I am fuming about the world I am so upset with people who think their beliefs entitles them to hurt innocent people or worse their children I am tired of people thinking they have some sort of right to tell us that it’s not love we are fighting we are fighting with all our might to transcend over 2000 miles while at the same time trying to keep hate from other people at bay we have been together almost two years we have learned and grown together we have battled distance and illness and tragedy we have committed to each other what more information do you need to know it’s love oh is it for one of us to have a ***** because here’s news for you I can get one of those online I can get one of those from a doctor because *** is merely a quirk of skin and chemicals and gender is all in our heads and if you would rather base love off of genitals than feelings I think you need to take a good long look at yourself and your god because if he is so shallow as to dictate love by X’s and Y’s then **** your god I am not going to try and please you I do not owe you to cater to your hurtful and hateful beliefs anymore

let me tell you it was taught by your messiah to keep your piety to yourself and to love everyone you can’t tell me that god made me this way and then turn around and claim oh no I am messed up that is hypocritical that is not a religion that I can respect and you are a shame to those who actually try and follow this faith, I can admit that much that there are those who do it right and I thank them but also keep in mind that religion is a human cultural construct and it has been separated from law for a reason because it is recognized that belief is individual and cannot be used to control masses since that causes empires to topple so why are we listening to the heretic fanatics claiming that my love is wrong when I don’t even believe in that god I don’t even believe he exists I don’t believe in heaven and hell and even if I did why the **** do you care so much about MY damnation if I am going to hell I honestly don’t give a single **** I would rather go to hell than spend my time here alive and breathing in misery without her what about that do you not understand

my life is more important than whatever afterlife there may be because I KNOW what’s happening now I know what it’s like to live and I won’t hinge my happiness on what YOU think is wrong and will happen to me my beliefs will dictate my outcome and I can tell you right now that you are wrong to think love could ever hurt anyone your hate is going to spawn your ticket to the hell you believe in while I revel in knowing that love is a universal truth and love is never wrong and I am not scared to love her because something that opened my soul so profoundly cannot be wrong I planned on being alone forever until I met her and your obsession with reproductive organs are not what I will make my choices off of

I think our similarities are so many blessings I love her curves I love her voice I love how our bodies match and our minds get it there are no barriers on gender there is only knowing there is only understanding my issues are her issues and that connects us on a fundamental level that I don’t know how I could ever be so comfortable with a man I have a deep deep reverence for women that resounds to my core and how you could think that is anything less than achingly beautiful is astounding but for all this I will not pine for the approval of a stranger if you do not know me than keep your ******* opinions to yourself and let me love her in peace and if you are someone we care for then the least you can do is love us and let us be and rejoice in our happiness we do not affect you in any form so why would you go out of your way to hurt us

I should not have to hold her while she cries about wishing she could hug her mother I have never wanted children yet I know more about unconditional love than that woman does or apparently her god does the fact is I would never scare her as much as they have I would never make her cry like I have seen her do all I want is to love her with all my heart but by a simple fact of nature my loving her rains down hate and all this is not something I should have to carry.

Today is Tuesday, November 19th, 2013. And I want to talk about you. I want to talk about the clenching and fizzing in my stomach right now as I imagine wrapping you up in my arms and having you close again. I want to talk about the ache in my chest when I think about how it's been ninety days since I last kissed you, since the day I saw you cry as I let you slowly drop from my arms, then hands, then fingertips, and drove away, looking out the window to see you let your head fall into your hands. It's been ninety days since I sat on the floor of the airport and felt my entire being rebelling against getting on that plane and recrossing the thousands of miles that separate us. I want to talk about how I tuck those thoughts away and instead smile as I think of giving you piggyback rides through the park, and kissing in front of churches, and diving into cold pools, and touching you softly as we lay unclothed in your bed, and laughing so hard at your jokes that I'm sure I'm making a fool of myself.

I want to talk about you. I want to talk about you and me. I want to talk about you with me. I want to talk about how you say things that stop me in my tracks and make me reevaluate the truth. I know you, but I can never quite predict your opinions or reactions. You surprise me in this really heart stopping, sometimes refreshing, sometimes eerie way.

