She was that Chekhovian girl
who fell for Dostoevsky
and Camus and Sartre
and
   you.

You were like breadcrumbs
left unpurposely by my digestion during breakfast

You stayed on the kitchen table 'til noon,
'til Mama swiped away the remaining crumbs,
and I have lunch
with another dish--a different meal.

Something else, but not
you.

she was a box of
cigarettes, waiting to be lit
but would soon run out

of light, of time,
and of you

Some days feel like sunshine on your grandma's porch, warm,
safe, welcoming
Full of joy.

Some days feel like neverending tunnels, so
long, and dark
Like you can't wait for morning to come save you, but you
also feel like you're not ready to face tomorrow

Today's the latter
Tonight's the latter

a distant star in her eyes
longing for a galaxy in his

You are in between milk and sugar
Something written on my grocery list;
something remembered daily
And perhaps more.

shut me down, sunshine
let me drown in a sea of questions
--hoping to get an answer

I see stars above the sky
smiling to people walking by,

within the crowd there'd be
you and
me
yet miles away, somewhere I
can't see

We're both having rain
but we refuse to share an umbrella

Watch your step, dear
You can fall for me

Can I may I should I must, I?
Reduce you with words, when
what words could ever do to you is they define you
even more beautiful than ever.
For you cannot be reduced, but
can only grow in an assumption of forever
because we know, you were never real, you
were always, merely, will forever be:
a daydream.

Today I heard stories of lost love, of hidden pain and misplaced affections.

A man who lost his loved one, his beloved wife. He never got to say goodbye. A simple ‘I’ll see you soon’ was just not there. And all his life, he wonders of infinite what-ifs and could-haves. He loves her, even til this very day.

A woman told stories about her early years with the one she’s married to now. She’s happy. I could tell by the way her eyes kindle when she speaks of him. And that was enough to know that she is still as happy as she was back then.

A friend of mine told a story about her passed grandpa. He would always spend the first few minutes of his days talking with the person sleeping next to him; his dear, treasured love. My friend’s mom would hear them chatter away and she could tell that they were smiling from the back of her door.

A father showed me his notes on his cellphone. One of them was his password to his account I-do-not-know-which; it spelled his daughter’s first name.

I can hear the steps of the future coming in close; soon
to take you away and me–farther.
Distancing we, which alters into I and you,

and her.

We are merely dust flying in the air,
endlessly following each other
Until one stops and
falls in love with another

May we be the lost and found,
hiding in the shadows of absence, yet to be redeemed.

His eyes were deeper than the Caspian Sea
but I did not drown in it,
he would not let me.

Y o u
are the lorem to my
ipsum.

His voice cracked when he spoke of her
I could sense his pain in such small sound, almost
Like a whisper
Truly, barely audible, as if his soul wasn't ready to speak of her
As if my soul wasn't prepared to hear

He was kind but not mine.