You talked about leaving like it was just another errand,
like it was something you had to do—
not something you wanted.
Not something that would leave me standing here,
watching the space you used to fill.

I used to love space.
The vastness, the quiet,
the way it stretched on forever without needing anything back.
But now the stars remind me of you—
always there, always distant,
never mine.

I tell myself I was just passing through your life,
like a comet burning bright before fading.
Maybe I was never meant to matter.
Maybe you never even noticed I was there.

And still—
I hate that I miss you.
I hate that after all this time,
one short message can make my whole day.
I hate that you will never know.
And I hate that even if you did,
it wouldn’t change a thing.

Well, babe, I’ve been let go
I am still learning how to let go.
My hands are so tired.
The people we once were,
the you I once knew,
evaporate into the rearview.

If you refuse to drive
hell, if you won’t even touch the wheel
we’ll keep speeding toward something too dark,
something neither of us can name.
I don't want that for us.

If not for me, then for you.
If I take my foot off the gas,
we go nowhere.
You said, let go.
But there is no way I can let go
without leaving you behind.

We don’t have to crash.
Babe, I’m tired.
We’ve driven too far past the last exit to turn around.
Skidded across the median more times than I’d like.
I don’t mind the potholes,
the chipped paint,
or the blurred lines.

but if we pull over,
I’m not getting back behind the wheel

Oh, to be loved by the writer,
Here, you become the poem you never wanted to.
You'll be her words, where she bleeds her heart to write a single line
And pours all her love into the pages.

She keeps you alive in her poems,
Where you live a life of bliss.
But if you hurt her,
The same words of hers become the knife that stabs directly into your heart.

She becomes the one to make you feel loved and hated every time she writes.
The love she has are words that burn with emotions.
And if you love her the way she does,
She becomes the kind who dies when she loves.

I was once in pieces,
Kept together by lousy glue,
Always thought it was meant to be,
But it was not true.

What once was is gone.
All of my feelings for you fell,
It was a great, endless struggle,
And I went through hell.

Now there is somebody new,
Two hearts being held together
Not by some temporary glue,
Held by a weld, Forever.

Funny how tears fall sometimes—
uninvited, unexplained,
without any reason or rhyme.

Our minds, so overwhelmed with emotion,
as soon as we feel any sort of devotion,
any sort of desperation,
any sort of euphoria,
any sort of nostalgia.

Funny how we see crying
as only a representation of melancholy and misery,
when in truth, it encapsulates all the seasons—
from our sun-kissed days to the pale winter’s moon—
and makes us feel oh so much.
Makes us feel everything.
Makes us feel human.

An emotion or an illusion?
When you think, you are.
When you want, you can.
When you don’t—can you?

A state or a fate?
Do you decide it, or not?
Is it in your mind,
or beyond thought?

Is it materialism or a bond,
a lasting memory of years along—
a friendship, a relation, an achievement,
or nature’s quiet appreciation?

Is it real, or is it fake?
Something defined, or something I make?
A gaze into eyes,
or a stare at the stars?

If it is peace,
does it shine in the night sky?

Is it beautiful, or merely calming?
Cool or exciting—does it differ for all?
A claim to most,
or the worst of all?
Found in small things,
or in things that are not?

A sip of coffee in the cold,
or a cool breeze in summer’s warmth?
Is it in birth, or in death?

Up until now, more or less,
if I am in confusion,
so are you.
Asking yourself—
What is happiness?

I’ve lived in your heart for a minute now.
And though I love it here,
the faucet leaks,
the door doesn’t shut right
sometimes I have to hold a hand to it
just to lock it back.

When you drink, the space between your ribs
tightens, and your liver expands.

The neighbors aren’t so bad.
They keep to themselves.
When they see me, we talk about
how high the rent is,
how much we don’t get in return for the association fees,
how often we wake up to notices on our door
about late payments
always knocking like the police.

For this reason, I don’t attend any of the meetings.
But I don’t want to leave.

I’ve lived in your heart for a minute now
long enough to sleep through the creaks
when it settles,
long enough to know that home is where my heart is.

Forever isn’t a day here.
It stretches into the way you snore
when you think no one is listening
probably my favorite sound