I want to talk about how beautiful you are, god, let me please talk about this. Your mind is an intricate, thrumming place that I love to get inside and peek in its dusty corners. I'll try not to leave fingerprints, but I hope you'll forgive me if I do. I think I'm the first person to see some of these places, and I respect them with a reverence. And your heart, your heart... it's an open space that fluctuates and adjusts around me. I know it's learning how to make me fit, but considering that, I'm very comfortable here. It's not a maze, not a grand palace, but not run down either. It's warm in here, slightly musty in the back rooms but in a nice way, while the front is breezy. It's cryptic at first, it's easy to question where one is when first entering. But it has an essence so very you that it's impossible to lose your way completely. I've wandered enough to memorize some of the walls and walk around with a timid freedom. I don't think I would ever dare stride through with arrogance, but I hope to gain confidence the more I explore. Your outside is just as breathtaking. Sometimes I look at the pictures of us together and I stare at your face like it's a puzzle I can solve, because you are indeed the prettiest girl I have ever seen and it astonishes me that yes - you are real. You have this smile that I try to coax out as much as possible, and eyes that are pleasant and warm. Have I told you how much I've always loved brown eyes? It's a colour that suits your irises, that suits you. The image I get when I imagine looking into your eyes is that of wrapped up in soft blankets in a field at dusk. You have beautiful hair that you love to complain about, but I am forever adoring of how it sticks every which way and makes you look - yeah, I'm going to say it - pretty **** cool. Your body is fit and perfect and I'll tell you again, I am so, so jealous. Shadows reach around you to try and feel your shape, rain trickles across your smooth skin to try and kiss as much as it can reach. And when your body tangles with mine, it's magic. You are warm and soft and my fingertips can't help but want to trace a map over you, pressing into their favorite places and trailing across your frame as lightly as a sigh. Your voice, if I had to pick, is the thing that best represents you. Its most frequent setting is this strong, hardy tone that gets your point across with as much bluntness as the words you choose. When you're sleepy it becomes soft and drawling and muffled. When you have to act professional, it heightens and becomes cheery and sweet. When you're touched, it turns lovely and breathy and exquisitely feminine. You are embodied by these sides of you, and there's more I'm yet to hear and learn from it. All of it is beautiful in a way so uniquely you that I smile just in Knowing.

I want to talk about knowing you. I've always wanted just to know you, from the day we met. That was the prevailing thought: How to Know You. Now every day I am given glimpses into you, and every day I'll know a little more, and I couldn't be happier.

I want to talk about you. I want to talk about how much I love you. I love you the way lights love to pool on the sidewalk. I love you the way ink loves the abstract. I love you the way sand loves seashells. I love you the way trees love sunlight. I love you the way airplanes love the sky. I love you with a ferocity and a tenderness and an affection it halts the motion of the world for moments at a time. You bring words and metaphors to mind in a way no inspiration could, and the next second you stop all thought dead and leave my head buzzing pleasantly empty. I used to refuse to write of love; now my hands know of little else. You've changed me, profoundly, intensely. What did I spend my thoughts on before? Now, I just want to talk about you.

I want to write until tears fall from my eyes
and my pen runs dry and I draw silent and still
I want to write you into words I can take with me
I want to capture your being and form on paper
I want to write to soothe the cacophony inside me
I want to pull it out of me, pull me out of myself
in ribbons and strands until I fill a room
I will look at all that was in me, tugging on strings
that have left me empty. I want there to be nothing left.
Hollow out my insides leaving me with nothing but air in my spaces,
leave me with air and pencil shavings
Put all that is me out on display
Maybe then I will find calm.

I want to write about you,
I want to write until I know and understand you so well I confuse you with myself.
I will write and use up all the words in this language,
then make up new ones to describe exactly how 2,630 miles feels like when it weighs inside a heart,
how it feels to smile back at a photograph,
how I recognize voices through doors and it turns out to be a stranger.

