As I peer through distant memories,
One day sticks out in my mind--
The day my mom handed me a ******* bag
And said go make something pretty
Back then, that was all it took to be inspired.
I ran to my bedroom, grabbing scissors on the way,
And constructed an enormous bow
That I wore as a crown,
And for the rest of the day, I was Princess Julia.
Life was much easier back then.

But things are different now.
In the back of my closet, hidden in the darkness
Is another black plastic bag with my secrets inside.
My hopes and dreams, bitterness and fears,
Insecurity and all of my worthlessness
Are consumed by that black plastic bag.
Each night, I sit on my bed, and empty my brain.
I write it all down, and give it all up
To my black hole of emotions,
If only for the night.

As the sun is setting, coloring the sky,
as the waves are crashing, as the tides rise high,
as the wind is blowing through the grass and trees,
and all the worlds creations seem to be at ease,
the sound of my guitar and my feet on the sand,
breaking through the music of nature and its land,
seconds turn to hours as our notes combine,
natures wind and waves together go with mine.

The smell of old spice
and expensive merlot
follows you
everywhere you’ve been
every place you go.

Can’t connect to the time or place
when you became a mystery to me.
You were always busy
a plane and a train away.

I knit together things to ask you
begging you to be familiar again.
The paper full of questions
crumpled in my hand
on your return.
Now is never a good time...

When alone,
I crawled through your life.
All stuffed in boxes,
Polaroid’s and negatives.
My eyes like hummingbirds
anxious and darting.
Found photos of you
of your past, unknown to me.

Someone I did not recognise living
inside those snapshots.
Long sandy blonde hair, wild eyes
riding motorcycles
boiling with life.

So serious now
a difficult man, who has witnessed hard things.
Who sips rare scotch, with two ice cubes
and talks of politics
and good hosts.

Mystery man,
Who shares my my hazel green eyes
And the color of my hair
Yours now short and grey.

With tears of dew in my eyelashes
I wait for you at our home,
Alone.
To speak of your travels
and trivial matters.
My unanswered questions
painfully shovelled from my mind.

The leathered devils,
Who you treated as gods
Were unrelenting.
Gave us shots of whiskey out of rusted glasses.
They took you as they did i,
On their stainless chariots
To the darkest reaches
Places only they could find.
It's a wonder we ever came out alive.
Those deviled prospects pushed their words
Through us, and through us
Onto you.
You, never deserved their twisted fates.