are still together.

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?

do you remember the music?
cavernous halls swallowing us whole
i watched as the dancers climbed to the heights
the peaks, the sorrows of man which dwelt among us.

do you remember the feeling?
sonorous sensations surrounding us completely
i heard as the echoing sentiments sang so sweetly
the swells, the careful connections forged between us.

do you remember the music?
it is raging, the river, it is rising and we are together
we are together, we cannot be separated and here we are
sharing this moment sharing this time feverishly preparing
crescendoing into glorious, exalting infinity!

and now it is over.

but do you remember the music?

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.

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.

This is a contract!!
Why won’t you give me my end of the bargain?
Make me feel loved, make me feel beautiful.
To you, what am I but a distraction from your stress?

This is a contract!!
Why did you even sign it?
Give me your time, give me your concern.
To you, what am I but a friend?

This is a contract!!
Why won’t you fulfill it?
Offer me your care, offer me your words.
To me, you are wonderful.

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?

Hello, good boy.

I remember how you always listened.
You held my secrets close.
I told you the twisted words that rolled off my tongue,
And you never flinched.

I remember how you always heard.
You were a diligent friend.
I taught you about the planets, the Earth, the stars,
And you never left.

I remember how you took your time.
You never were too quick.
I hurried you sometimes, restlessly waiting,
And you were always patient.

I remember how you showed your power.
You knew when to choose your battles.
I smiled at you, the second-in-command,
And you ruled kindly.

I remember how your wise soul showed,
Your eyes never hid it.
I was always transfixed, trying to find out who you’d been,
And you told me you were simply... here.

I remember how I read to you.
You always seemed embarassed,
I spoke the word of fables gone, your herd gathered round to hear,
And you casually stood apart.

I remember how I failed you.
You unceasingly forgave me.
I messed things up, I was angry with you,
And you always showed me it was okay.

I remember how I cried to you,
You always let me do it.
I did not succeed, I learned atrocities,
And you brought me endless comfort.

I remember how we struggled together,
You always gave 110%.
I didn’t always believe it; I gave less myself,
And you never stopped trying.

I remember how we were imperfect,
We both failed at times.
I lost confidence, you misstepped,
And we always worked past it.

I remember how my memory fades,
I still cannot express you.
I try to grasp what little I have,
But you transcend words.

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.

Here I sit, trapped in a tunnel

Or maybe I am walking, prodded unkindly by the hands of those behind me,

Pulled forward by the wrists of those who came before,

Stuck in a game of tug-of-war where I hope to resist but I can only give in,

I fear that I will never win,

And the end of this tunnel is so far away,

I do not know if I can make it another day.

So here I sit, trapped in my tunnel.

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.

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.

I have built unto you an empire,
Do not leave, I entreat;
Stay here for still longer.

These halls which I have made,
Dwell in them, I beg;
Remain here for some while.

I have built unto you a castle,
Do not depart; I urge;
Live here for such time.

These turrets which I have drawn,
Linger upon them, I beseech;
Rest here for this spell.

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.’

all it seems i can do
is focus on what wasn't
i didn't get to hold your hand or kiss you.

i wanted to watch you ski and hike the flatirons.
i wanted to meet your friends and family.
i wanted to last, at least for a little while.

all it seems i could do
was focus on what wasn't
i didn't get to take you out or touch your face.

i wanted to bring you to my mountains and tease you about yours.
i wanted to introduce you to my friends and family.
i wanted to last, at least for a little while.

all it seems i can do
is focus on what wasn't
i didn't get to tell you i love you or...

i didn't get to.

i just didn't get to.

When I grow old, I shall put seven cents in my pocket and give it to strangers.

I shall embark upon a journey and peddle soft, warm words that fill empty bellies and soothe tattered psyches.

I shall set up a travelling stand where the only currency we accept is memories, used and reused and sold bottled up fresh in old cans of soda.

I shall become known and unknown, even unknowable as I weave my way through threadbare mountains and ribboning streams and sing gentle songs with whatever words you’d like to hear.

I shall collect river rocks, smoothed with time and ancient expressions which I will attempt, futilely, to divine.

I shall carry all of my compliments in the stitches of my shawl and discard the insults on the ground, crumpled bits of refuse decaying in my wake, then pull my garment ever tighter such that the cruel litter may not reach me at all.

When I grow old, I shall find seven cents in my pocket given to me by a stranger.

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.

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.