she doesn't like flowers
at least not as romantic gestures
she'd rather
watch them
grow
blossom
wilt

i can see it now
you'll pick me up at the corner
just like you used to
and we'll drive down the coast
heading nowhere with no cares
and the salty pacific wind
will weave through our hair
and make you laugh the way you do
from the bottom of your chest to my smile
you'll play me songs you found
and stowed away for this moment
like tiny treasure boxes of gold
with "i love you" inscribed on the side

this is what i dream about
this is what gives me peace

i never thought i would miss it so much.

sometimes you catch a glimpse of it
the way things used to be
momentarily
wondrous
however fleeting
odd what gives rise to such occasions
if only one could hold it

the stains will not come out.
though
i have started to like the way
they've begun to fade into the fabric
almost indistinguishable from cloth
as if they were not stains at all

another draft
now sits in purgatory
along with the other
unfinished
uncoiled
undeserving
simply existing where
patience wore thin
and hope
is unwritten

When we dream
we take down a book
from the shelf
of ourself

i am not faster than tomorrow
one cannot outrun the calendar
the stopwatch never ceases
hands of time are always at work
once i grasp this certainty
i will move on