If you can really love someone one day and say straight to their face that you still love them unchanged after you parted ways for many years, what do the people in the middle get? What do the people in between the year you took a break and the year you meet again have left for them?

Oh! A temporary love, right?

The kind of love that you call "less," when you feel you have no other choice and you can't live a day alone so you settled for it.

And when a better option shows up as your old and true love comes back, it is the love that you can easily drop, the love that you easily get tired of, the love that you regret at the end, the love that you take for granted.

And behind that love, are persons-- dropped, regretted, and taken for granted. Right?

I don't know how I met you. Inspired.
It's like you appeared out of the thin air.
Newly created...

I held my own, just barley,
As you looked at me, across your dinner table at mid day or earlier.
Like it was early in the morning even though it wasn't.
Fresh and geeky, tidy and neat, And on a mission!
You smiled, laughed and winced in my general direction.
I answered your questions, one worded like.
You answered mine before I even asked, I was mystified.
You're like a feather, from a native chiefs head dress,
Dipped in ink,
Then blown onto a piece of paper made of pure flexible gold,
Written into existence by divine inscription.
Dawson Creek...

I made a sculpture. Five so far,
I cut my thumb, multiple times on this one, multiple times.
Sorry. To number five and to myself,
Bad skills, bad counter-pressure,
Blood, scars, band-aids.
Blood on five, scars on me,
Pouce Coupe...

Between for me equals the space between,
Between Dawson Creek and Grand Prairie,
Like Pouce Coupe, is "cut thumb", in french.
A mother tongue language of somewhere in me, undiscovered.
English is my Papa tongue, the language of, "let's get things done!"
Both pretty good. One definitely more productive! Go!
Pouce Coupe, the undiscovered middle ground.
A french name for an English town.
Pouce Coupe...

Like this sculpture,
Art from the space between, Like the memory of you,
My "lost" friends,
Memories like driving there and home again.
Through memory lane.
It's like Pouce Coupe, the memory of you.
Like the scar, the cut thumb, the memories good and all my bad.
And somewhere in between I'll meet you all again,
Most likely in "Pouce Coupe".
The unpredictable space between,
Pouce Coupe...

do you ever think about
how funny we finally got used to it?
you with her,
me with myself​,
and us,
with a high thick wall between us.

—f.r

and between you and me is the world

and between you and me is a language

and between you and me is culture

and between you and me is a war

and between you and me is religion

and between you and me is a wall

and between you and me is perception

and between you and me is ourselves

You made it
onto my paper
from
in between my ribs
to
in between my lines
&
all I can do
is sharpen my pencil
every time
I reach the end
of each stanza

Sad birds still sing
Sad lovers force smiles through pain
Those who are drowning still try to swim

Conditions, don't give us defenitions
We define conditions with our reactions

You can't control everything, but your reactions will always determine everything

And maybe, just maybe
Love is not the four letters
But the spaces in between them.


-- Eleanor

Between the stars
And the million years
Your face appears.


-- Eleanor

Emotions lay at the end of empty liquor bottles
While Pain sits in the middle of his ****** filled syringe
The struggle of leaving love left a feeling so strenge

She drunk her way out of love
As he drugged his way out of love

Getting over love is painful
don't overdose while getting over something that wasn't meant to be
Forcing you to be who you not supposed to be

Remember that addicts were once lovers looking for a drug more powerful than love