When he made
his first personal appearance
in the ***** alley
on someone else's rusty bike,
screaming along
in a cloud of dust,
it rendered us all
speechless and motionless.
But I was amazed
that despite his grey-faced surliness,
he was very affable with us...
the bully with a naive
and sentimental heart.
He was so happy
to hear that I liked his dad,
or that my mum liked him,
and he was welcome
to come to tea
with us at five twenty five...
Our adventures were spectacular:
chasing after other bikesters,
screaming at the top
of our lungs
into blocks of flats,
and then running
as our echoed waves of terror
blended with incoherent threats...
"I'll call the Police, I'll..."
Wicked cahoots.

Maroon, crimson, dark red.
Whatever color you want to call it,
it sits balled in front of me on my old bedside table.
You want it back because it has "sentimental value,"
your brother bought it for you before he went off to the military
and it cost him seventy dollars.

On the top shelf of my current bedside table,
at the back, hidden from light, from sight,
sits the ring you bought me that cost over two hundred dollars,
the ring that signified a promise that you swore you'd keep.
You asked if it bothered me to have, if it hurt,
and I told you that it didn't.
You said that I should keep it.
You say the hoodie has sentimental value but I sit here with a ring of mineral,
real diamond centered on its band,
coveted only by the box you presented it to me in when you tricked me into finding it,
when you told me you'd love me until the day that you died.
The ring that later represented not only our connection,
our relationship,
but our engagement that I hear you're denying ever happened.

You did not ask for the ring back.

You never said that it held "sentimental value,"
but your seventy dollar hoodie from the brother who has given you
fear to be touched by unprecedented betrayal,
does.

I cannot help but wonder how you are not bothered by an item that once held such meaning
no longer being in your possession.
I cannot help but wonder why you have not mentioned it.
I cannot help but wonder if you hear a certain artist in the car, or with friends,
and think of me but do not say anything in fear of making a scene.
I cannot help but wonder if you are still in love with me.

If a hoodie can hold such sentimental value and the ring you proposed to me with does not,
did the words
" I love you "
mean less than
" I'm trying to get over you "
when you said them within a week of one another?

Am I never meant to know?

I fear I am not privileged enough to know whether or not these words,
these things that have passed through my life were ever meant to mean
more than a cool March night of lying on the roof of your car,
staring at the constellations and wishing to be with you forever
when I saw the shooting stars.
I fear that I am no longer privileged to say no one knows you like I do.

You said you wanted your hoodie back,
and I told you that I found it.
You said you'd find my clothes as soon as possible
and I told you to take your time.
I told you not to push yourself too hard.
I didn't want you to hurt anymore.

I don't know what to do with your hoodie, though.
It's moving from my bed,
to dresser,
to bedside table
to bed
to dresser
to bedside table
and I wake and see it and think of you
and I wonder if I should put it on when I go for a walk
because it's warmer than anything else that I own,
but I don't,
because it has sentimental value.

I do not.

You walked into the parking lot surrounded
By the smell of cheap perfume, gasping for air,
I'd actually climbed 2 flights of stairs,
And the man who brought us to the garage
Told me that my poor baby, my poor sweet car
Was to be left in there for more than a week,
She'd sprung a leak and the doctor was saying
So much that I wish he'd just not even speak,
Cursed old man, watch when you drink the beers!
The double trouble had turned into a smashing spiral,
My banged up car was so good through the years,
It made my boring reclusive life seem so meaningful.

People tell me I am strong
But maybe I just put on a good mask
Well I try to be strong
But in the end, I am truly broken

Yes broken thats what I am
Not strong not brave
I just learned how to keep up
Because I am so done being broken

But why do I still end up
Shattered in bits and pieces
Am I stupid
For feeling the way I feel?

I just want everything to stop
So that I cannot be broken anymore
I just want feel complete again
Like the way I was before

I want to feel.
I want to feel you,
your arms around me,
my arms around you,
us holding each other.

But I don't know you,
or who my "you" is.
I'm just feeling
a tad sentimental
for things I've never had.

But dancing under
the brilliant stars,
to our favorite songs.
This is what I would
fall in love for.

Simple things,
and simple words,
I'm easy to inspire,
with loving words
and loving hugs.

I feel nostalgic,
for things I
haven't experienced.
But that's all I have,
feelings and love for "you".

It's coming.
we can all feel it,
that trembling somewhere in the backdrop,
in your toes
and the pit of your stomach.
you hardly notice unless you stop to realize
this is it
It hits us all differently, i think.
Some embrace it, run to it.
they cannot wait a second longer
Others shrug it off, going through the motions
it's part of life, right?
not to me, not to the rest.
it's the equivalent of realizing
that there are only so many more times that i can see your smile again
that there is a limit to the amount of moments i can laugh so hard it aches
with those that make me feel as if i can climb up the mountains
that i will only be surrounded by for so much longer
and there will be no more driving down the road at 7:32 am
and admiring the way that the sun paints the clouds
and the mountains on the other side pink
and sometimes i can't help but remember the time he and i
shared a love of sunsets
and i dont know if i'll see him again but i hope so (i think)

i know i'll miss it.
the scent of leaves and the music and the sandaled spring days
and best friends and accidental friends
the people i have not known as long as i want,
no; need to know them
you can tell me it's going to be better; that this is just the start of it all
(that there are new people and new laughs and new feelings)
but right now it feels like the ending
the whole world ending
because really that's all it's ever been.
between the stressful tears and the days you thought would never end,
are speckles of laughter
and holding on to each other tight
arms on shoulders belting out a song
about the mountain peaks meeting the starry skies.
maybe it's talking about us,
because sometimes the night sky can be terrifying.
i don't think i can go on
without you all by my side.

Too sentimental
Too much thought

Two hearts

To love eachother

Like I'm mental
Like how I obsess over that t-shirt I bought

Painted together like fine arts

I'll water it and let it grow, and I'll water you with kisses that smother.