Your eyes. I think it started with your eyes. It was unexpected, like most things in this life are, but it was definite. That moment. The back of a warm car on a cold winter day. Your head resting sleepily in my lap and the tired January sun peeking through the fog of afternoon clouds, illuminating that small corner of our universe. My fingers ran through your hair like muscle memory as if I'd been doing that with you every day for years. You tilt your head up to look at me and that's when it was. That's when it happened. I've never fallen in love with someone's eyes before. Having met you makes me wonder if I've ever really fallen in love with anyone else at all. And I haven't written in months, because part of you still feels like a dream. A random phone call waking me up from a nap, an email when we haven't spoken in weeks, a nine hour car ride to be in your arms again. So many things separate us but none of these things matter in the grand scheme of me loving you relentlessly. I've said it before and I will say it again, again and again; it's you. Have you ever loved someone more than you know how to? I swear, it started with your eyes.

This feels like a 3 minute round
in the boxing ring
Only the 3 minutes lasts an eternity
No one wants to tell me that
before I step inside
Lacing my gloves like I actually
stand a chance
It's the battle between your heart
and mine,
and it doesn't even seem to matter
that my heart has always
beat a little faster,
a little harder in your presence.
I get knocked down
time after time after time,
and you keep looking at me with
a face that asks
"why do you keep getting back up?"
I don't know. I don't.
I can't even see straight anymore.
I'm looking into a world where
you and I aren't in love and all I can think
is that I don't want to see any longer.
I want to tell you that I love you,
as if that will make a difference,
but all that comes out of my mouth is
"I don't want to do this without you".
They're all asking me what I mean by that.
I can't bear to tell them the truth.
I can't bear to see my mom's face when I say that I don't want to be here anymore.
I don't want to hear those sounds
of heartbreak escaping from her stomach.
I'm sorry mom. It's just too hard.
I look at you again and
I want to tell you that I love you,
But all that comes out of my mouth is
"please,"
And I can't bear to finish my sentence.

Perhaps the most beautiful part
of it all was the fact that he
loved me regardless of my
many imperfections. I swear far
too much, I fail at moderation,
and I am quite possibly the most
emotionally inconsistent being
on this ******* earth. But in
his eyes, every day was a new day.
A new day to live and laugh and
love - if we were lucky, we did
these things together. In his eyes,
he was always lucky.
In mine, I still am.
I am lucky to have loved you.
*Gosh, I am lucky beyond
compare.

The day is drawing near
and every year it comes around
every year
the flashbacks saturate every
dark corner of my mind
I've written
and written
and written
about that night so many times
that I can't stand to anymore
you know what happened in that room
and so do I
but now there's someone new
someone who looks at me
and doesn't see your hand prints
on my skin
who doesn't know
that years later
I still carry the weight of that night
on my chest
it sits there while I sleep
counting my breaths
permeating my dreams
enveloping every empty thought
with an unwelcomed thought
of you
I've got so many skeletons
and I would love to say
that they're all buried beneath the dirt
of time
but they aren't
sometimes
they slip out from the closet
and sit right beside me
sometimes
they hold my hand
and sometimes
like today
they crawl inside my skin
and make themselves
at home

sometimes
i get the sudden urge to pour every aspect of my soul into the pages of an old, empty book
where i can write endlessly in emense detail about every single reason as to why you are the love of my life
and about how i bet you dont remember that afternoon in the coffee shop downtown where you looked into my eyes and grabbed my hand for the first time
and that you've probably forgotten about that morning where you walked to my house in the pouring rain
but i haven't
because what you dont know is that it meant the absolute world to me
or how you stitched up all the broken pieces of myself, unconsciously sewing in tiny bits of your heart until finally we became
one

I used to hate the word soon
I despised it
In the beginning it brought me comfort
It sounded promising
Calming enough to still even the most destructive of wars I waged against myself
Soon
I wish I'd counted the number of times you spoke this word to me
The first word that entered your mind when you had no idea what to say
When you were confronted with questions that weighed more than the burden of guilt that lied on your shoulders
Broad enough to carry the world
Yet you crumbled into a puddle of uncertainty at the inflection of my voice
That warranted immediate answer
Questions that mattered
Questions that would define things with a higher magnitude than you wished existed
Questions that would determine the prolongation of my heartbreak
Soon
At first it satiated me
Lifted my heart a little higher
And warmed the blood in my veins
With tingling fingers
I threaded my hand into yours
"Okay" I would say
And lay a kiss upon your cheek
Soon
The days turned to weeks
And when the weeks turned to months
I began to grow angry
Impatient
"Soon" you would say,
And my questions changed to those charged with rage and fury
"What the **** does that mean?"
Soon
There were no answers
Futile attempts made to cure this breaking heart
You knew it all along and you didn't care,
Not in the beginning, not now, not once
I was nothing more to you
Than an empty promise
A warm bed to crawl into when you
Grew tired of your own icicle sheets
Careful hands on a body that refused to accept that this was over
Hands that would have spent a lifetime molding us back together
The anger turned to sadness of course,
It always does
Inconsolable
My throat burned at the taste of that word
Soon
I never let anyone use that word
As a form of measurement again
I became precise in my actions
And clear with my intentions
And I accepted nothing less from anyone else who dared enter my life
The word was not spoken,
It was not thought of,
Nor written
I demanded certainty from everyone around me
And there were no pardons granted, no excuses accepted, no exceptions great enough worthy of bending the rules
And these were the rules after all
For years, this was how I lived my life
Until I met you
You, who made time stand still
You, who made my heart forget what we went through
The tears we endured, the innocence we lost, the walls we built along the way
You, who held wary hands until they did not shake
Who spent night after night ensuring that we went to bed feeling safe, feeling loved, feeling valued
Who transformed feeling vulnerable into beautiful
You, who strengthened the walls of my castle
You, who built the mote
Hung the drawbridge
And walked into my kingdom with open arms
Always standing at the ready for battle
And after years of hardening,
After heartbreak and skepticism
And everything in between
The first time you spoke the word
Soon
To me
My fists did not clench,
My jaw did not lock,
My memory did not revert back to him
And his lack of everything a man should be
But instead my eyes grew lighter,
My heart lifted higher,
And everything in me agreed that you are exactly who we have been looking for
Soon
Now
This word serves as a token of good faith
A promise that eventually, we will be where we want to be
Each time you say it I close my eyes and see the day you come back home to me
Each time I know that you will
Smiling with the knowledge that we've made it once again
Carrying the weight of that word in our hands
Until we are face to face once more
Locking our fingers, threading the memories, forgetting how heavy that goodbye felt all those months ago
Knowing now that all that matters
Is the fact that soon finally came
And today is the best day of our lives
So for now we will store this word away
This piece of us that comes into play all too often
For now you are here with me
And we have everything we will ever need

