Sitting on the bench
under this weeping willow,
I talk to you.
As I throw my voice across
the breeze catches my words,
and brings them back to me.

I make
watercolor images of you
on my paper.
Stroke after stroke,
using shades that I like
to fill the crevices and gaps within me.

Tonight I throw pebbles idly
into the stream.
As fishes gather around them
I talk about us to the moon.

So sometimes when I think of you my throat gets tight.
Sometimes my body twitches on it's own the way it would have if you touched it.
Sometimes I miss you.
But-
I must remember that you only loved me for the way my skin shined in the sun and never for the way my soul shimmered in the moonlight.
Sometimes that reason is why I can think of you and feel nothing at all.
So although sometimes I cry at my memories with you, other times I am glad I left you too.

The pen bleeds
But the heart still hurt
Yearning to learn that story
To console its forgotten memories

A face that haunts
The same voice that makes you cry in your sleep
Puzzles that vanish
When the sun is up and reality is awake

I don't know
I can't remember
I want to know
I want to remember

The heart that longs
The pain that can't be consoled
Making the present bleak
Them looking at you in disdain

Who am I?
Why am I here?
Why am I different?
Why do I feel too much?

I don't know
I cannot remember
I need to know
I need to remember

you picked me up
and spread me apart
over and over
leaving your notes
in the margins
and fingerprints
on my pages.
now no matter
who reads me
all they can see is you,
staining each page
with blue ink
and a hopeful heart.

to think there’s a reality
in which we never parted,
to think of our naivety
saying we’d keep in contact,

it hurts to think of what might be
if i’d only stopped to ask
if you’d care, years later, about me;
but enough dwelling on the past.

I saw your shadowed twin last night
Under the open moon
And as I walked I heard your voice
So hushed with an echoed tune
Your scent dragged along the wind
All things I’ve missed the most
Your gentlest touch on my sleeping skin
My dear, my love, my ghost

I shouldve known
to better leave the gaps
between my fingers just gaps.
To not fill the space between my lips
when it's slightly parted.
To not fill my nose with your scent.
To not fill my mind with thoughts of you.
To not fill the emptiness
with something in your form.
Because whole things,
complete pieces ,
only know how to break.