you took my words.
well, borrowed and never returned.
well, i gave them and never asked for them back.
well, i gave them and don't want them back.
well, they were never mine.
well, they were your words all along.

i would never have wrote them
if not for you
but this isn't anger or bitterness --
it is trying to disprove this nagging thought
that you were the only reason i could write;
that i can no longer write if not about you
and this is failing
at
proving
me
wrong.

autumn makes hearts heavy
and the cold air makes more than just your bones ache.
it pervades your chest with inescapable nostalgia
for times you never had.
it is more than regret —
times are ending that you never knew began.
but there are beginnings in these endings.
as these colors explode and fade away,
so too do you.

We used to daydream of life together in a tiny glass house stretching out from the shore. The future seemed less threatening that way. We always knew that when we'd turn twenty-three, we'd live in our iridescent sanctuary by the sea. We'd awake each morning to the tired yellow sun reflecting off white and blue crested waves. By then we'd learn that making our walls translucent let in more good than bad; we'd no longer fear being seen. But we never stopped to worry, and maybe we should have; there are many storms to be had by the sea.

But still I hope you will find someone with whom to share crystalline walls. Our glass never shattered—it dissolved in salt and sand until all that remained was a memory of times we never shared.

We never promised each other forever.

the last lines of
the last poem in
the first book by
your favorite poet
repeat the phrase
you are going to miss people
and i never quite took it to heart,
but now that i have,
it seems like there was no interlude—
i've already moved onto the final line
of that final poem:
and you are going to be okay

–*w.b.h. // mornings of nostalgia

There are scars in places I haven't seen,
There are nights you wish you couldn't dream

There are things which were taken away,
There are losses that will always stay

There are moments you want to die,
There are times you're too tired to cry

There are feelings no one will understand,
There are burdens that don't let you stand

There are people that broke your faith,
There are monsters that keep you encaged

There are nights when you let yourself grieve,
There are days that don't let the nights leave

There are all these unhappy things and sorrow,
But my love, there's also  tomorrow

it's 3:39am
and who am I to tell?
this used to be our time,
when we'd awake
from restless slumbers
and record the very first thoughts
the occurred to us.
but who will listen to them now?

this used to be the time
when I could tell you
I love you
because loving you was always
the primary thought in my mind.

but what do I do now,
when the love I feel
is just as pervasive -
I see you in everything
and I hear you in the music -
but I can't tell you
and I'm the one to blame?

instead, we communicate
through gilded verse.
I'm waiting for you to say something;
I'm waiting for you to go first.

she is sunrises
and sunsets;
she is music
and melodies;
she is poetry in coffeeshops
and our sweaty palms clasped together
in the car on backroads at night.
she is shy laughter
and movie marathons.
she is the reason
I can't stop writing.
she is all of these things,
but she is not mine.

*–w.b.h. // i never learned how to define you