The party had been over for a month
And the balloons remained.
Lifeless, lying on the floor;
Half filled,
And half as bright as they once were.
As she cut each, old balloon
Covered in dust and crumbs,
She felt her Mother’s breath leave each rubber covering
As she pricked the latex with an overused, dull scissor.
The air did not escape quickly,
As the original material was stretched out,
But long and labored was each balloon’s
Last exhale.

love is my three AM phone call, that you don't send to voice mail

love is when I remind you to bring an umbrella
...it's also bringing you chicken soup instead of saying I told you so

love is texting me six times a day to remind me to eat something because you know I'll  'forget'

love is waking up beside you on a Sunday morning and hearing your rough voice mumble in my ear  "good morning beautiful"

love is not laughing at me when there's tears rolling down my cheeks while standing on the porch

love is kissing my forehead and whispering  *"don't worry, I'll be home soon."

I don’t know what it meant then,
And I don’t know what it means now,
But in that moment,
He wanted to kiss me;
And I did not oppose.

Sleeping on the floor
Same clothes on.
Night before,
How many juices of the gods did you imbibe?
Still feeling its heroic effects.
Night filled with swirling, incomplete memories
Shared by your soldiers at your side.
Some may say we fight too hard,
And too often.
We say we fight because we are obligated,
And, to guard our youth
For one more week.

I like you in the morning
when you are just waking up;
still half asleep and
rough around the edges.

You can't quite remember
the person that you pretend to be
so,
(left with no other choice)
      you are the person that I love.

Slightly lost,
but full of potential.