It's been raining a lot lately.
I still think about you
more than I probably should.

I guess some things don't change.
I guess some things do.

Writer’s block does not exist,
there’s only uncreative writers,
and those who don’t care enough
to care so much.
As the former,
I will write this in my quietest voice:
I am okay,
I am okay,
I am okay.
Few would care to know,
fewer would care if they knew.
But it is the truth,
and I am in no business
of making truths I cannot keep.
I no longer write with tired eyes.
I no longer think with shaking hands.
I am no longer transparent,
or translucent,
or opaque.
I am okay.
I know this because I woke up today.
Simply that.
I woke up today,
and I am not empty.

I feel like every
time I see you
it's like I have
forgotten how
to breathe up
until that point.
I'm not sure
how I am ever
without you.

I put all your physical words in a box-
"you are ADORABLE" scribbled on a receipt
          the book with the pictures of
          New York City and the one with
          the history of Christmas
the map from the pumpkin patch
          your band's cds
a 9 volt battery
          a button from the trails west
          festival
a ticket to the show your band played at your dream venue
          my ticket stub from This Is the
          End
directions to Kim's house
          the journal you gave me for  
          Christmas with a letter from you
          on the first two pages
a napkin I kept hidden in my wallet with "you are very cute" written in your smallest print
          a Virgil's Rootbeer bottle cap
          from our second first date
(god did you know I had kept all those things)-
but I can't figure out how to package all the sentences you left swimming around in my head