Time has a fickle heart...I left my memories with her thinking I could return and pick them up but they were fleeting moments she took them with her and I am left with empty pages.

...a gentle wind rustles through the trees, bringing a slight shift in her perspective
...maybe her heart wasn't so hardened.

...the dull hum of the distant traffic bringing her to focus,
...maybe there was a bit of wild still left in her

She breaths in deep and steps softly into liberation.

The fog lay dancing on the water, hiding the horizon
Resembling a brief encounter with an old friend
The sun's rays rest gently on the shore like a fleeting romance
Just as your words press easy on my heart, relishing the reminder of finer days.

I left your lipstick stained cup on the counter-
A bittersweet reminder you were here.

...easy playing on the radio
Rolling down the window--her hand dancing with the resistance of the wind.
Taking in the bluest sky and billowy white clouds...
Tiny daffodils peeking through...
All taking her back to a simpler time

Oh how she wished she was going home...

You heard everything I said in silence...
I'm once again speechless.

The fog lies gently on the water
Gracefully dissipating...

Weaving hope into the briefest moment.

I saw a rabbit in an overcoat in the woods

I wonder if he is one of your discarded playthings as well

My pens glides across the page
Keeping time to the music...

an uninhibited dance.

The tulip tree bloomed early                            
Having taken in its fill of the incessant rain
Proudly it stands, in its fleeting glory
Withering before its time...

Oh, how do we bloom too soon as well

Oh, how easily we are filled when we come to the table hungry.

I no longer bleed when you stab me...

I think I'll use this dull knife to cut your puppet strings....

When she thought she was falling in love with the moon she was really falling in love with herself

Seeing there was more to her story, she pressed in
Content to stay back and wait for it to unfold
Knowing there was glory under the chaos

---and by allowing her to be
She allowed her to arrive.

We all become poetry
A tattered quilt in the warm evening sun
We all become love songs
An alluring waltz on an old wooden dance floor
We all become stories
A cozy cup of tea on a long rainy night

This red thread is tattered and torn.
It is faded and stained for all the time worn.
A simple reminder of our love sworn.

I should take it off but I find I am unable.
Clinging to a timeless fable.

I read my words again today and found I had you there all along.
In all my hurt you were the hope.
In all my healing yours was the hand I held.