Soon

(thank you
from my heart & me)

so you came back
            so what
            so now every poem
                          every love letter
                          every "this is not a poem but"
                          every "this is not a love letter but"
                          every "okay, so this is definitely a poem and that is certainly a love letter"
they're all irrelevant now
every night I spent at the bottom
of the mariana trench holding
my breath waiting for you to
take it again
every morning I woke up with
a pillow wetter than niagara falls
and a chest so empty
                for so long
it has still not adjusted to this life
without your heart tucked away
under my ribs
but now that you're here again
and I've got you so close that I can
feel your heartbeat through
my back
your arms wrapped around me
surrounded by the peacefulness
of sleep
and innocence
I find myself constantly touching you
counting your fingers or staring at you
for so long that it begins to get weird
but you don't get it
you've been gone for so long that these
details have somehow escaped
my memory
how soft your hair is
and
how perfectly your hands fit into mine
how tall you are
how long I could hug you
and how
I would never need to let go
or come up for air
             so what
             so you're back now and it isn't fair
for me to hold onto this sadness
             so it's time for me to forgive
                                           and forget
only how am I supposed to forget
this feeling
or
this lack thereof
how am I supposed to forgive you
for nearly killing me
for throwing me over board
for ignoring the SOS of my silence
for forcing me to spend my nights alone
on the ocean floor
you knew I was afraid of drowning
and you tied these cinder blocks
of empty promises to my feet
but you know
and you knew I would be powerless in this
war of holding grudges
        of pride
you know and you knew that when
it comes to you I am always left waiting
with open arms and a hopeful heart
             so what
             so now that we're here again in your bed
and I feel your heartbeat through
my back
your arms wrapped around me
like a straitjacket I never want
to be freed from
every poem
every love letter
now
the clock
resets
to zero
and the score
is settled
again

Suddenly
I remembered every single reason why
I ever fell in love with you
As you pulled me towards my bed
"I've just fixed the sheets," I had said
And without the slightest hesitation
"Let's mess them up again."

I won't rest until you know
that my name sounded best
coming out of your mouth
sliding between your lips and
rolling off your tongue
and sticking onto the *****
of my neck

I need you to know
that your finger tips
belong on the small of my back
or pressed against my lips
amongst the silence before a kiss
and nothing on this earth beats
being tangled up
in your bed sheets
where my extra skin
and awkward curve
may surpass without the judgment
of your mattress and be caressed
as if you didn't have the nerve
and constant urge
to make me believe
I was beautiful

but I don't see it

because when I think of beautiful
I think of your smile
and popsicles
and sunsets

I think of how falling asleep in
your arms is only second best
to waking up in your chest
with your heartbeat in my ear
and my face against your flesh
you once told me

that your favorite time of day
was the way
the sun shifted in harmony
against the bay
of my labored breathing
crashing along the rocks
of your insides
in a nonstop riptide
at five a.m

I then decided

that the way the rays of sunday
morning sunshine
bent before our eyes
knew nothing of beauty compared
to the warmth that lies
between our blankets and
a fresh black brew

fingers and toes and
god only knows
the only place I feel beautiful
is among the morning dew
in bed with you

I remember one summer we planted sunflowers
and I don't remember much else about that time
except for the fact that one day I came outside
and suddenly they were taller than the house
they were beautiful
but they needed the sun to survive
it doesn't take a genius to conclude
that once winter arrived they died
and I've never been much of a gardener
but you were my sun and I was the flower

When I was sixteen I took up smoking
To remind my lips of your taste
Cigarettes in the mornings and
Cigars in the evening
I watched the sunset change colors
In the reflection of your eyes
And if I could inject that sight into my veins
Or inhale it through my lungs and electrify my brain
I would
But unfortunately
As far as I'm concerned sunsets remain
Unable to be injected and your smile uningested like the drugs that they were
You left me feeling like a fifty year chain smoker whose lips were left forever untouched
by a single cigarette
And I still don't know how that's possible
But I don't want to
So with every inhale I'll breathe you in and push you back out like the poison that you were
And I still don't know where you are, love
Hiding within the constant tides of carbon monoxide
But the sunset doesn't seem so far

I'll see you on the other side

What if
I had fallen to my knees
On the cold parking lot concrete
Tears washing over my cheeks
And cries no one should ever have to hear
Bellowing out from beneath my ribs
Screaming at the sky
Looking up at your face
Forcing you
(and everyone else)
To see me in this godforsaken state
Of absolute chaos
Heartbreak
In it's rawest form
What if I had begged you to stay?
What if I'd told you I can't do this without you?
What if I'd told you how much I needed you
What if I did anything other than fighting back the tears
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Mostly for the crowd of people gathering
Saying their goodbyes
Anxiously looking around to bear witness to everyone else's reactions
And I didn't want to be that girl
That girl who falls to the ground
Kicking and screaming and crying and begging
But what if I was?
What if I was any girl other than the one I pretended to be that day
The one that held her tongue and kept her mouth shut because she knew the second she opened it to speak she would sob
The one that wrapped her arms around you for the last time,
and the one that let go
The one that couldn't bear to watch you walk away
So she kissed you goodbye
Got back in the car
And drove home
What if i wasn't that girl who didnt allow herself to completely fall apart until she was alone in the privacy of her own home?
What if instead I'd made a scene,
Doing what everything inside me so desperately wanted to
Grabbing hold of your hand and refusing to let go
Losing the facade of confidence
The charade of strength
But I'm not that girl
And I never will be
So each and every time you leave
I kiss you goodbye
I unclench my fists and retract my anchors
I untether my heart from it's human home
And I put on a brave face
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Or maybe
For that girl.

