she leaned against the back of her car, not sure what else to say.
she pretended this was the end to an old movie, the credits had already started to roll and this was the scene where the boy makes up for all the lost words he never got to say.
it was too late for a happy ending though,
for the both of them.
the sun was setting just below the horizon, creating an orange painting in the sky.
he stood a few feet away, the light reflecting off his eyes.
hands buried in his pockets,
he tried to right the wrongs he had made in the past.
she let him speak
because it seemed more like he was trying to convince himself that he’d changed.
“i’m a better person now,” he said, though it came off as a question.
and she wondered,
if after all of this,
she could say the same.

there is a story here.
i don't know if i can call it Love,
the two of us discovered Her a long time ago.
now, capsized boats
washed up on the shore
unsure what to do with all the baggage we still carry
from the heart we previously sought refuge in.
we walk close to the ocean
leaving footprints in the sand
and watching them disappear with every wave.
you reach out your hand for me
and i hold it,
desperate for something to anchor me to the Earth.
i can feel it moving beneath me,
and i’m not ready.
you press a kiss into the back of my palm.
a tear falls down your cheek.
we help one another patch the holes in our boats
with shared laughter and endless dreaming.
you let me sleep on your chest at night,
as we watch the sun fall behind the horizon.
i don’t know if i can call it Love,
but i’m starting to remember why we floated so far from the shore
in the first place.
i’m starting to remember what it means to feel comfortable in silence,
to listen to someone’s heartbeat
and be reminded that there is a life outside your own
that just wants to be held for a little while longer.
i press a kiss into your forehead
and let a laugh escape
as my eyes fill with tears.
you’re looking at me
with eyes so deep
a soul so loud.
there is a story here,
on this shipwreck island
of a boy and a girl
who aren't sure what to call this,
who have been hurt by Love before
and are afraid to drown again.
but still,
they float messages in old glass bottles across the sea
speak through tin can telephones
send paper airplanes over the distance between them
hoping that one day they will meet again
with something more to offer
than an unfinished story.

He loves me.
she sat at her kitchen table, staring at the fresh bouquet.
her arms folded, she fumbled with the fallen petals.
He loves me not.
she let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair.
the window was open, letting in a crisp breeze that made her feel nostalgic.
she watched the curtains dance,
imagining that they were arms
reaching out to hold her.
He loves me.
she wondered if he was thinking about her,
as she sipped her coffee,
which was far more cream and sugar than anything else.
He loves me not.
“this is silly,”
she thought to herself, tossing the final petal over her shoulder.
and yet,
she couldn’t help but peek behind her to watch it float to the ground.
He loves me.
she rested her arms on the windowsill, watching the busy town below her.
she listened for the sounds of life starting again.
the babies in their strollers, crying.
the bikes racing against the cobblestone pavement.
she watched people hug, kissing each cheek.
starting over.
He loves me not.
she knew in her heart this was true,
but she still waited
for the last petal to fall,
she watched it float to the ground
so soft, yet so sudden.

He loves me not,
and that’s okay.

she was floating in space
looking at the Earth
through the fogged lens of a dream.
but she was not asleep
her heart was so empty it felt full.
she was tired of the opposites.
tired of of the broken roads.
she drifted in space
asking every star
if they could guide her home.
and the stars responded,
“don’t you remember?
you were born of stardust.
this is your home.”

i fought so long. for something that was no longer right for me.
i held on so tightly to a rope that was splitting,
unwinding itself between my fingers, scraping my skin as it grew thinner.
i closed my eyes when the bombs went off.
i held my breath when the waves got too high.
i kicked and screamed my way through a war.
and when the smoke cleared,
i was left with bruises and burn marks.
i was left with a pain in my chest from forgetting how to breathe.
i was left with water in my lungs from trying to stay above water.
i was left to pick up the pieces.
and sometimes i find lost parts of you,
pieces you’ve already forgotten you once had
and i hesitate.
because they remind me of all the things we did right.
all the infinities we spent together...
seeing them reminds me that you can do everything right,
and life will still tell you,
that you are wrong.
you don't win a war by screaming and holding your breath
i have learned that much by now.
but it still hurts
to see the pieces you’ve left behind.
the life we almost shared
the life we could have had
turning to ashes.
but i do know, that from the dying embers
it is possible to grow back again.
and maybe, just like the trees in the fall
when they shed their leaves
they are only leaving pieces behind
for a new life to grow.
and maybe i can grow too.

the universe and i
have had many conversations about you.
i think that maybe
we were born from the same star.
two souls, unaware that the other existed
floating through life
making decisions,
making plans,
that lead them straight to each other.
and then suddenly,
they were tangled in a miracle.
lives intertwined,
they were racing against time together
desperate
to hold on.
and i wonder,
if you still think of me.
if after all of that running,
all that back and forth,
our kindred hearts are still beating in time.
they say that a star’s light can be seen for years, even after its death.
so maybe,
when we die
our light will shine on too.