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Tell me all the ways that you are different now:
How your job has changed
How you own a house now
How you meditate and spend time in nature to restore.
Tell me the dark stuff too:
How you can't keep a relationship,
How you live on frozen dinners,
How you drink to drown your sorrows.
Just tell me all the reasons that you are different;
Different than when I knew you.
Maybe it will help me let go of the you,
That I am still so desperately in love with.
I'll see that you are not the man I carry in my memories
That I don't even know the person you are now.

Tell me,
How have you changed?

But there is still the slim chance,
That no matter the changes you've made,
My soul will still cry out for you,
In the silences of the night,
ever wanting
Our fingers interlace
Our lips interlock
Our legs interweave
Our bodies interact

Our ideas interchange
Our interests interlap
Our dreams intersect
Our minds internal

Our desires interlayer
Our emotions interpretive
Our silences interpersonal
Our souls interconnect
I don’t want to ask you,
But I would love for you to tell me.
You won’t breathe a word of it,
Unless I ask and you know I can’t.
So a great barrier of desire opens between us.
It ebbs and flows like a vast ocean,
Bubbling to the surface one moment,
And retreating to the deep the next
Tell me you still love me..
Ask me if I love you.
There is something about winter that seems unending:
The days spent lying under layers of quilts,
Burning my tongue on the tea I made hours ago,
Wasting hours on puzzles just to distract from the fact that i'm alone.
God, if only spring would come.
He would come back,
Because it's the snow that's been keeping him away
And the phone lines must be frozen,
I just know he would call if he could.
The more blame I put on winter,
The farther spring seems.
What you don't understand,
is that I have forgiven you,
And I have not forgotten you.
Please understand that,
I don't hate you,
Or wish you ill,
Nor do I want to erase you from my past.
It's just that I don't think of you ever.
I never revisit the old memories.
I never wonder what you are doing,
And when someone says your name,
I hear it and move on to the next word.
This is my Eternal Sunshine.
He was an English teacher, avid writer,
and yet he couldn't shape the words and make them sound just right.
She was the kind of girl who would talk to a shoe,
just to fill the silent moments,
and yet she was biting her lips

Tonight the rhythm in their breathing formed the words;
their heart beats the sentences.

The way her head rested against his chest held more meaning than words could ever express.
The way his arm held her close to him,
how he kissed the top of her head and took in the scent of her hair,
created volumes.

There is no word,
No paragraph,
no language that can give enough beauty,
to the things whispered between their skin when it touched
God bless the writers;
The novelists, essayist, play-writes and poets,
The writers who put their pen to paper,
To share their imaginations, thoughts, ideas,
Who have the courage to share this with the world,
To open themselves to the judgement of readers,
These people who know not the lives they save,
the smiles they bring,
the hearts they change,
whose minds they shape,
Bless them
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