I want to write about things gentle and soothing,
things that can act like a surrounding embrace to a heavy heart. I want to comfort myself.
I want language to be like my imaginary friend I whisper to behind a child's hands.
I want to hurt and I want to need, I want to evoke and I want to express.
I want to strike a chord and resonate for ages, a reverberation to last a century beneath the earth.
I want to not make sense and be misunderstood.
I want to cry silently in my pillow,
filled with emotions so human and so real that I know I Am Alive.

I want to find new words for your eyes, your voice, the curve of your spine.
People talk about making homes out of hearts and ribcages,
maybe I can do that too, live inside the marrow of your bones.
I want to fall into your deepest corners and find You,
then I want to surround you with a tender warmth that will calm and douse you
and you will know that you are Loved,
I want you to know that I will take care of you.
There will never be another who will do just This for you.

I am a writer, yet often the little daily goal box to "write something" remains unchecked.
I am a photographer, but my camera has dust on it and my uploading sites are sparsely filled.
I am an academic, yet for the most part I find myself only studying what is given to me while the material I've collected remains halfway read.
I am a reader, but I keep rereading the same books and they don't get opened every night.
I am a loner, but I have those I love and those who love me.
I am quiet, but I must speak 80,000 words a day.
I am a horse owner, but the leather of my saddle creaks and groans with disuse.
I am a fan, but episodes are left unwatched.
I am young, but I do not have much energy.
I am in love, but I do not get to see her but once every few months.
I am in a long distance relationship, but I'm not much good at setting up Skype dates or leaving her messages on Facebook.
I am a performer, but I have not touched a stage in over a year.
I am a gamer, but I only play one game.
I am a dork, but I smoke cigarettes and drink black coffee.
I am a nerd, but I was never much into comics and I do not wear glasses.
I am mentally ill, but I talk to therapists as though I am upbeat and I am not behind on my schoolwork.
I am a musician, but I cannot play an instrument though I've tried many times.
I am a blogger, but I've let many die and I do not network well.
I am of the computer generation, but I could not explain how a computer works.
I am a daughter, but for many years I hated my parents.
I am a sister, but I have to remind myself to speak to my siblings.
I am a friend, but I prefer to keep to myself and I don't always have the right thing to say.
I am American, but I don't know much about politics and I don't like apple pie.
I am a vegetarian, but I have to eat fish sometimes.
I am gay, but I don't know exactly how to explain so that other people who have questions understand.
I am a student, but sometimes I don't feel like I'm much good at "critical thinking."
I am sad, but I smile.
I am an optimist, but I am cynical sometimes.
I am guarded, but I spill myself.
I am myself, but I don't know who I am.

I am not much good at being the things I am.

I'll weave into your sleeping form and lace into your dreams; when you wake I'll be the light behind your eyes and the softness in your smile.
With sharp words and gentle intentions I will shape and guide this story. I am cunning and honest.
I'll get inside your head, but more importantly, your heart. There I will spin my tale and make you begin to wonder and learn.
I design and I scheme, I am crafty and clever. I create and I intertwine, I am fabricated and beguiling.
I am the sin and savior of imagination, I am the inspiration and the hollow ring. I am the advocator of make-believe and visions of passion.
I am the lessons of joy and strife, I am the morals, I am the parable of simplicity, I am the myths and legends that have withstood time.
I am the fallacies and disappointments, the misconceptions and outdated lore.
I am; I create. I entwine, knit, construct, contrive. I invent these allegories, bringing things into being.
(So who am I?
...I am love, for "love is a cunning weaver of fantasy and fables.")

I’ve known battles between my heart and my head before, but never like this.

Pain is familiar to me. Sadness is common company, hurt is safe. Misery follows me, aches linger. I’m used to fighting for my happiness, to finding a glimmer of it and holding on as tightly as I can. I choose to keep a smile on my face as much as possible, I choose to be cheerful and optimistic, but that doesn’t mean that choice is easy. That doesn’t mean I don’t relapse. I struggle every day of my life just to wake up, and I do it somehow, I fight the hardest battle over and over again and it’s only small victories in a big war.

