I've made such efforts to forget,
to forget the sun soaked sheets in the early summer mornings

and of the way our eyes would meet after sweet symphonies of dreams divine.

Attempts To erase the savory smells of morning coffee, shared smiles and skylit kisses in the garden

Or of The warm sounds your feet made when they traversed the oak floors as if saying follow us we'll lead you to the light.

And they did, they led me to the sun, Where it kissed my skin and bones as if gracing me with an endless summer.

And Yet I still retrogress back to memories of the winter rain resting easy as it glistened on the soft pastel rose petals

So much like the way our eyes held passion in the beginning

And still I couldn't forget and cast away such an exquisite chapter filled with beauty passion and love

for those are the memories and experiences in which our true selves are forged. And I'm almost who I'm meant to be.

i never got to try
all those good things
like the taste of coffee in 3am
(because i'm sure it's different than the one in 7)
and waking up well rested;
like losing myself and that meaning something nice
and being proud of myself;
like being good at my favourite activities
and screaming at the top of my lungs
on the roof of an abandoned building;
like drawing silly things
and singing along to lyrics that don't make any sense;
like being strong enough
and saving myself
i never got to be fine,
so i don't know how to keep going

We have that easy, lazy kind of love.
That sleep in late and wake up gently
     to morning kisses kind of love.
A love so simple and genuine
there's no effort involved at all, really.
                        It just is.
I knew from the very start
we were something special, baby,
when your slow smile reached out
to take hold of my heart,
no trying needed.
                       And we just were.
And now, now baby,
we have that beautiful love,
     that lazy kind of love.
And it's sitting together for
     a cup of morning coffee,
And little reminders of affection
     left for surprise.
It's the slow breath in
     after the content sigh
     following a deep kiss in the rain.
And never wanting to leave,
     always returning for
     just one more.
We have that easy love,
     the carefree kind of love.
                      And it just is.

The museum feels like heaven, feels like I could walk into the corner Pollack and the indiscriminate Monet, but there’s the characterization of Thomas Kane and you hate Mondays security guard.

The man with a beard followed me all the way from the Impressionist room to the modern films and when he finally made me lift my eyes from the canvas, his were turquoise and shook me awake.

I kept running up the stairs because I finally found out where they keep the hidden garden with the spiraled copper fountain and I laughed when I found my reflection in the Italian enamel.

You fell asleep with your head on my knees.
The weight of your skull was alarmingly heavy, so I played with your hair until you woke up. The moment of recognition on your face was so human I wanted to cry.

You scrunch up your eyebrows and touch your glasses trying to remember and a tiny echo of a perfect smile plays on your lips. You kiss me exactly and hum along.

You carried a contraband white umbrella into the gallery so we hid it under a desk. Your helmet was still blank so I gave you some concept art. Your languid loss of service as a multitude of goodbyes allow me to kiss your forehead right as your thoughts hit the pillow.


So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I understand why you tuck me into a warmer blanket before you leave for work in the morning with your heavy boots and your thermos and let me sleep while you shower and kiss me awake for breakfast with a cup of coffee in hand.

**** up
your daily dose of caffeine
and face the world
with nothing else but
an empty slate for hope
and
a drained cup of faith