one day a few years from now
you'll remember her and how
you loved each other genuinely,
passionately

the both of you were so crazy in love and a few years from now,
when you think you've forgotten about all of that -

about the way her fingers curled around your own without hesitation,
how when you told her jokes she erupted into a belly full of contagious laughter, her smile splitting her face in two like an equator,
how when you slept, she'd reach across the bed for you, mumble your name until you kissed her back to sleep,
how that day it rained so hard the streets flooded, she pulled you outside just to makeout on the grass, you both were soaked to the bone in seconds, thunder shaking the ground so hard you felt it roaring through your spine, electrifying.
how although she was absolutely insane,
she was gentle.

she was soft and small; strong; powerful. when the world upset her she shrank into a fraction of herself,
exposed, raw, vulnerable.

she was real, and what the two of you had was real; it was real and it mattered and it was important,
but years from now when you remember all of this,
it will be 4 A.M.

you happened, you loved that storm of a girl heavy and hard and it changed both of your worlds for the better, it won't ever be the same,
you'll find yourself looking for parts of her in everyone you meet -
subconsciously comparing the softness of her lips and the weight of her heart in your hands to every new girl that comes your way,
only to walk away feeling even emptier than before.

she is the tangible definition of irreplaceable. the fact of the matter is that the tree of her memory bears the branches of truth, and the truth is that none of this will matter.

years later, when you remember all of this,
it will already be too late.

There are emergency vehicles screeching
down the inner city streets of me
sirens blaring, civilians cramming their
cars along the curb in a polite form
of avoidance
and you are speeding through the yellow-
lighted intersections of my broken heart
busy with the thought of rescue
because all the aching parts of me have convinced you that it is necessary
and you are my only hope.

we floated around in an ocean
of mediocrity
sharing poems etched into the skin
on our wrists
wondering when the weight of the world would drown us in our own thoughts
thoughts of people who didn't even know
we existed
places we would never go
and things we would never say
no one knows I still sing you happy birthday
in the room where you died in my arms
its only a metaphor, of course
I'm sure you're out there somewhere
in a city that could never care
about you
like I did
tattooing your skin with her bed sheets
and kissing over coffee tables made
of all the ways I'll never get to say
I love you
the coffee table you lay books on top of
but never read
or run your knee into and curse
under your breath
I imagine this is what loving you
would have been like
and still
the thought is enough to keep me up
at night

When you haven't seen someone in months
The places your subconscious wanders off to change
Your dreams are different
Your strongest desires suddenly seem strange to other people
who do not understand
These days
I dream of touching the back of your neck
Feeling the softness of your hair
The warmth of your skin
With each of my ten fingers
It's a feeling I think about a lot
The back of your neck
Wrapping my arms around your shoulders
Forgetting how much taller you are than me
Remembering instantly
Muscle memory
I write about that a lot too
Because it's real
Not many people dream of flinging their arms around someone's neck
In an embrace so close
A moment so detailed
That they wake up staring at their hands
Wondering why they are empty
And not on your skin
Waking up feeling like I'd been robbed blind
Because I swore I just had you again
Only I never did
This is the only place I can see you now
Stare into your eyes that echo into infinity
Feel the warmth radiating off of your skin
And touch the back of your neck
With my hands

I'm not used to the silence
I don't know that I'll ever get used to that
Sometimes I curse this life for
being the way it is
I am envious of those
whose husbands are only
a work day away
When they've had a horrible day
and can dial his number and talk to him
until they feel better
There are times we go weeks without
knowing if the other is even
alive
those are the bad days
On good days
I get an email from you
and tears well up in my eyes
as I read it
in your voice
and oh, how I miss your voice
I swallow my sadness and put on
a brave face
and tell you that everything
back home is great
I'm doing okay, really
but what I want to say
is that I miss you so much it hurts
and I can't ******* breathe
this distance is too much right now
and I'd beg you to come home
until I am blue in the face
I count the number of times
I get through work without crying
as successes
Each day I am able to make it to my bed at night
or through my front door
or to my car
or even
to the public restroom
before losing it
is a win
But I say none of these things because
they won't do any good
you're still gone for however long and
I am still a mess
but I'm your mess
and when the ocean between us
is drowning me
I will remember that.

I remember the day we said goodbye
I think about it all the time
Spending those last two hours with you
Staring at the clock
As if I could will the minutes not to pass
As if each second didn't bring the inevitable that much closer
I felt all the words I didn't know how to say sinking to my stomach
All the times I thought about begging you not to go
All the wars I knew I would lose
I remember staring at you for too long because I knew eventually I would forget the details of your face
The dimples on your cheeks, the smile that filled your entire face, the eyes that made me weak and the laugh that brought me to my knees
I knew I would soon forget these things
Not by choice
Not like one day you wake up and just can't remember anymore
It's much more cruel than that
It's every morning you wake up and feel a little bit farther away
The memory of you feels even farther out of reach
And you try,
You try like you wouldn't believe
I try to force feed myself the memories from that day
The cold winter wind making our noses numb,
Our fingers intertwining,
Your hand anchoring itself to my waist
But that was months ago
And some days I don't know how we got here
Some days you feel so ******* far away
Some days I don't leave our bed because everything hurts too bad
But every day
I love you more than the last
And I miss you more than most

It is June 16
And I am awakened
At 4:30 in the morning
By a phone call
The first time I have heard your voice
In months
At first it feels like a dream
And maybe it is
But in this dream
When I open my eyes
I can still hear your voice
I can still hear your laugh
I am happier than I have been
In months

