7:30 am
windows
letting
through sun
must get out
and play
or just to
walk
in its rays

if I knew what seasons felt like,
fall’s probably you,
just everything about it fascinates me;
and if I could dress up in layers of fall clothes,
scarves would probably be you
cause they’re my favourite-
they make you incredibly warm,
and you could just cozy up on it;
and if I were to ever like cinnamon,
it would probably be because of you,
for it would be impossible to not like cinnamon,
when I've shared cinnamon kisses with you.

Driving through the grey
A cloudy day warrior
Ordinary kings

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.