i arrived in this world with no map to guide me but the palms of your hands. you let me hold them sometimes, and they’re warm and inviting.

sometimes you make me feel starry-eyed with your words, or at least that’s what you used to do

but i’m waiting for you to send me constellations of goosebumps running down my arms and spine

i will shape myself into an amateur cartographer, and make it an active point to mark places on the map that we’ve been to together, and as i trace my fingers across towns and mountains we’ve yet to cross, a part of me wonders if we’ll even get to any of those destinations

because somehow you’re staggering and i don’t know why or what’s holding you back

still i persist, i yearn for adventure.

i leave the map unfurled and smooth the creases of my sudden remembrance that i came here alone. i made my own decisions and ran into you in the meanwhile.

you too, were a wandering traveler. your feelings as nomadic as your feet on these lands. i wouldn’t call myself foolish to have ever gotten involved, but you are embedded in my memories. a new story for me to flesh out every time someone asks me how i got here or there. i’ll keep meandering from town to town, but no longer will i seek you — you may find me.

i realized this was not your map, but mine.

You put more effort into your job.

Think about this.
Let it sink in.
You don't love your job.
Often you don't even like it.

You don't look forward to it.
You don't write happy status updates regarding it.
But you do put more effort into it.

You dress nicer.
You're often kinder and quicker with a compliment for your colleagues.
You're nearly always on time and considerate of others needs and wants.
You do your hair, put on a suit, paint on some face.

Imagine if you did that for your family and loved ones.
Imagine getting up in the morning and making the effort to look your best; no lulu lemons or tank tops and shorts.
Imagine putting on a pressed shirt or dress just so the person you love can see you looking great.
Imagine showing up on time for friends events with a small gift in hand.

Imagine caring as much about the people you love.

The lost drown and smoke your words away
Hidden behind layers of a self-induced fog too thick to be heaven’s curtains,
Yet too thin to be effective.

I hear your whispers
Soft melodies of melancholy
Ripple down my spine
More paralyzing
Yet akin
To a car wreck
Birthed by the same vaporous spirits I used to hide behind.

Now I choose clarity.
Mindfulness
The Buddha showed the way
Is it easy to follow a path first lit over two thousand years ago?
Ask me again tomorrow.
Today those whispers like tiny devil worms sneak along
My spine delivering emotions and thoughts
Not mine.
And I am lost
Helpless as they take my mind
And defuse my spirit
And giggle as I follow Rome
Once great, forgotten, found but never resurrected.

I defy you Voice inside my mind.
I see you
I hear your whispers and acknowledge
That I am not your author.

Be wary
Be mindful
Because I too whisper
Of a love stronger than your hate.

I think I should write more.
My head is fuzzy with the unspoken words
Of the nameless creatures whom
Spew forth nonsense and melancholy.

Purge. Now there is a word!
An emotional release not unlike
Coming to fruition.

There it is again,
Lust and *** and tulips
Not daffodils, certainly not the rose
Are you as lost as I?

Aimless spurts of feelings
Thinly covered with sheets of paper
The ink like blood, seeps through
A stain of truth that no one can see
Except you, my love.