There isn’t much to this week
but on this day, intertwined in a breeze
wondering if the clouds will shower
or burst into a freeze
I read pages and pages of past
taking breaks to peel pears
and slice the strawberries
drizzling honey onto plates
and savouring the sweetness of spring fruit
I think of all the mountains I've yet to climb
and how much I look forward to the rain
but parts of me still hold onto autumn
and the feeling of watching the trees
shift into a new ending
It’s just like how these days
I keep returning to the shelves on these walls
picking up all the books
from every conversation in the past
and trying to, once again, read between the lines
to decipher when those questions
became answers

Raise a glass and drink up til the bottle is done;
Here's to addictions unconquered
Here's to suicides attached to names not known well enough to grieve for
Here's to the burden one passes onto another when one gets too comfortable
Here's to those who cared when no one else did
Here's to those adolescent walks in the dark chasing shadows
Here's to us speaking til we fell asleep mid sentences
Here's to the lovers who kicked us out the house then kicked us in the head for leaving
Here's to walking in circles with each step painless for the first time in forever & staring out into nothing astounded
Here's to smoking for the first time in months and thinking back to one night years before and the self-inflicted concussions that followed
Here's to the faces we can't look at anymore without our chests caving inward & hating ourselves
Here's to the fascia tissue unzipped & exposed and cringed at & regretted & better left forgotten the next morning
Here's to our sorries telepathically sent & unsent
Here's to forgiveness reached in silence
Here's to time healing nothing but changing everything
Here's to first kisses and final goodbyes
Here's to when she wore his dress for the first time and he her boots
Every vice has it's versa and every versa it's vice, right? right. so
Here's to holding hands with another for another first with heart pounding and surrounding eyes staring or going out of their way not to stare the closer they'd get
Here's to saying **** everyone & everything else when you know beyond a doubt what's right is right
Here's to ugly faces made pretty up-close and seeing pretty faces turn ugly
Here's to spending those last pennies on the first pack of cigarettes in years and looking into foodbanks & catshelters incase nothing got better
Here's to laughing hysterically after getting told you were cheated on, knowing you won't be the paranoid ******* for breaking up again and the hangover-like realisation two days later when the worthlessness settled in
Here's to those lonely walks home covered in blood & punching busstops & ******* in the middle of the street undisturbed by a single soul in-passing
Here's to that hour writhing in a floored mattress screaming the same name over & over again to no answer
Here's to things not working out as planned and it being upto you for that to be for a reason,
Here's to being comatosed & frostbit in pisssoaked jeans as crying family waited for the ambulance to arrive
(surely, I'm not the only one who was supposed to die at thirteen but didn't?)
Here's to the writers who changed how we wrote, the gentle man obsessed with mud turnt muck & thunderstorms & ******* and the pretty French boy and the boundless reclusive femcel before her time
Here's to the men & women we could never become
Here's to love stated but no longer felt, and vice versa and vice versa.

And
Here's to this, the final top up of the night! -too drunk or too tired? either or- and what a night it's been, considering the weight of all those nights before;

Here's to all those loves that never worked out & all those suicidal nights alone trembling with fear of the following day & the next, all leading to you and I sharing this wonderful day together.
Honestly? I wouldn't trade it for the world

Would time tell that once we were
Two wandering kinds in the realm of love
Knew we belong yet denied
It was just blooming in our hearts
What I abandoned
To love one thing and hate another

Young love is but the essence of time
You cherish it with your toes curling
Deep in my heart I knew you're the one
You're tender, rare and witty

You were an innocent rose
Spreading its scent to unfamiliar world
You're a flower whose beauty
matches no vase.

27th/December/2023

730 days of ambiguity,
Searching your soul,
Finding a cracked China doll,
Fragile, yet beautiful,
With a tragic past.

That one holiday in New London,
A mere ride on the Ferry away,
But we took the long way,
Simply to have more time.
More time, how I wish… we had it.

Our excitement as bold,
As our love for each other then,
You watched that Mohegan Sun rise,
Through that gaping window, overlooking the lake,
As you studied my sleep.

A holiday festivity,
Experiencing Siberian music,
In this Native American palace,
Dining like royalty,
And smiling in harmony.

730 days of highs and lows,
Despite how it all ended, and it did end,
That one, quaint little memory,
Reminds me of one simple thing,
We’ll always have Mohegan Sun

Running down that gravel road back home,
Spitting rock from my churning feet,
Arms pumping with a determination,
Lungs burning pleasantly like they only do when you're young,
Excitement in a way that is only felt by those under 23.

Lord oh Lord,
Where did the days go?
Carry me back to when I didn't have the knees of a 56-year-old,
Before my metabolism slowed down to a snail's pace,
And I needed to watch my blood pressure and my weight.

Head a-swimmin,
Stomach queasy,
Like asking out your first crush,
Or maybe a beer or 3 too many,
I think back to when I was a teen.

I saw you in the aisle of the supermarket,
And I just realized this is the first time I've thought of you in years,
Like an anchor that was cut loose decades ago discovered by divers,
Covered in barnacles and rust.

I just remembered you still have one of my guitars,
And wonder if you still have that mug we made on one of our dates,
The one you used every morning when we dated,
I wonder if you still drink that horrid tasting tea.

When was the last time you thought about our trip to New York City,
Where we first saw the Statue of Liberty,
Do you remember comforting me at the World Trade Center Memorial,
When I was overcome with melancholy?

But just as quick I saw you,
You disappeared from sight,
Not spotting me in the market crowd,
Going on with your life.

Lips quirk up for a second,
I go back to shopping,
And back on with my life,
Glad with my lot and place,
Hoping that you are too,
And knowing I'll never think of you again.

I think back to 5 years ago,
To those days in northern New York,
Where my life felt like some coming-of-age tale,
Coming into my own.

Each day was its own chapter,
Shenanigans and hijinks,
Bar room brawls and short-lived loves,
Drunken tattoos and crutching on snow 2 feet deep,
Barracks parties and field exercise tomfoolery,
Oh, how it all seems like such a dream now.

Fleeing from authorities,
Cackling with buddies as we disappeared into the crowd to make it to the next bar,
Showing up to work on Monday with a recently broken nose, blackened eye, and ****-eating grin,
With my buddies sporting similar signs,
Our First Sergeant taking stock of these injuries,
And walking onward with a little smirk.

Walking through Watertown,
Feeling the age of that military town,
Filled with secondhand stores and oddities,
My God such a surreal dream.

Stuck in bed,
Knee wrapped up in bandages,
Protecting all the stitches beneath,
Looking out the winter at the blizzard outside,
Craving a working leg more than the percocet,
And knowing that the dream was coming to an end.

Sitting with my father,
And a man I grew up regarding as an uncle,
Catching up and reminiscing of earlier days,
When they did something that made my heart break.

They both looked at an empty chair,
As if waiting for it to chime in,
A chair where a third man used to sit.

My father's smile grew slack,
The twinkle that was there snuffed out,
My uncle took a quick draw,
From both his cigarette and his beer,
Both sucker-punched by the old sting of grief,
Remembering their 3rd.

A mix of these two men,
The third use to be,
A man with an uproarious personality,
The kind of friend every man finds that he needs.

He was a kind soul,
A man to emulate,
Kindred to his fellows,
A rare quality you never see.

A confidant,
A sounding board,
A getaway driver,
A unique kind of breed.

They come to,
The moment shattered,
And they continue to speak.