I take a peso
in a wallet
And toss it
in the well
I whisper slowly
in the side of
and wish a night with you,
instead

So i,
I seek the crowd,
youre standing.
You turn around,
i was hiding,
barely breathing
evaporating,
gasping,
left on oxygen

and so i think
of breaking the glass
and break my silence
But i dont want
you to notice me
Of violence

and so,
I gasp again
and walk away

So im writing to you
Instead,
Knowing this was just
a methaphor
of how badly
I want to reach out
and talk to you

Again.

One petal fell, the other rose from the ground.
But the timing was precise.
Something hid the linings from the petal
to manipulate its falling, but who was it?
No one saw or heard. They said the petal was too sensitive, it fell on its own,
but why was the petal sensitive?
Why was the petal in the wrong for falling?
But the falling had its meaning, a reason, that made it the petals hope not to fall alone, it had a reason to hide, but not the fall?
Will anyone see? Will anyone hear?
Why would they never understand?
It's small and fragile, but if it can fall on its own, can it fall by a throw
Who did it? Who left unscathed?
Who laughed? Who caved?
The petal saw someone, who was it?
The one who rose,
It rose after throwing someone's dream, leaving them in pieces, and no one saw true..
They just said, '' one petal fell, the other rose.

what do they write for me?
in the sky?
what do they have for me?
in their eyes?
where do i belong?
far by the gods and galaxies,
do i belong?
will i ?

"hier encore, j'avais vingt ans"
standing still in your kitchen with red walls
watching you make coffee in that small moka ***
while whispering the songs we danced to the night before
beneath that turkish lamp your mom bought a long time ago
and your lips met mine as charles aznavour sang along
tasting of the red wine we drank all night long

"mais j'ai perdu mon temps"
while waiting for something more
holding onto that empty mug in my hands
now cold as the kitchen floor we once danced
that one night in october many years ago
yet our silhouttes are still spinning around
as you hold someone else in your arms now

à présent, j'ai vingt-deux ans
standing far away from your kitchen with red walls
watching you make coffee in that same moka ***
while whispering how you never felt this way before
beneath that turkish lamp you lit up a long time ago
you take a sip from your cup as you look into her eyes
those big coffee-brown eyes, just like mine

I've noticed the older I get,
I worry less about my mortality
and more about the quality of my memory.
But then I had an epiphany:
maybe we weren't meant to have a good memory. Consider this: by your 30th birthday, you will have been alive for 10 thousand days. Would you want to remember it all?
Maybe it's OK that we can't remember.
Maybe it's OK if we forget.
Maybe it's not a reflection of your intelligence
if you can't recall the names and faces
of everyone you've ever met.
That's not to say memory loss isn't scary.
But if there's one thing you can hold on to:
even if you forget,
someone will remember for you.

I heard you finally found someone....
someone who can give you thing's I guess I never could,
even though I tried:
I'm so happy that your dreams came true like you always wanted
and I promise you I tried really hard to stay away....
but I needed to see for myself if everything was okay
there was always a fire in your eyes I pray it didn't go away
but as time flew away I wanted to make sure it was still there
from our glory day's.
I also wanted to apologize
It's all my fault anyway
because I know I will never find someone like you.

Are you waiting in vain
Are you waiting all the same
Are you waiting for someone to come
Are you waiting for someone to rescue you from what you’ve become
Does it matter anyway
You will remain the you that you became
They will love or not love you all the same
No one here to blame
Your life will end the same as it began….Alone
—Timothy Charles Carter