Will the vibrations my footfalls make - make a difference?
Will they leave anything behind for the bugs and the rats in the ground?
The grit -
What will be left where my footprints sit?
Scuffs, scratches -
Or maybe I'll make the ground smooth where I walk
When I talk -
Do my words matter?
Will the things I say shatter -
Or create something new?
Will I leave a trail -
Or will I simply make a trail for someone else?
Does my foot tapping -
To other people's art -
Count as my own?
Or am I just a collection of reactions?
Unable to make others react?

Other people play piano
Other people sing
I can't do either
I can't do nothing
I can't do a single thing

Other people paint a picture
Other people dance
I've tried, I've failed
I can't do nothing

But I can't just do nothing anymore

You (perfect) wrapped me (shivering and ridiculous) up in a blanket (warm).
You (wonderful) sat next to me (falling asleep) and ate the sandwich I bought (pretty good).
You (perfect) are perfect. I (loves you) love you.

I couldn't give a **** what heat engines are.
My job is to tell a couple little snot noses to sit their ***** down and drink juice - it's easy and I love it. I couldn't give a **** about heat engines.
(I mean, aren't all engines hot anyway?)
But when I watch you kneeling in front of a whiteboard, drawing out diagrams for your coworker about what you're learning in physics, my heart jumps out of my ******* throat and slaps my computer screen like a raw steak. Not exactly a romantic metaphor I know, but it's accurate.
I never thought Expo pens could be ****. I never thought math could be ****, for ***** sake. But you do it somehow.
Everything about you drives me nuts. Looking at you gives me the biggest feelings I've ever felt, and I get scared I'm going to explode. Really. People say stuff like that, but it's true - it feels like I'm going to explode like some sort of adorable grenade.
I don't know what to do with myself. Ever.
Go to church - yeah.
Get my degree - sure.
Go to work - totally.
But with myself? I have no ******* clue.
For one, I don't think I can come hang out with you at work anymore. You have a certain amount of professionalism to maintain, and I am a threat to that - in the most violently affectionate way possible. I am so close to tackling you in a bear hug and spooning you right here in this classroom. I never considered how painful it is to love somebody. In the best ways and the worst ways.

Now you're sitting in the armchair next to me, the ****** little coffee maker filling the air between us. You talk with your friends and draw  and type into your calculator and occasionally glance at me and every time you do anything, I  . . .  I can't. I can't even explain how it feels. You are the antidote and the virus to every part of me. Loving you has been the most exhilarating and most miserable experience of my life. Loving you has taught me how agony can be sweet. Loving you has changed my life and will continue to change my life.

I've lost interest in almost everything. School is school, work is work, books have become boring and friends have become obsolete. You feel the same way, and your Mom thinks you're depressed, but you're not. Neither of us are. We're so ready. We're so ready for something new.

I have never stared at someone so shamelessly in all my life. I could listen to you talk about heat engines for the rest of my life.
That's the plan, anyway.

I wish I could be a sticky note
On your mirror
Or an alarm on your phone

To remind you every day of how much
I appreciate you, of how much I
Love you, because

I notice all the things you do for me, like buying me coffee in the morning or
Kissing me to cheer me up; better yet

Always being there; The magically disappearing
Dishes from the table and the texts
Of concern; the countless reminders

Of how important I am.
But oh dearest, how important you are,
Moreso than the tides and the stars,

Because every day you choose love.

I don't like-
The two hour drive.
-29 degrees.
The icy black tops.
The table next to us.
Hearing the trains every 15 minutes.
When people don't text back.
Sleeping alone.

But what I love-
You.
My friends.
The conversations.
The smiles.
The laughs.
The wings.
The beer.
The leftover wings from last night.
The people.
This heated blanket.


      -My home away from home.-

One winter closer
One degree cooler
To one degree warmer
One winter closer
One more long stride
Until we're no longer hiding
One winter closer
Three seasons more
Until we're two winters close
But we're one winter closer
We're a dozen kisses closer to each other
We're a million cents away from being one
A thousand days away from winter sun
We're impatient, ever waiting
Waiting for the waiting to be done
One winter closer
To being one

I once asked my grand father if he was afraid of death.
He replied with a simple, "I've never feard death. They didn't teach you to die in the military".

The last time I visited his hospital bed, he was barely breathing.
He pulled me close.
I asked if he could see a bright light.

He replied, "no...I've never...been more scared...in my life"