Maybe you said it once
And breathed it quietly in my ear
As we sat in your freezing car
Parked in front of the library
The roads were slick
But you were slicker
Handing out compliments like candy

Maybe you said it a couple of times
Over and over on the telephone
As we both laughed into the receiver
Me picturing your smile with every word
The connection was weak
But I was weaker
Falling head first into you

Maybe you said it a thousand times
And held my face in your hands
As we laid in that twin sized bed
Your body pressed against my own
The room was warm
But you were warmer
Moving for the first time in sync

But maybe you never said it at all
Or at least you never meant it
As you said this was the last time
Standing on the other side of the room
The air was heavy
But I felt heavier
Fracturing me piece by piece

I know I’m not who I used to be

But there’s a part of me that’s still her

A girl who likes in yellow brush strokes

But loves in the deepest blue

Who makes a fool out of herself

And pours out her soul

To the ones she loves most

Who writes down the words

And feelings that crowd her heart

Displayed on a computer screen

Who always says I love you first

And waits patiently for the words

To return to her

Who wears her heart on her sleeve

And kisses your bruised knees

Cares too deeply, smothers too tightly

Who misses you when you’re gone

And hesitates to tell you the truth

“Is this too much too soon?”

Who falls too hard, too fast

But loves the way you look at her

From across the room



I could choose not to tell you

Because I’m afraid of who I used to be

But for now, I think I’ll tell you the truth

And that has to be enough for me.

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

I've loved many boys
With different colored eyes
But the way I remember them is
By the shape of their hands

The way their thumbs curved
Or how their palms felt against my own
The weight of them on my thighs
Or how they ran through my hair

The times they zipped up my dress
And settled on my shoulders
The moments when they grazed my own
As they handed me my keys

The motion of them as they spoke
And the motionless of them when they were silent
The smoothness of them in the beginning
And the calluses after time had passed

Sometimes, I forget the faces of these boys
Or the way their voice sounded over the phone
But I'll never forget the way it felt
With their hands intertwined in my own

I feel like rain and every man I meet

Is subjected to me

The cloudburst of emotion and pain

A flash flood of heartbreak and sorrow



I fall until I land in their hearts

All drenched in regret

Their clothes soaked through

Suddenly, with the feeling of me



I silently pour in

With baggage that hails down

Denting and cratering them

Until the levee breaks



A deluge of myself

Until all they can think about

When a storm rolls through

Is how much it reminds them of me.

There’s a soft sound to it:
the way your bare feet touch the floor,
or the way your hair falls into your eyes,
or how you sigh right before you fall asleep.

There’s an eager emotion to it:
the way your mouth quivers after a kiss,
or the way your eyes look as you lean in close,
or how you push your body into mine.

There’s a fleeting feeling to it:
the way your keys jangle as you walk out the door,
or the way your toothbrush never stays more than a day,
or how you’re too kind to wake me when you leave.

There’s a rare reality to it:
the way your phone lights up with texts from her,
or the way your voice sounds telling me you’ll be late,
or how you haven’t been around in weeks.

you came rolling in like thunder

with your lips parted and wet

like the leaves on the trees

even hours after it has rained


a hurricane

of the greatest proportions