It is June 17
And I am already anticipating
The day you will leave again
Sadness rearing it's ugly head
Remember me? It said
The kitchen is a mess
And I can't reach the sink
The trash hasn't been taken out
In weeks
Clothes litter our apartment floor
But it's been months since I've spoken to you
So I ignore them some more

It's June 19
And you're leaving tomorrow
It's all I can think about
I spend half the day at work
And most of the day thinking of you
Escaping outside to call you
On my lunch break
Rushing home
To plug in my phone
And Skype you until we both fall asleep
I'm not ready to say goodbye

It's June 20
And today's the last day
I wake up to one last phone call
And soak up every second of your voice
Your laugh
Your love
The milk expired
There's jelly and syrup on the kitchen floor
And I have no food to eat for dinner
Everything
Is still a mess
Today's the day we say goodbye
We talk and we wait
And I stare at the clock
Fighting back tears
"I love you," you say
And for a moment
Everything's okay
But today's still the day
And I know what comes next
The dreaded goodbye
The tears I can't stop
You telling me to be strong
Me telling you to be safe
Closing my eyes
I refuse to be the one
To let you go

It's June 21
And my heart is hurting
My mind is wandering
And everything feels heavy
The waiting begins again
And I force feed myself
Memories of your voice
So as not to forget
yet again
I'm walking outside
And I'm sorry if i can't meet your eyes today
As i pass by
It all just hurts too bad
And i don't want you to see
this pathetic look on my face
and I don't want to look at you
And see his face
Where yours should be
So I'm looking at my feet
Imagining the day
I come running back to you
Leaping into your arms
And forgetting every bit of this pain

But that day is months away
And today
It is June 21

I am sitting across from you in a small diner booth over two cups of coffee that neither of us are drinking. you can't drink because you're too busy talking and I can't drink because my mouth has been frozen shut ever since we walked through the door. this silence feels more familiar than you do anymore. and when did you start ordering coffee? when did I? who are we now and how did we get here? how did it come to this? how did we let it come to this? how many nights did you spend fighting sleep because you couldn't stop thinking of me, wondering how I was doing or if I'd managed to stitch myself back together yet. how many nights. your mouth is still moving but I'm unable to hear what it is that you're saying. these words don't matter. they hold no weight at all. now you're apologizing. for what, I want to ask, but there are a million and one things you have to be sorry for, none of which you are. instead of I'm sorry it was always it's a joke, lighten up or you know I didn't mean it. I know. you didn't mean anything you said to me. I guess I'm crying now because your hand is reaching over the table to touch my cheek and your eyes are doing the thing where you look completely caught off guard. not sympathetic, just confused. I can't remember why we came here. why did we come here? how long has it been? you look different now, distant and not in love with me anymore. I don't like this view. I want to ask you if we can go back. you wouldn't know what I mean. you never do. did. sorry. I love you. I want to grab you by your shoulders and shout into your soul that I love you - that I've always loved you - that I never stopped and I never will. what are we doing here? then it happens. you reach for your pocket and my heart stops inside my chest as you extract the black box. the people around us probably think this is a proposal. I know better. your mouth moves again and your lips frame her name and the date and you're sorry but I'm not invited. and everything stops. it was supposed to be me. my white dress and your black tie and my father's hands shaking yours and my mother fixing my veil and my walk down the aisle and your vows in my ear. mine. my dress my day my church my life my you. you're saying you are sorry but you're not. it's something else. it's guilt. it's regret. it's the fact that we both know this is not how things were supposed to end up but here we are. cold cups of coffee and empty hearts. how did this happen how did we get here how did it come to this how
how did we let it come to this

my mother asks me
quite frequently
why I ever even gave you
the time of day
because all you ever left me with
was ****** knuckles you didn't
have the decency to kiss
before you left me standing
in an empty room
with broken picture frames of you

now

the only wall decor I own
are holes
a little too big
to fit my fists
and I wonder
if this
was how you pictured it to be
as you left me
standing in a sea of equal parts
empty and envy

envious of whoever's sheets
you're sleeping in tonight
and I know two wrongs
don't make a right
but the two of us did

you kissed all the wounded
parts of my skin
and I don't know if you realized
the worst of the damage was done
on the inside
I don't think you knew that
I was the kind of sick
that a first aid kit
could never fix

and I knew someday
you wouldn't have time for this anymore
but I can't remember
how I breathed before
I had you to exhale life
into my lungs and
plant kisses on my skin

and I'll never get the chance
to hold your hand again
all I'm left with are the memories
broken glass
walls with holes
and a sea of broken dreams

I was rummaging through our hall closet
Looking for my suitcase
When I saw your old winter coat had fallen to the floor
I quickly picked it up
To rehome it to its rightful hanger
When I noticed your work jacket hanging idle and still
Your name tape peeking back at me
My heart pulling at my chest
And before I could even stop myself my hands were tugging on its sleeves
My fingers feeling the all too familiar texture of that waterproof fabric
That touched my skin in our many embraces just months before
Before I could stop myself I was pulling it out of the closet
Staring at this empty jacket
Imagining your body filling it
Before I could stop myself I was burying my face in its folds
Searching for your scent
The tears were instantaneous
And before I could stop myself
I fell to the floor
Clutching this jacket as if it were anything other than a collection of buttons and threads
I couldn't stop smelling it and I didn't want to
These things are all I have left of you
And although it changes nothing I throw the hanger to the floor and slide into the sleeves,
Pulling this jacket over me
Closing my eyes to imagine for a moment that you aren't even gone at all

I lied.
A long, long time ago you asked me what my favorite color was. When things were new and clean and easy. Still dancing around in the getting to know you stages. Some days I swear, years later, I am still just getting to know you. But that's besides the point. The point is I lied. You asked me what my favorite color was and I said red. Red is okay, I guess, but red? Plain red, Crayola red, the tin lunchbox your mother bought you for your first day of school red, isn't me.
I always liked blue. Blue anything. Ocean blue, not a cloud in the sky blue, so many clouds in the sky it's almost actually gray blue, the eye color I always wanted blue, favorite shirt blue, toilet bowl cleaner blue, internalized depression blue, art museum walls blue. Blue. I liked blue.
But here I am, saying to you without hesitation that my favorite color is red. And you say that yours is green. You're going on about how our favorite colors are Christmas colors and I am wondering when it was that I decided I needed to be someone other than myself around you.
Many years later, too many years, I am driving down Main Street with a parade of stop lights ahead of me. The colors are doing that thing when my eyes blur them out of focus. Red, green, green, red, red, green. To stop or to go. Part of me is thinking how fascinating it is that we have programmed our brains to subconsciously associate colors with actions and the bigger part of me is thinking about you. And somehow I find this is always the case with everything. As many times as we are next to each other in my line of vision we can never be together. I am talking about the stop lights but I am thinking about us. Green and red can never be on the same stop light at the same time. As soon as I leave, you show up. And it's got me thinking about how we were never really on the same page. How it's taken me this long to realize that no matter how badly either of us may have wanted it, we can never exist together.

