I wrote your name like I was practicing my penmanship again
Traced the curves of the letters like I was touching your skin
Beads of sweat dotted the I’s, and I touched your face
Finishing each word like you were the last thing I would taste.

He made a garden out of her.
Pulled the weeds from the
cracks of her bones. Parted
the curtains of her soul to allow
the sunshine to pass right
through. Planted tulips and
roses. Dandelions as well.
Watered her gardens with
the water dripping from the
side of his hands. He sits and
smiles as the flowers bloom
and grow. He sits and smiles
as the gardens give colour to
her soul. The vines wrap
themselves so gently around
the cage of her ribs. Morning
dew falls on the petals from
within making the photosynthesis process begin while the sunshine
pours down on them. He made
a garden out of her and that's how their story of love began* ~

It is in those broken moments we find ourselves,

Torn to pieces, with no explanation –

A dark crevasse molded to fit our shape,

Holding our deepest thoughts, encasing our forgotten spirit,

We tend to allow ourselves to be encompassed by this abyss –

Explaining to ourselves the need to dwell on the darkened past,

Swallowed by its projection of memories,

Sprayed upon the walls of our mind like murals –

An endless catacomb of images, seemingly permanent in their manifestation…



It is in those broken moments, that we find ourselves.

Seemingly unbearable days, leading to sleepless nights,

Dreading the thoughts that creep their way to our dreams –

Resting in an endless adaptation of our subconscious,

Playing out their roles, as if upon a Shakespearian stage…

Each thought, acting its part with tragic precision,

Layer upon layer, scene upon scene…

Reaching back to grasp our inception of reality –

Griping its contents, and strangling the ideas to exhaustion; gasping…



It was in those broken moments, that we found ourselves,

With a weighted world pressed firmly upon our chest,

The ebbing soil began to crumble –

Giving light to the somber path traversed…

Filling the now hollow crevasse with purpose and meaning,

Each memory defined by the silver lining expressed in love –

The fleeting darkness, swallowed by the over-whelming feeling of home…

Finding it in the simplicity of a kiss, and the certainty of an embrace,

It is here that we find ourselves,

In the intricate details and delicate idiosyncrasies –