I was mute.
Responding to the silence in-between the dial tone.
A new proposal of a new unlimited data plan.
I don't know how many gigs equate to the amount of anticipation.
Sitting in silence.
Phone pressed against my ear waiting to the sound of your voice.
The smell of stair-fry coming from an oval pan.
The smell of darkened beef and steamed vegetables sizzling by a *** of rice.
Boiling over in anticipation

Have I lost the touch
I was given from superior,
Do my views and likes replace
soul that is dripped in my ink,
Because as I write I feel
Every single line,
Like it's my first day at school,
My first love, heart break,
Backstabbers and enemies.

It fills up this empty ink
With fuel, fire and soul,
Designs and pictures
That I paint on paper
No matter how many people
Try stop this tide of words
I sew together with meaning
And life choices.

My emotions are drained
Onto the paper like a sponge,
Along with those tear drops
And for what is to remain
Whether it's good or not,
Everything I write
I feel with passion and pain.

Talking?
You think that could help?
Talking about
the deep
grey bad things.
I tried.
It didn't work.
I still let
the blood
run down
my arms.

I write into spaces
And talk into holes
Writings are our faces
But words write our souls.

As we sat around the bonfire,
Laughing and loving,
Our spirits couldn't get any higher
And we laughed the night away

The smoke smelled nice,
As we made s'mores,
And burned our eyes,
But we smiled anyway

Music sweetly played,
Over our loud conversation,
But we still listened and swayed
In the cool winter night

I won't forget the fun,
The smiles,
From the ending or when it begun,
And in my heart it'll stay.

I could have any kind of conversation
With any kind of man
But the ones we want to talk to us
Never, ever do
They all stop in the end.
They all vanish like it was pretend.

When the dream breaks, so much has changed, as if time has been manipulated.
I look for you in photos with me for proof, but it seems that you have faded.
I must be crazy to speak and have memories of things that may have never happened, but I swore someone else was there.
I guess I'm really losing it, maybe it was just a voice in the air.

Should I go back to these places and look for four footprints in the mud, or are these photos telling me all I need to know?
Could I have been roaming around in the woods for three years by myself, conversing with a ghost?

Each morning she welcomes me into her world.
The best part about it.
I am always glad I came, watching her pat her hand on a reserved spot inviting me to sit beside her.
A motivation for tired legs,
Our eyes resting after a light jog, over by the park bench.
Slowly watching our faith in each other raise from behind the clouds.
In due time I am drenched in the way that she makes me feel.
Even when we go our separate ways she is always there