21 years of waking up 
with the bed half
empty.
The nightmare that haunts me
as I lie there, awake,
Is going through 20 more.

More than death
More than failure
More than large bodies of water
I fear being alone.

I won't let the love
that flows through my veins
go untapped. Unused.
I've already let
too much potential
go to waste.

'I mean, seriously,
what kind of man
scores a 31 on his ACT
and only goes on to do
a single year at community college?'

The same kind of man
who's worries have
teetered on the edges of love
rather than within the confines
of success.
The kind of man
who'd rather be writing
stories to the beat
of other peoples lives
than allow the tales
of his own journey
to grow dull with time.
The kind of man
who measures life
in the amount of friends
and loved ones a person
accumulates
rather than with stacks
of green paper.

Someday I'll meet a women
who can see the world as I do.
We will be happy
in our tiny, cute 
twin cities cottage.
I'll walk down the street
to grab the paper and some coffee,
she'll watch the boys
while trying to make her deadline.
We'll be happy
in our own chaotic,
free-spirited,
open-minded kind of way.
Physical possessions
poison the soul.
Money has no value here.