I’m in a long distance relationship, and to anyone who has ever experienced this, you know what it means: pain. Constant and aching. The longing never leaves you, the need never stops. I’ve settled into this pain like a warm blanket, it surrounds my every moment. I’ve sunk into its salt like the sea. I know this pain well. So well, that when it came time to leave it, I was afraid. I was afraid to see her and have it replaced by a joy so profound it filled my whole being. I was so nervous to let it go for those few days, because when it came back, I both knew what to expect and also wondered how it would change. The first two times I left her, it slammed back into me like a hammer and sent shockwaves through my heart. I cried for days. I couldn’t stop. It’s return was so much worse than it’s familiarity. It was new again.

This time, it didn’t ram into me… it just slowly pressed against me. I remember dreading this moment, remembering it’s return before and how it freshly awful it was. I braced myself for the worst, tensing against the inevitable plunge. Instead… I sunk back into it. Slowly, comfortably. I cried a few times, when it went a little too fast. But it mostly kept a steady pace, and I remained braced even after I had already reached the bottom. The pain will come, I thought. It hasn’t happened yet. But what I hadn’t noticed, until now, is that it happened so gradually that I had returned to a state I knew so well, it didn’t alarm me. That’s why I felt like I was almost in denial. It didn’t feel like it actually happened yet. Because when you pull your favorite blanket over you, you don’t stop to think about if it feels different, you just settle underneath and get warm.

Here’s what I know: I know my school, I know it’s campus and classrooms. I know my dorm, its small space and cozy lighting and comfortable bed and much loved quiet. I know my friends, their love and presence. I know my home, my parents that come to see me and bring me back to my childhood home every now and then. I know going down the hall to cook and hooking my computer up to the TV in the lounge, I know clubs, I know the cafes and sidewalks, I know the lake and the library, I know the shuttle and stores I browse alone. I know text messages and phone calls and letters. I know laying awake in the dark and trying to breathe out the loneliness. I know plans and anticipation. I know tears and a pounding heart and “I miss you”s.

Here’s what I also know. I know an apartment with carpets and lights that flicker off. I know city streets and coffee shops on corners. I know metro stops and green parks, I know lights and signs. I know a girl with brown eyes and a beautiful smile. I know holding hands and warm kisses, I know “I love you”s and “goodnight”s. I know a happiness so immense from the simplest of things. I know mornings without pain and falling to sleep with slow breaths. I know of goodbyes that only last a few hours, I know laughter so loud I bite my lip. I know soft skin and small hands, I know closeness and feeling. I know sweet words and parted lips, I know palms and “you’re beautiful.” I know arms around waists, I know shoulders touching, I know staring eyes. I know dates and rituals, I know browsing with a hand in mine, I know ideas and brightness. I know a life with her.

Here’s what I don’t know if I go: I don’t know what will change with more than a few weeks together. I don’t know if we’ll have our first fight, I don’t know if I’ll make things as better as you want them to be. I don’t know if you’ll see me unable to wake up one day. I don’t know if you’ll see me moody or annoyed. I don’t know if I’ll get a job and how well I’ll handle it if I do. I don’t know what will change when I have to leave again.

Here’s what I don’t know if I stay: I don’t know if you’ll be okay. That’s all, because everything else is familiar.

But it’s enough. There’s a girl out there who says her life is better when I’m holding her hand, so how can I stay here knowing that? **** practicality and responsibility, and most of all, **** distance. I used to think the only thing that would make me happy were big dreams and great accomplishments, but I’ve found that a small apartment and a girl to love does more than either of those could hope to do.

I’m scared. I’m scared of leaving familiarity and safety and taking a risk. I’m scared of change. I’m scared of what I don’t know. But I think, for once, I should let my heart decide. We all want to believe we have all the time in the world, but what if we don’t? Would I regret not doing this later?

I have to let go of pain to do this. I have to let go of an ache that has become central to my being. I have to embrace happiness and let it happen to me, and stay with me. Can I do that?

