This waiting period is strange
I'm not eager to fall in love
I'm alright for now
Not really working on myself
More so
Just existing
Feeling things more or less thoroughly
Than before
I don't know if it ever quite hits me
That this is now
And it's all I'll ever have
And someday I'll be in love
And it will be enough
It doesn't feel real
Thinking of love and me
I'm me
So solitary and full of imperfection
Just like everybody else, I guess
There's no one here I love right now
There are little aspects
I can appreciate
But I can feel that there's someone out there
Someone who manages to fit
My idealistic unrealistic vision of a soulmate
I guess that's childish
Thinking things like that are real
But some part of me can't help
But believe in them
Late nights of imagining them talking
[And by them I mean us]
In a small humble apartment
Gives me space to breathe
And as I'm on the edge of sleep
I feel warm and real
Happy to be alone

i think of you
i think of your kiss half cigarette, half peachy

i think of you
i think of your touch half soft like a cotton candy, half flowing like an ocean

i think of you
i think of your words half drunk, half heavenly

I was in love with the stars
and sometimes the sea.
I was in love with the small
and the big people
who rode past me
on their dinky motorbikes
and roaring cars,
just as I also loved
the quiet nights in the mountains
where I slept alone beneath the stars.
I was in love with joy,
and I was in love with pain.

I was in love with every city,
especially those I didn't belong to
because they seemed to belong to me.

I was in love with the unknown,
but mostly,
I was in love with the great potential of it all.
Everything is sweeter from a distance.

Turns out that one good week
Was too much for me
But someday, I know
My heart will mend my soul
And I'll be better again

This is only temporary
So I'll leave you to your feelings
And work on being kinder
Open up my eyes and
Wait until you find you

In the end
This is not the end
You're only one bit
And you don't deserve
The things I did
So I'll be quiet
Go back to my old ways
Of dreaming about
What's behind your eyelids

This will end alright
I think
I just feel it

And the things I used to love
No longer light inner fire
Search and search but never find
Missing lost desire

They say "it is the little things"
That I know is true
Of all the little things
Best by far is you

The little things done for me
Each and every tiring day
The moments that stick with me
Take my breath away

Awakening to morning kisses
Start my a.m. right
Smile on your handsome face
In my direct sight

Writing cute sweet poems
Impress on holidays
One example of how you won me
With your charming ways

Buying fragrant flowers in February
This year a sparkly touch
Added a little something extra
Red roses weren't enough

Those "Goodmorning beautiful" texts sent
Distance kept us apart
Shirt smelling like you to keep by my side
You could only be close to my heart

How we joke with eachother
Nightly call me the meanest names
Insults are merely teasing
Others plain don't understand our games

This morning danced around to a rap song
Wearing a smile and underwear
Made me Eggo waffles for breakfast
Thank you babe for showing you care

I guess I owe a multitude
Of little moments like that
The kind small tokens of love
You work to complete each act

So I must try with all my might
A simple girl to prove
That I love you though you outnumber me
In little things but will you help me improve?

As a kid, I fill
notebooks
with beginnings of
diaries -

This summer,
I promise,
I will write every day.

But all these
beginnings
I leave without
endings,

leave so many
stories
incomplete
on the page.

While my words
are still
waiting,

I keep
ticket stubs,
photographs,

wedged
between
pages,

fragments
without
narrative,

except in my head.

I mourn  
moments
unwritten,

as they slip
between
floorboards,

and sink below
oceans
of everyday
things.

But months,
and years,
since I wrote the first
sentences,

made a promise of
more
that I never did keep,

I still find the small
scrap
with a sketch of a
seashell,

and stand for a
moment
with my toes
in the sand.

Though my
words
never came
with
specifics in sentences,

not everything
unwritten
is forgotten,
is lost,

And a fragment
can function
as a map
to a memory,

And my past
summer self
is with me
again.