“is it better to speak or to die?”

i’ve pondered this question.
turned it over in my palms, took it apart and reassembled it.
every way i view it,
it is better to speak.

why live your life, if not to the fullest?
why hide within yourself and let what you want pass by?

speak.
and do not speak only when death makes it’s inevitable march towards you.

speak like it’s your last day,
every day.

deep within the ocean, only secrets lie.
the marine life will hear them,
whispers carried in the currant.

a lonely world, that must be.
to only live within secrets.
small promises whispered beneath moonlit sands,
hands clasped in the darkness.
kisses shared beneath stars.

secrets that travel beneath sea level.
infecting the waters with unfulfilled words and pleas.
a whole world of darkness,
deep in the depths.

where our secret still lies.

i have this feeling.
a rot, thats deep within my soul.
something that i cannot cut out, or heal away.

it grows around my organs and eats at my heart.
it feeds.
always feeding.

only your voice can stop the ache.
youll come back, wont you?
say you will, please.

if you asked me,
“why do you do the things you do?”

i’d tell you,
“it’s just the way i am.”

although, this is not true.
i am the way i am because my soul is intertwined with yours.
my movements are a mirror, my voice is a copy.
my heart screams your name,
and my lungs breathe your air.

i was molded in your shadow,
and i am content with that.

so, perhaps, im a liar.
to everyone but you.

i drank to much coffee today and now my stomach hurts.
while yes, this is a trivial matter that could have been avoided on my behalf,
i couldn’t get enough of the warmth.
of the sweetness and bitterness woven together.

maybe there was another reason for drinking 3 cups of coffee in one sitting.
maybe the warmth reminded me of your arms.
maybe the complexities in flavors reminded me of your lips.

or maybe, i just really wanted coffee.
who knows.
either way, my stomach hurts.

i got you a present this year,
one i’m sure you won’t receive.

it will sit beneath the tree, wrapped up pretty with your name scribbled in your favorite brand of pen,
waiting.
it will wait until you’re ready.
until you’re able.

maybe it’ll wait until we forget eachother, and it will slowly fade away.

maybe it won’t wait much time at all.

but for now, it sits underneath falling pines,
untouched.

and tonight i’ll ache.
for no particular reason or amount of time.
i’ll stare at the tree, clad in the soft yellow glow of christmas lights, and i’ll ache.
i’ll ache for a time i was filled with childish wishes.
for a time i would wake up earlier than dawn to open up colorfully wrapped boxes and bags.
i’ll ache for the christmas spirit of times past.
i’ll ache for me.
for a version so far gone, i can barely remember her face.