"We're under the same sky"
A romanticized memory.
Now I see,
It was nothing more than fantasy.
You and I,
We were never "meant to be"
I've seen the past the anger that you hide beneath.
It's hard to see why we ever thought that we could be.
But,
I remember all the nights that you were there for me.
On call while I counted the few stars I could see.

Blue is the flavor of bland warm berries
Made into delicious fresh pies
Of nights spent stargazing upside down in driveways
It's the flavor of moments mostly forgotten
At playgrounds and corner stores

Blue tastes like secrets
Hidden sips and soft hands
Like salty air and crunchy marshmallows
It tastes like hot chocolate
On a long bus ride home

Blue has always been the sweetest colour
Almost all the best flavors and memories are Blue

Well, that was the case
Until I met you
You've coloured my world yellow
And it too is beautiful like blue

Eyes darting in and out of focus
Heart pounding over the sound of my thoughts
Lungs screaming to take deeper breaths
Ears ache as her voice drones on
Mind filling with more and more fog
Heat takes over, breathing more difficult
Fearful that sirens will soon be in the distance
DO NOT FALL DOWN
DO NOT GO TO SLEEP
The cold returns, as does breath
Shivers scale the spine and fall again
Fog continues rolling in
Clear thoughts not a possibility

I feel like writing poetry,
but I don't know where to begin.
So I'll let myself ramble,
and see which thoughts win.

I'm thinking lots about "love",
and what that word means to me.
I'm thinking lots about Him,
and the other He.

And thinking of Them.
Is their "love" still there?
I don't know,
but I'm glad they don't have to go anywhere.

I'm thinking about homes,
and how lucky I am.
The others aren't so lucky,
so I try to lend a hand.

The voice that speaks is no longer the one inside my head.
Instead, it's the way I'd dreamed it'd be:
Soft and low,
Gravelly but controlled.
The voice inside my head is no longer the one heard.
When I speak there's confidence,
Something previously unobtainable.
When I think about what I sound like,
The voice in my head still squeaks.
When I hear my voice in recordings,
It's startling to hear it so low.
It creates a strange disconnect from the me I've known and the me now.