I was sitting by the bay.
I was thinking about the other day.
The way you looked I just had to say.
I couldn't ask for a better day.

I was sitting. I was thinking about you.
I was thinking about all the things we could do.
The sun was yellow and the sea was blue.
I was lost in an ocean of you.

The waves were crashing and the sea would spray
kisses on our cheeks from far away.
I hold you close so you never stray.
Safe in my arms you will always stay.

I thank my stars for this lovely day.
Deep in my heart it will always stay.
Near or far our love will always spray
kisses on our cheeks from far away.

My little grey dress
The day is almost coming

The dress is so plain
No rain

But when I have to go
Don't cry my love

My pretty
Pink lips painted
My hair not combed
But messy

The night was made to cry
Because there's no light

My time is coming
And yet I can feel
The sunrise as well

We've been expecting rain
for three days.

The weathermen get it wrong sometimes too,
I suppose.

Besides, rain always seems to come
when you least expect it.

If loving you is stepping off a cliff
I would gladly take that step
Over and over again.

Falling
           down
                     down.

Tangled limbs and broken bones.

Smiling all the while.

Eyes
closed.

Nostrils
flared.

Lips
just
barely
parted.

I used to think that the penalty
for devastating loss
was a metaphorical
            hole
                   in your
heart.

And though that
            hole
                  made you
broken,
something would come along
to fill that
            hole.

All things broken
could be made new again.

I know now,
that is not true.
A
            hole
                   in your
heart,
cannot be filled.

When you lose a piece
of yourself,
that piece is gone.
Forever.

And no amount of love,
or support,
can restore you
to shiny, new condition.

But
that is not to say
that the broken
cannot be healed.

For though a heart
can never be made
             whole
again,

It can be made larger.

You can never replace
the missing pieces,
But you can always
collect more.

And though more surface area
leaves more opportunity for
              holes,
It also changes the size
of the existing ones
relative to what's left.

You will never not miss
what you have
lost.

You will never not feel
burdened by your
brokenness.

But it will get easier.

tea light lanterns
     adorn
a spring fairy garden

draped
in a hyacinth melody
of lavender
        and whites

serenading a
   music box tune
atop
sun-kissed
      butterfly wings