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there is a story here.
i don't know if i can call it Love,
the two of us discovered Her a long time ago.
now, capsized boats
washed up on the shore
unsure what to do with all the baggage we still carry
from the heart we previously sought refuge in.
we walk close to the ocean
leaving footprints in the sand
and watching them disappear with every wave.
you reach out your hand for me
and i hold it,
desperate for something to anchor me to the Earth.
i can feel it moving beneath me,
and i’m not ready.
you press a kiss into the back of my palm.
a tear falls down your cheek.
we help one another patch the holes in our boats
with shared laughter and endless dreaming.
you let me sleep on your chest at night,
as we watch the sun fall behind the horizon.
i don’t know if i can call it Love,
but i’m starting to remember why we floated so far from the shore
in the first place.
i’m starting to remember what it means to feel comfortable in silence,
to listen to someone’s heartbeat
and be reminded that there is a life outside your own
that just wants to be held for a little while longer.
i press a kiss into your forehead
and let a laugh escape
as my eyes fill with tears.
you’re looking at me
with eyes so deep
a soul so loud.
there is a story here,
on this shipwreck island
of a boy and a girl
who aren't sure what to call this,
who have been hurt by Love before
and are afraid to drown again.
but still,
they float messages in old glass bottles across the sea
speak through tin can telephones
send paper airplanes over the distance between them
hoping that one day they will meet again
with something more to offer
than an unfinished story.
Saving for us
Saving for her
walking alone yet,
On the phone
The distance feels smaller
Yet that made it farther
What we have become is
'easier than'

Easier than fighting,
easier than being alone,
easier than starting fresh with someone new.

What if the only reason we're seeing this through
is some twisted form of convenience?
Some roundabout portrayal of what's easier than
staying home alone in our rooms.
Months and Years of preparation, dashed in an instant
through a letter, one Form or another.

We keep trying to pick up the pieces
because it's easier than looking into each others' eyes
and admitting we just don't work anymore,
if we ever worked in the first place.
The longer I stay in this dark place
the less likely the latter seems, if I'm honest.
I want this to happen.
It'd be easier than being without you.
Would it?
Would it really?
Or would it just be easier than starting over?
This screen, bright with frustration, draws-
with careful precision-
the shape of your face.
It must grow tired, as I do,
of creating this image.
How can I know that you are real
when I have never touched your face?
Bitterness for a system long corrupt grows within me.
I am full to bursting with love and fury.

These complications breed more dissatisfaction.
Afraid of travel, afraid of people.
Stuck in a seemingly unending loop of legality
for crimes forgiven long ago.
How many moons more must I wait
to hold your hand in mine?
Eight years.

Long, empty time laughs cruelly at our labors
as we struggle to hold together a friendship
(now a bloomed and wilting relationship)
that we once held above all else.
My love for you is unending, a thing of faerie tale,
but I find my patience lacking.
I have waited and I have yearned for you.
I have tried, to no avail, to leave you behind me-
instead, I was greeted with the haunting realization that
nothing compares to you.
No man, no woman, no circle of peers,
can provide for me the things you offer.
I know you feel the same,
though a mix of dread and delusion prevent you from showing me
in the way I need so desperately to be shown.
I know that you, too, feel this pain.

Seamless, ceaseless pixels bring me your countenance,
now weathered with sadness and age.
Once upon a time, I thanked them.
Now, I throw curse upon curse;
hurling all my animosity at those things that carry you to me
in the only form I've ever known.
"I've been living so long with my pictures of you that
I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel."

If I cannot feel your hand, cold in mine-
If I can't smell your hair
or feel your chest drenched with those happy tears of
At Last!,
do you really exist at all?
Mercilessly, cruelly, are we brought before our judge,
The Test of Time.
Eight years; is it wasted?
Wrote this Oct 10, 2018. Computer crashed and I thought I'd lost it. Here ya go, I guess. Sorry not sorry for the pop culture references. These things are a part of who we are, and I bring my soul forth to bear.
Grace 3d
I said I’d wait for you
And I did
I am still
I always will
Even though there’s lots of other people
I’ll still choose you

Even though you went from
New Jersey to Virginia,
Florida to California and back
I’ll choose you

Even if you leave again
I’ll wait again

I chose you
And I’ll do it
Again and again
Even thrice more

Through it all
I choose you
We promised to always come back to each other, I’m sticking to that promise. No matter where the MC Stations you... I’ll meet you at the finish line. You’re my best friend
Ek 3d
The tree sheds its leaves
every golden day
and leaves the bare grass open
for the hungry night

The winds allow blossoms in the wild
one peeping past the tree's curtains
fixes ones sight into natures cycle
the Tree gave birth to a bedded apple

But before autumn can pass
and enter spring
the tree must sacrifice its roots and branches
and leave in the cold winter wind
JR Falk 3d
your fan sounds like rain on a window pane through the speaker on my phone as you’ve fallen asleep on video call for what could be the hundredth time, i’ve lost count of how many nights we’ve done this
since we were 16, we have done this, year after year
the sound does not bother me though, and i do not hang up
instead, i pretend you’re beside me as i listen to your breathing
it is steady, rhythmic
it seems that everything you do, you do beautifully, it’s so hard not to stare
you make music when you speak, a pattern in your syllables imprinting on my brain
you see, you make music for a living, but my favorite songs are the way you run your fingers through your hair instead of brushing it
the way your brows furrow when reading an email
how every time you put on a hat, it’s tilted slightly to your left
the fact that each time we kiss, you always peck my lips after and smile a toothy grin
when you laugh and your eyes crinkle up at the corners
your attention to detail, color coordination, aesthetics
how you always make sure to remind everyone you talk they should drink more water,
i love falling asleep listening to you
i listen to the music you make when you aren’t even trying
i miss you
Grace 4d
At one point
I knew you
Loved who you were
Your quirks and awkward laugh
Your smile and crooked front tooth

I remember you so clearly
Yet you’re so far away
You’re a stranger to me

“Well, we all have a face
That we hide away forever
And we take them out
And show ourselves when everyone has gone”

But ”everyone” never leaves
So now that face... You,
Have become a stranger

I don’t know who I am
I’ve hidden you so long
You’re foreign to me
Inspired by Billy Joel’s The Stranger.
It’s sad that so many of us hide who we really are. Myself included
The distance between us has multiplied
Physically, we're miles away.
Our hearts have been separated.
But I feel like there was always a connection before you performed the separation.

Once we were close to calling it a relationship
Until one night you told me there were no feelings.
Everything was cool, until I saw a picture of you and my replacement.

He was in your personal space and you were happy.
I thought I made you happy, but you favoured some hidden love.

I don't know if there was love for me.
Those tight hugs and meaningful conversations told me that there was something in it.
I guess I was only scratching the surface of a well hidden lie.

Days I'd sit thinking about the future.
You were leaving soon and my biggest concern was to ensure that I don't lose you to someone else.
But that happened anyway.

We could be talking daily on social media,
But maybe I'm just not worth it.

I hate that I'm fond of you.
"i promise," she said quietly to herself,
"i promise that I won't let them hurt me anymore.
i will be stronger than them."

after so much heartbreak in her life
after so many people came into her home, made a mess and broke things
just to leave and make her clean it up by herself
she locked the doors and built a gated wall.
she leaves her windows open but she never lets people inside.
she is rebuilding her beautiful home,
she is making an astonishingly glorious garden
she is making all the pain into a beautiful mosaic
with a "do not touch" sign underneath.
she is becoming brand new
and it's such a beautiful thing.
I am over all the *******
I have enough going on
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