Looking back I don't know how I even fell asleep that night
Somehow managing to steal a few hours of blissful unconsciousness
I know I fought it at first
Partly because it's pretty impossible to sleep while you're crying uncontrollably
But also because when I finally calmed myself down
(mostly)
I didn't want to waste our final hours together sleeping
All I wanted to do was lay there and listen to your heartbeat so many times I could snap my fingers four months from now and recall the sound
Or I wanted to feel your skin so deeply that on any given night I could lay in bed, close my eyes, and still feel you on my finger tips
But of course this isn't how memory works
No matter how many times I wish it was
No matter how many times I try
At the end of the night I'm always left laying here alone
With only my thoughts to keep me company
Clutching your pillow to my chest, no heartbeat to be found
Running my fingers along our sheets, nothing feels like your skin, nothing even comes close
I don't know how I managed to fall asleep that night
I don't know how I managed to let you go

When you were mine, I always wrote about this day and how it would inevitably come for us. I wrote about losing you before it even happened as if I was a professional at living with only half of a heart, walking around with infinitely empty hands and an ache in my chest that never seems to leave. I wrote about how you would leave and I would be devastated, but no string of words could have ever prepared me for this catastrophic mess you've made of everything. I would write about the day you would find someone else, as if writing it down could eliminate the possibility of it ever actually happening. I'm not sure which world that logic even begins to make sense in. I would write about seeing you with her - the girl who undeniably serves as my replacement; although she is only a shell of me - never bothers to pick up a pencil to draw or write and as hard as I try I can't seem to find where her beauty even begins to compare to mine, but I guess that doesn't matter. Your eyes never looked at me the same way again. I would write about her, the girl I was so sure could never really exist, and how I would smile because even though it wasn't with me anymore, you would be happy. But honestly, your so called happiness makes me ******* sick. I want to write about how I looked at you and saw the rest of my life, how despite every single one of our irreconcilable differences and in spite of all your flaws - which were plentiful - I loved you to a fault. You leaving split me in two like a tectonic plate shifting away from its other half on the face of the earth. And despite either of our best efforts, being separated is only proof of the undeniable fact that at one point, we were together.

it still hurts in a way that's hard for you to explain to those who have never had to live every day knowing there are still pieces of your heart stuck inside someone else's chest. so what. so you still wear his old t-shirts to bed even though you know you should have thrown them out months ago, there are texts and photos on your phone that you can't bring yourself to erase no matter how many tears streak your face or how many times your heart breaks all over again. every single day you think of calling him, but only certain days are bad enough for you to actually contemplate it: days that used to be important and hold value - his birthday, your birthday, your anniversary, holidays - but then the obvious days turn into days where it hurts so deep that you look for reasons to call; it's raining and you want to say hey, remember that time we were in Sandusky and it thunderstormed so hard our whole hotel shook and lightening illuminated Lake Erie? remember how I was so scared, and you held me all night long? or when it's midnight and you throw on his old clothes even though they stopped smelling like his cologne an eternity ago, their cotton hasn't touched his skin in months but you wear them anyway because you resonate with that feeling, and you think of calling just to say that you wish you could feel him one last time. you do. you wish you could drive to his house again, you still know the way so well you could do it with your eyes closed, sneak up to his bedroom and crawl into bed with him even though you both complained it was too small for two people, you wish you could zip your fingers together like an old jacket, familiar and warm, you wish you could bury your face into his chest and smell his skin again, feel his lips kiss the top of your head as if this constituted saying I love you, I missed you out loud. the truth is you're more than well aware any combination of these things are very unlikely to ever occur, but that doesn't stop you from wishing, from picking up stray pennies or blowing out everyone else's birthday candles. do you remember the first time you saw a shooting star. how you were with him and how it felt a little like fate. you want to call him and tell him that you've never been so broken. that you believe you can go backward, because you don't see a forward that you like. but you can't. so instead you keep his name buried underneath your tongue. you don't cry when you miss him because no one understands it anymore; too much time has passed. get over it already. you keep his sweaters warm inside your dresser drawers and you wash the sheets weekly because they smell like someone else now. the bed never stops feeling empty. there are eight stop lights between your house and his, and this distance has never looked more red.

on your first date you learn she takes her coffee
cooler than the starless sky
and by the end of the night you learn
she likes her showers hotter than the seventh sun
stepping out from the tub with her skin scrubbed
a scarlet hue that demands to be kissed until
dusk turns to dawn before your sleepless eyes

you wonder why she sweeps her hair to the side
after she says goodbye in the morning
why she seems so ******* guarded
all of the time
but you never ask
because you are afraid she may answer

she says she's never been in an accident
and you incorrectly assume
she is referring to a car
you swear up and down that she ought to be by now
because of the fashion in which she drives
like a madman
she says she doesn't believe in speed limits
or limits of any kind for that matter
she likes to get to where she's going and
she likes to get there fast
she's the kind of girl who doesn't believe in
taking things slow
maybe because she doesn't know how
or maybe because she doesn't want to know

she told me she loved me three weeks
before we got together by means of
mediocre poetry and a smile that
at the time
I couldn't quite understand

she says she's never been in an accident
and you incorrectly assume
she isn't referring to
all of the time
she spent
away
from
you

