I open my most special notebook among the hundreds
Plagued with memories that degrade over time
With knowledge that only paper may preserve my thoughts

I have my list of Wisdoms in my mind
Knowing the first must be the most impactful to all our lives
And thus I write, forever to be known as Wisdom number One
The cause of all my pain

In our lives we encounter gems
Our most precious of valuables
Our most cherished of moments
Which make life truly worth it
Which pull us through another painful day
Just for the chance to experience it once more

But

Our gems, revisited, never shine quite as bright
We search endlessly to reclaim our joy from these moments
But all that is left, is sadness, for moments lost

But all that is right, is wisdom, for we know that those moments are lost

We know the past brightness of our most cherished gems
But even in memory, every passing day
Makes our gems look a little duller
Losing our happiest times in favor of a painful world
All the while, we would rather trade reality for fantasy at any price

All the never, would we trade our faded gems for happiness

And thus we willingly keep our pain
These faded gems being the only remaining mementos of our joy
Preferring the sadness
Knowing somehow, losing our faded gems would make us worse off
Even if joy results

All gems fade.
You can only see each gem for the first time once.
Each passing moment takes a little more from you, never to be experienced or remembered again.

However
There are some who trade their gems for happiness
Some who reject their happiest memories
Some who stop trying to reclaim those moments
Some who are truly broken

For we know that somehow, our pain has more value.

your gunpowder steel
on my sycamore blues
haunted by vanity
on a string just out of reach
escape the perpetual debt
we have to our makers
captive in sun strewn streaks of shade
never to feel the warmth of its gaze
willingly judged by sunburnt noses
for being less than
I just want to sparkle
in the ultraviolence.

Tonight there's a star in the sky
That refuses to die
I've got some stories to tell
I hope somebody waits for me
To come along and be their pal

i had a dream
and it wasn't a daydream.
oh, i don't know where it started
just that you where there
a tulip beneath this sky
eyes locked with a lock of clouds
i was there by you and i knew
just knew.

didn't know i was dreaming
so i took your hand
your hair brushed my cheek
a lock of clouds
and i thought i was dreaming.

when the clock didn't tick
our hearts beat as one
our breaths, a symphony
we, a lock of clouds
floating, soaring
there was no place where we ended and the world began.

we locked fingers before the falling dusk
when our hearts were flowing over
so we bled and dyed the sky a sunset
oh, the skies, those locks of cloud
two flames.

oh, we'd sail, you said
off to the edge of the stars
we'd fall, lose ourselves
to the notes of the beyond
because what matters but you; what matters but i?
so we were wanderers of worlds
we were fugitives from home
we were, we were
till every spell broke
as the day awoke

i still feel a remnant of our embrace
beneath my sternum, a tad to the left
you'll always be the sweetest candle
wafting, wafting
a lock of clouds.

'cause you're the happiest i've ever been.

do i still love you?

maybe i never stopped

because on the list of those i miss

you were always at the top

My dad and I would spend sunny afternoons
riding our bicycles
through my suburban neighborhood.
We would ride down my street
until we reached the sidewalk that diverged into two paths
and neither of them were less traveled by
as we always ended up taking both.
The right path leads to the small waterfalls
just past the basketball court
where my brothers and their friends
would play pick-up games.
Riding across the tiny bridges is a moment of brief bliss
as the sounds of the water rushing reaches your ears
and drowns out everything else.
We’d maneuver to the giant lake
filled with brightly colored kois
and serene storks standing out on the rocks.
Following the curve of the water
we would end up in a private neighborhood
where the blacktop is so shiny and smooth
that your wheels glide across the entire street.
And you can go fast
since it’s silent
and no cars come barreling down the road.
Somehow, we’d end up at that beginning sidewalk
and now it’s time to go to the left.
Over here, there’s a small playground
where my dad would chase my siblings and me
and I would hide in the tube of the slide.
We could spend hours there
on our spaceship
trying to outsmart Darth Vader and the dark side.
Just past the park, we’d reach the stretches of green belts
lacing their way through the streets
and the bushes I flew into
when first learning how to ride my bicycle.
We'd take a left after the dip in the sidewalk
ending up back on our street
and deciding that it’s getting late
once the sky turns pink and orange.
We’d end up back at the cookie-cutter house
that I don’t live in anymore
but part of it is still mine.
I wonder if the kitchen is still red
and if the guest bathroom still smells like lemons.
I contemplate knocking
only to remember that there’s a new family living there
making memories in our pool
and playing in the basement.
I smile, hoping that maybe
they will ride the same sidewalks I grew up on.
I paste these memories into a poem
but there is really no need
because remembering the twists and turns
of my old neighborhood
is just like riding a bike.