watch me make the same mistake twice.

placing one more finger on a fragile house of cards,
distinctly aware of the fall:
of the wind-swept,
                                                          blowing away,
                              lifting off the ground,              head in clouds,
                swirling,                              mystifying,
                                                                                        close to heaven
purgatory.

watch me pick the wrong god to worship, again.
offer Him the same gifts that were not enough the first time around
blindly hoping he'll acquire taste for it,
for me.
maybe, persistence is key.

maybe,
if i jam my square-shaped love into the round hole of his heart,
it will shift just enough to squeeze in there.
shall i cut some parts of myself out?

will i be enough then?

Why did you say you             L #  $ @                  me?
Was it a lie? How can I learn to believe you, when everyone's told me otherwise?         ^           Is it too late?
                                                                ­         %                 Am I too late?
Do you no longer care for me? Am I no longer worthy or your attention, when I don't sing your praises? When I don't
         #                        *                 hang onto         ;
                     -               every word                                      ~         &
                                         +    you say?                    =

If I told you I             ! & % E            you, would that change a thing?

Is there anything I can do? Were we ever truly friends? Was I just a game to you?
          +             Am I that disposable
                                        that replaceable                  =
                                  ­             that obtainable?
                                 .                                                               @
                ^                                        .
    ­                                                                 ­           .
                                     *              ­                                    Will I ever learn?
When will my eyes stop meeting yours? When will they stop searching for you in every room and -                            &
           &                   -  every city and                       &
                          &           - every particle that grazes my eye?      

Why do I miss you? What can I do to make this better? I know it's not my job to but with you- with you I feel like I have to, you know? Why can't I lie to you ?

                                                            Do­
Do                                                              ­     you
    you                                             Do   you         still
                        L                  @               ­                          %   !   V   #
                    $               0                                                                ­          
                                                      ­  V      &
                                               ^                                 3
                                                               ­                               
                                 ­   still
                                                        ­                                             Me ?

gather round, as it is the season of stress:
as it nears may and june and
corners the wisps of summer that sting the air.
the scent of freedom and flights,
so close yet never close enough.

gather round, and watch as the silken spring leaves
(or, the strands of your hair)
turn inch by inch into summer screams of green
(or, the jealously burning inside you--
when you see someone smarter
see their right answer
see their paper; green and ticked and better.)

gather round, for it is almost over.

and you have worked hard- you have
(or, you have tried to)
and often that is enough.

the season of stress will fade soon,
but summer?
summer will always come.
summer sings in sun-kissed skin and lazy leaves
and blithe birds and timely trees;

gather round, to hear summer's sound.

i kinda miss the moments
the sunny days
or the ones that rain pink
rain red and orange and sunset and end of the beginning

when i walk by the cafe
the sign board urns into a cinema screen
rewinding to
reading books and
long discussions

spilling tea and
drowning coffee
and then drowning tears
and then just-

or maybe, i kinda miss the feeling
the warmth that came with every evening
home
familiar scents enveloping all senses
sometimes when i close my eyes
i can still see the sound of your smile

i can still feel softness in linked hands
and then empty in a hand
and then wet in my hand
wet from my eyes
and wet from my cheek

or, i kinda miss us
us when it was us
when it was you and me
and not just- me

whole, still
still one (1)
but

two (2)
without you
feels odd

i kinda just miss
you?

you
and your giggles behind your hand
bubbling up your throat and into the air
i feel like i'm in disneyland

you
and your words
sometimes soft and sometimes spiteful
but always sure
your sentences spell a delicate decision i could only dream of delivering

and even then, in my dreams
my mouth shapes to form syllables i cannot say

and even still, the only word that comes out of my mouth
is your name

you are the only thing i have ever been sure of

so when i say
i miss the moments
and i miss feeling
and i muss us

what i really mean to say is
i just really miss
you

sometimes you don't need a reason to justify how you feel
and i miss you
because, like loving you

i just do

Hey, would you like to know a secret?

It slits and stings and scorches the tip of my tongue
A scalpel painted with a sickening slice of hope
Of I know you used to
And I said I used to
But I meant I still do

My heart— no head still throbs
Thuds like the tapping of your fingers against the table

Your fingers
Light and floating and still too far
Flying too fast

My head
Heavy and sinking and still too close, to me
Still too close, to you
Still too close, to every synonym of unecessary
Still, too close, to my heart

Do you want to hear my secret?

My head throbs because of you,
No, not because of you, because of me
Because of confusion as to why
My mind is able to solve math equations that I hate
If I try hard enough

But for some reason my mind can't solve the question
Of why it keeps flitting back to you
Even if I try to will it away
And always to you
I have a million other things to do
And somehow you're always still the first priority

My head throbs because it doesn't understand
Because I don't understand
How is it then when you're vulnerable
And ask an "are you free to talk?"
The truth is no
I'm really not
Yet yes is the only word running through my head

Somehow
You always come first
I find that strange considering how the most you've ever thought about me is probably the second best thing

Here is my secret

I am sick of this
I am sick of you
But somehow your laughter is the antidote
It is the vaccine
The dosage I get daily

But eventually
It starts being less effective
Because I hear
Her laughter
In yours

And the more I get to know you
I feel like I'm just getting to know her
You say the same phrases
And so many things that you do
Are just so her
She's so thoroughly embedded into everything you do
It's almost impossible to separate the two of you

And I am sick
Of this
And I am sick
Of you

And how you say you used to
And how I say I used to
And how I still mean
I still do