So here we are at last,
the end of another tired day
sleep lingers heavily atop my eyelids
as I crawl into our bed
snuggling up next to thoughts
of you

wrapping myself up
in the idea of your arms
closing my eyes
awaiting the routine kiss
on the cheek
and your feet
on my feet

but I am here with only thoughts
and we haven't spoken in weeks

south carolina and ohio and the blurred lines of love and something else. something worse. dangerous. all this talk of coming home. you imagine she means your heart instead of your house. she is held captive by the bounds of her past. all romance and regret. pink wine never tasted good anyway. then again nothing tastes quite like her smile. you could get drunk on her drink of choice every single night and still wake up each morning with a hangover from hell and an empty heart and aching hands. you have got to stop punching those walls. what is it with you. you and hurting things that only exist to protect you. tell us about that night you got so drunk you swore you were speaking to god. tell us how he listened. how you spoke about her candy eyes and her gum drop lips and golden skin. to look at her was to gaze upon the heavens. he understands. you analogize love making to walking into a church and getting to know each and every pew by name. he takes no offense to this. you ask him if south carolina is better for having her in its bounds. you can't quite explain it but ohio feels a lot less like home now that she's gone. you feel like a drifter. she says there are white sand beaches and sunsets you can't even imagine and entire neighborhoods swallowed up by trees. you want to tell her this broken heart of yours is beginning to ache again. as if it ever stopped. you and god share a laugh at this one. you think no one is listening but you are wrong. all this talk of being in love. she says you are in love with the idea of love but she is wrong and she knows it. so what. the million dollar question. what does it all mean and why. god, why. why her, why this, why here, why now, why. but he only shakes his head. in this he says that the answers are nestled in all the moments you mumble his name. when she is moaning yours, when you are scared, when you are happy, when you are relieved. how every moment with her feels like a culmination of each of these. you understand. you do.

do you remember the table. you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but do you remember the table. the garage sale your mother went to one summer morning and the beginning of the end. the small wooden table she couldn't help but to buy for the day that will never come. you buried it's possibility of existing the day you decided to let me go. but back to this table. do you remember it yet. how we imagined making pancakes in the morning and sitting at that table over cups of cold orange juice and warm breakfast and happy hearts. helping the kids with their homework and doing... other things I'm not comfortable discussing with your mother when she asks what we'll do with it one day. you know. you used to want me in any way you could get me. now I write the names of the children we will never have until my hands shake. I make too many pancakes and pour four more glasses of juice than I need for the family we will never create. it's a habit I can't seem to break. just tell me that you remember the table.

It's been three months since I moved here and you've been here for two of them and it's got me thinking about how in a world without you minutes feel like hours and hours feel like days, and don't even get me started on the days, our time together feels like quicksand running through my hands. It's a mess all over our spotless kitchen floor. The mop finds its way into the grasp of my fingers every day that you are gone, which is often, because honestly I just need something to hold. Something to occupy the time that we should be spending laid up on the couch hours deep into a new Netflix series tossing off the blankets we wrapped oursevles up in because our bodies have generated so much heat from being so close to each other for so long. Most nights I find myself wrapping up the idea of you into a neat little box that I carry around with me in my chest. Occasionally someone knocks to see how you are doing, how we are doing, and I tell them the same things I tell you. I miss you. And they're confused, because we live together, and don't I know that I should have stopped having to miss you months ago? Only I haven't stopped and I never will. Closing the distance between our states will never compare to closing the distance between me crawling into bed hours after you've fallen asleep, and you crawling out before the dawn breaks, kissing my head goodbye as I sleep. These are our interactions and they do not understand. Our bed is warm but my hands are cold. You kiss my knuckles in your sleep and I take a deep breath, hoping to remember the way you smell; the warmth of your skin; the sounds from your throat as I kiss your cheek; this moment. Every night I spend next to you I thank whoever is listening for giving us this simple pleasure- knowing you are safe, you are here, you are mine. I ask for more time but somehow we always come up empty handed. I knew we would have forever since the moment I met you, and in the vows I've been piecing together since the day we fell in love, I say to you this: falling asleep next to you is one thing I will never take for granted, the days I spend without you are nothing compared to those we spend together, and together... together, we have everything we will ever need.

I was never big into religion
rather I devoted my beliefs of a
higher power
to the reality of true love,
of soul mates,
of faith

coincidence never existed in my good book
but ever since you've gone
my god of choice is crumbling

crumbling under the fact that miracle
and mistake
are only four letters apart

crumbling under the weight of every
broken promise
I swear I still feel your pinky tied to
my own
I swear you still love me
sorry

crumbling under the weight of time
these winter months are brutally cold
the wind is blunt with honesty
and you are a coward
who is afraid to love as deeply
as we once did

crumbling under the weight of the last time
you said that you loved me

crumbling
because as your lips moved
I knew
I knew I would never hear those words again from you

our anniversary has come and gone
and I suppose I'm crumbling under the weight of that, too

but mostly
I am crumbling under the weight
of pretending I won't wait
for you.

It's been 59 days since I've seen you and I'm sitting here thinking about how we say the words "I can't" so casually. So endearingly. I can't wait to see you again. But what is promising about that? Why do we always find those words shoving out of our mouths, flying off of our finger tips. I can't wait. But we can wait, and we will wait, and we do. We always do. Without question, we wait and we wait and we wait, without promise of when it will be that we'll see each other again. Without certainty, without doubt, we wait. And this has been and always will be the case when it comes to you. So no, I can't wait to see you again, yes.
But I will.

