timing is a delicate thing. it's the difference between life & death. it's the difference between a sure yes & a strong maybe. it's the difference between a friendly glance & a look held too long.

timing's never really been my thing. I'm always too late. too late for appointments, for chances, for people. I never know how to show up at quite the right time. and I think I wanted timing to mean less than it did. because now you need the time. because your time is valuable and while I know it's not being wasted, I know it needs to be acknowledged that you need it. and that be the end. and there be no other place we go for then. and I need to accept that this could be a road I looked down and walked past. and just because I don't want that doesn't make it not what it is. or what it could be. because it is what it is. it is.

5/23/17

she taught me of new beginnings
and the healing of january
that you don't have to be profound
all the time
you don't have to be observed
you can change the storyline
but still remember that time

together we drank in nashville
to the days of virginia
swearing to return to art
when we got there
our lives were in full circle
she still believed in me
she is the closest thing
to an older sister i know
and maybe i am strong enough to say
that i don't love the person
that she let go of too

It's your birthday today. It's another point in time that I won't share with you. Even after trying, I feel as if I can't even be a part of the friends that wish you a happy birthday on your ******* facebook wall. Most of the time now I don't even think about you or I see you as something to look back on fondly. Yet I'll see a photo of you and remember exactly why I fell for you and I remember the feeling of breathlessness. I'm always stuck convincing myself that I can't do this to myself again, so I forget. I forget to think of your eyes when I look at the stars. I forget to think of your smile when I feel the summer night car breeze blow through my hair. I forget to see your body when I look at the crashing ocean waves before me. I forget to see the ink on your skin when the sun sets over the mountains turning the sky orange. I forget about you… until I remember.

Jen, never worry because I promise you that everything is going to be okay.
Your mind is as breathtaking as views from Table Mountain and your love is as beautiful as the Sistine Chapel.
Life for us was different a few weeks ago, silhouettes of dreams keep me holding on to a different hope.
Two minds flooded with dopamine, our disagreements show that we have more issues than weekly magazines.
But our love proves that nothing has changed in regards to the connection that we share.
I still write about you in hopes that one day you’ll read all these words and hopefully find your way back to me.
The moment that you opened up your eyes, I was right there by your side and my love for you comes as no surprise.
When my blue skies have turned grey, I listen to that one Emeli Sandé song and reminisce about you every single day.
So babe, it’s okay you can hold me now, hold me down and hold me always.
Listening to Long Live the Angels and taking note of the colours in my dreams.
When the relentless heat of the summer sun drove me crazy all I could think about was your smile and those beautiful brown eyes.
I’ve come to accept that love is a part of me even when it’s apart from me.
Jen, never worry because I promise you that everything is going to be okay.

It could be the comprehensive blow
of short sharp needles to my torso,
or the merciless ache
of looking at a sunflower with one eye shut,
or the unrelenting urgency to walk
the map of another.
but,
there are spaces,
where leaves use to be,
and now afternoon air moves between,
and there are dusty birds,
who flutter to the sound of the rain.

This day, as winter dies -
cold, and heartless, and exposed - a December which lingers
and feels no shame in subduing me.
It was in January that I was bad; slipping back to ghostly fingers
spectres in the eyes of him, me, you -
others around us that let their busy laughter sit on the roads like mist.
The lonely chattering of teeth under scarves, hot conversations wet with breath dew
Quick thoughts. Openly sad. Feelings persist.
A layer of sleep coated my fingers, my hair. My cold feet.
And beneath my gloved hands danced anothers' thoughts I struggled to know.
Slipping quietly into a slower body; sleeping under a layer of snow.
Soon, I promise, I will get better again. As winter dies.