Living within a death consumed shell,
Engrossed by the madness; a horrifying hell.
Another day goes by living life in a tomb,
Not a sun in the sky, nor a flower to bloom.
Identity lies within the names on the tags,
Fighting for freedom, fighting for flags.
The empty, sorrowed soldier’s eyes
Watch in silence as another man dies.
Locked inside this final fight,
Soldiers die for wrong and right.
And here their bodies laid to rest,
Each of their hearts and souls ablessed.
For one is but a grain of sand,
Lost along this foreign land.

it's june.
your ninety-six year old grandmother wraps her shaking fingers around your hand.
she's dying.
the doctors say she won't make it through the day.
you and your family gather around her bed like crows anxiously circling something from above.
waiting.
your grandmother reaches for your high school year book: ninth grade.
your stomach knots up, and you're not sure why.
silently she flips through the pages with her free hand,
the only sound being that from the oxygen flowing through her cannula.
suddenly she gasps,
and it scares you half to death because you know that she's already far more than halfway there herself,
her clammy fingers clench tighter around yours as she points to a picture on page 57.
everyone in the room looks down at the floor,
as if it is suddenly fascinating,
but you stare at her photo as your grandmother cries and says
"she was the one I was hoping you'd end up with"

it's july.
your grandmother has been gone for one month but you can't get the words she last spoke to you out of your mind.
ninth grade.
high school seems like an eternity ago -
homecoming and prom and then graduation -
you did all of these incredible things together.
but it wasn't enough for you.

it's august.
most people your age will soon be returning to school,
nearing the end of their masters by now.
you can't help but to picture her, smiling for her student ID photo and shuffling through the narrow aisles of an enormous school's book store,
piling her arms full of anything with a hardback and a spine that she can get her little hands on,
books, books, so many **** books -
who the hell's going to hold all of those **** books for her? -
she loved to read.
she loved to write.
you remember the day her first book was published, how she cried for hours and smiled for days,
enthralled with the knowledge that she was now an author.
you watched her sign books, you watched them sign checks,
but you knew she couldn't have cared less about their money. she didn't want it.
you remember all she wanted was for people to read her book. you remember her hunched over her laptop,
constantly updating the website that kept track of how many copies she'd sold.
you remember her signing your book.
all she wanted was for you to read it.
you remember that you never did.

it's september.
you never went back to college.
without her, it just wasn't right for you.
but still, you find yourself camped outside of the university you know she now attends,
looking at every face that exists the building and hoping to god that this one is her.
you wait for an hour,
picturing with giddy excitement the moment your eyes will meet. although there's a crowd of a hundred other bumbling college students you are positive
her eyes will instantly be drawn to yours.
you wait two hours.
and suddenly,
she's there, you see her,
god, after all this time you see her;
and she's still so **** beautiful it nearly blows your mind. you never knew one person could contain so much beauty.
just as you're about to sprint and sweep her off her feet,
you stop dead in your tracks.
the fellow who politely held the door open for the girl
who you realize is in fact no longer a girl
but a woman,
the woman who you used to love,
he takes the books from her hands and wraps his free arm tightly around her waist -
you remember her waist, her hips, her belly button, all the skin you touched and kissed a million times over,
he's touching her now as if
there was never anyone else
before.
you watch although it kills you
because it's simply impossible to turn and look away.
he pushes her bangs - had she always had bangs? - behind her ears and kisses her for what feels like a forever of its own,
and she smiles.
she never takes her eyes away from him.
she doesn't even see you standing there.

it's october.
you drink now, because it's the only way to forget.
you drive yourself near insane wondering how you ever let the love of your life slip right through your undeserving fingers.
you always knew you didn't deserve her.
you just never thought she would ever think the same.

it's november,
but the days seem to run together now.
weeks go by without any attention from you,
and this doesn't matter.
nothing matters.
you lost her.
you remember the first time you ever saw her,
you were fourteen years old.
it was january, but you were wearing shorts. the first thing she ever said to you was "why are you wearing shorts? don't you know it's winter?"
and suddenly, you didnt know.
you didn't know anything,
you didnt know it was winter or monday or 2:52 p.m,
you couldn't tell the sun from the moon or red from blue or anything that didn't have to do with her.
you stood there and you didn't say a word, because you didn't know how to do that either.
but she smiled, and she laughed,
and the sound was enough
to carry you all the way to this day
where you stand drunk,
alone,
without her.

they say our sense of smell
is by far the most powerful
in revoking tucked away memories
and I'm not quite sure who they are
or who gave them the right
to unveil these monstrous moments
stored away in my head

but I remember
your bed smelled like cigarettes
you said you didn't smoke in the house

maybe that was true

but the last time you told me
you loved me
was on a piece of loose leaf paper
taped to my television set
three years ago
and I bet they were up there
placing bets on when I would drive you back
to the point of madness that
my mother had once put you in

three years later
have felt like a nicotine free eternity
of their own

but you're back

back planting cigarette butts
in ***** flower pots
filling your lungs with cancer and your
blood with toxins that I can only imagine
are named after me

and everything we used to be

I can't sit here and write pretty poems
about losing you
because the truth is that there's no polite
way to write about this pain
about the complete lack of pride it takes
to try and pretend that this isn't happening
to lie here and pretend
that I can't feel you slipping through my fingers
sliding away from my heart and out
between my ribs
I can feel this pain in every part of my body.
this pain of losing you.
but I will lie here
and pretend
that it isn't even happening
at all.

where i come from, people speak of peace as if it was, is and always will be an inanimate object of sorts. something far too great for mankind to reach out and grab, to hold, to touch. we speak of peace as if we do not live each day finding new ways to love ourselves and each other, as if we do not find solace in his arms or serenity along the creases of her palms. we have spent far too long searching for someone instead of somewhere to call home, too many yesterdays ago we spoke of prosperity in a sense that made us question our beliefs, something rooted so deep inside of us we lost sight of the peace we created with our lips, kisses that claimed every part of a heart that was stitched together with broken pieces of itself. hear me when I say that peace was never intangible, we hold it in our hands every day. the love letter you've read halfway through but stop before you get to the final "I love you" because laced within the lies is a good bye that you never agreed to, peace is freeing yourself from the anchors printed on card stock paper sealed by the lips of a girl whose name you may never forget. peace is 5 o'clock shadow sprinkled across his chin like cinnamon bun crumbs after six days of no sleep, spending each night celebrating the sunset and injecting the rainbow into his blood flow. it's the kind of high you'll never find laying along the bottom of the bottle at midnight when the world is challenging you to a mental fist fight, drinking yourself into amnesia or blowing out a cloud full of regret after taking a drag on your first cigarette. we were just freaks searching for peace in all the wrong places, we forgot how to live like each day was our last and started passing the time by wishing that it was. perhaps peace was most prominent in our childhood, like when you were a kid on the fourth of July and held a sparkler for the first time and your parents watched the fire reflecting in your eyes. when we were five peace was popsicles and nap time, we took the world by surprise and explored until our eyes were too heavy to continue. and since then peace has felt less like Popsicles and more like hour glass sand, slipping through our hands as if we never even held it at all. but hear me when I say that peace is a process of breaking down walls, it is composed of small symphonies in our heartbeats and the stories etched onto our feet from places we've been and sights that we've seen. peace is his hands and her hips, together again, love letters and Popsicles and skin upon skin.

Never being particularly athleticly inclined, I began training myself to be ambidextrous. I decided this way I could write you love letters with my left hand too. And I'm sorry if that seems tragically unromantic but I want to love you with both hands equally. So I'm sorry if the letters are smudged or if it doesn't seem like much but I hope you never hold another girls hand who learned how to write with both for you. And if some day you do, is it true? Do you love her like you say you do? And if one day you find yourself twisted up in some strange girls sheets don't be alarmed when she suddenly shrieks at the poorly printed words along your spine. I wrote you poetry in my sleep instead of keeping time, darling.

it's really something
how quickly things can change
how one poem ago
you were back
in my bed
in my heart
how one poem ago
you accidentally called me honey
in the middle
of a flirtatious conversation
and every time after that
was on purpose
if you ask me
there are no such thing
as accidents
I would tell you there is no
such thing
as coincidence
that you are only setting yourself
up
for failure
by choosing to believe
in miracles
if you asked me
I would tell you
a long time ago
many
many poems ago
I believed in love
at first sight
and
soul mates
and fate
but the truth is
these beliefs are built
on a quicksand foundation
of lust
and naivety
and sheer
stupidity
love
is the hardest part
of living
the deadliest war
to sign up for
your heart
is not a soldier
you
are not
a battleground
this love
is guerrilla warfare
that wink
this grin
those hands on my hips
these lips
on my neck
your breath
in my ear
my name
on your tongue
this
is
war
one poem ago
we were asleep
like lazy lovers
on a sunday afternoon
one poem ago
the sound of you
moaning my name
has seared itself
back into
my brain
one poem ago
I love you so
much that I say
I will never
let you go
and this morning
you are severing
your own arms
just to escape from
my grasp

You never answered my question*         2:51 AM

2:51 AM                           What is your question?

Are you happy?                                       2:53 AM

2:54 AM                                                          I am,

Good                                                     ­     2:55 AM

Growing up we were allied with tired
people wearing empty eyes
reserved for those whose breaths
were outnumbered by sighs
And in cased in a body who
knows all too well that beauty
is corresponded with size
Constantly battled by a heart
who would take no part in
giving up when you had yet to even try

I asked you to write poetry
along the curve of my spine
so that when the words finally broke me
I would know how it felt to be paralyzed

I tried

We grew up with these standards set
that seemed near impossible to be met
and when you cried
I said don't
           don't tell me that this world isn't fair
and that this life got the best of you
because the truth of the matter is that
that isn't true
at all
I know
because I got the best of you, too

When we were seven years old
you looked at me grinning and stated
Kissing is weird
And I just laughed because
even back then I hated
the way I sounded after hearing your voice

And in fourth grade
when you were given the choice
to sit next to me,
or that cute new girl named Emily
You chose me
Because, somehow,
the girl who had placed fourth in the spelling bee
and concluded her favorite book was the dictionary
had racked up more brownie
points than the beauty queen

In middle school
we learned that popularity
was based solely on cafeteria seating
and all that seemed to matter was
who you were eating with
at lunch that day

But no one ever bothered to say
hey, I'll save a seat for you

So in grew the miss fits and nobodies
and here we first knew that our value
wasn't worth a saved seat
So we did our best to blend in alone
along the walls and tried our hardest
not to fall when the world slowly came
crumbling in on us
Because in the end all we had
was ourselves among the dust
of the place that we used to be a part of

Used to be

It all used to be so routine
Coffee and cigarettes and
somewhere between
glasses of wine we would find
ourselves curled up on the couch
with our hands intertwined
like two lovers who didn't care
to converse with the presence of time
Because we didn't

Thunderstorms were our thing
And every spring when the rains
would come it never just rained,
                       it poured
I'd pretend  that I was scared so I could explore
the veins on your arms as you held me
and I did my best to absorb
you like the ground soaking in all the rain,
saving it for later days
when the sun was too bright
and the flowers thought there
was no way they could ever survive
But they did

Because even on the hottest of days
the rains would arrive
and revive their stems
restoring the strength they needed
to grow again
I only hoped that someday
I would trace your veins back to my heart

Because loving you was an art
that had no ending towers
and the only place to start
was with a paintbrush in your hand
Ready to paint the flowers
that bloomed when the thunderstorms
shook that vacant tomb
I used to call my heart

But somewhere between
a head start and a late beginning
with life, I found loving you
was  by far the best part

the invisible struggle that exists between wanting to write and not wanting people to know is named after you. late nights and sharpie scrawls on crumpled pieces of paper that will never see the outside of a trashcan. the insides of my eyelids and the paper slips kissed by dull pencil tips are the only ones who will ever know. 3 a.m is the closest thing I've ever had to a friend. the silence is deafening and sleeping is an impossible paradise because I belong on the opposite end of the world. somehow I know that no number of miles will suffice in the category of distance between our bodies. its been months but I still smell the alcohol on your breath that is a little too close to my ear. your hand by my thigh. a warmth on my neck that shouldn't even exist and I can hear myself saying no but my mouth isn't moving and I dont even ******* want to sit here and make rhymes about that night because you aren't ******* worth any of it. you aren't worth a ******* rhyme or a poem or a metaphor because you ruined *everything.