I think the answer is simple, and I should have remembered this from the beginning: for her, I can do anything.

When you're given a meal, the dishes it's placed on are important. It holds good food and is needed and appreciated. When the meal is gone, however, the dishes become simply ***** dishes. A nuisance, really, because now you have to wash them, unless you wait on or make someone else wash them.

People are sort of like that. They hold a meal, something you want. They are important for what they carry. Then you eat the food, and they become ***** dishes. You now have to wash them, get them ready to hold more food... or leave them for someone to clean up after you. Dishes that are never cleaned will never hold food again.

We are all dishes, and we all offer something valuable and when we are emptied we have to be polished again. It's the give and take of humanity.

Emails from airlines tease me, then torture me.
"Make your daydreams a reality"
"Flights on sale!"
Don't taunt me.
I look away from email to the wall;
Smiles greet me. Memories follow.
I remember that smile. It was a smile from when I was with you.
My smiles don't look like that now.
I pull out your shirt - it doesn't smell like you anymore.
I hold it close for a moment anyway.
I curl up sitting on the floor, incapacitated, halted.
Pulled beneath the waves.
It passes. It always does. It has to.
Here I have a life that I have built that you have never been able to touch,
It goes on without you here.
And there's nothing I can do about that.
So I'll continue on, living off dreams and memories.
And the emails will still come.

Tom said that my name sounds like an exotic flower meets medicine.
Tom said the love he witnessed in me gave him hope.
Tom said he'd make it to my wedding, because I promised he would be the flower boy.
Tom said he had a dream that I was kidnapped and he was trying to save me.
That was the last thing Tom said to me.

And I'm writing about him because I don't know what else to do to remember him;
to give him some sort of tribute of my emotion outside of clutching my chest;
to even allow myself to think about him at all.
But writing is how we met, so this is where I will keep him alive.

Tom had a full name that sounded like an old-fashioned fancy inventor.
He spoke with quick Irish wit, and every time we messaged I would imagine the day
that I could ask him to get on the phone with me so I could hear that accent for myself,
and I tried to picture his face from the two pictures I ever saw of it,
and I daydreamed about seeing a kooky smile while he held out his arms yelling,
"Duckie!!!"
He never called me anything else,
and I never came up with a nickname for him quite as splendid.

Tom told me to find him a Russian man.
He told me he had a dream that he had an unreciprocated crush on me.
(I told him I would never be so rude about it, though.)
It was apparently meant to be, however, when he "accidentally flirted" from autocorrect once.
One time he messaged me at 2am just to ask what "totes" meant.
He sent me terribly-drawn doodles of me, him, and ducks (of course)
that made him laugh so hard at himself he could hardly type,
and those times were my favorite.
I'm thinking about putting one of them on my wall, but it makes me sad to think I couldn't tell him about it.

I never did tell you what I do in the mornings, about the things I hate the most, or about all my tiny ticks.
If I wasn't so ill, I might have remembered to message you more -
then again, I figured we had the rest of our lives for our friendship.
That phrase feels sickeningly familiar in my mouth.
Colorado is where my friends go to die, it seems.

"How's your lade?"
"You are the dotiest together."
"You two are my sunshines."
"Your love gives me hope in the world."

Late nights filled with panic and unease, the kind only love can instill in you,
and calm messages back from him that told me to keep doing what I'm doing -
she's going to be alright.
And I'm trying to believe that, Tom, I'm trying to believe that with all my heart
but you're six feet under from the same thing that threatens to take my beloved from me
so I'm not sure how to believe you now.
You don't know what I would give to hear from you tonight,
to hear, "she's going to be alright, you're doing all the right things"
to hear, "I'm going to be alright, you're doing all the right things."
I told you I would fight for you with all I have, but I knew what I have isn't a lot right now.
I couldn't do much for you.
I hope with all my might it's enough for her.
(and finally, since the night I was told they pulled the plug, I can cry.)

I didn't get to say goodbye. two weeks before you took yourself from me,
I sent you "goodnight" and "I miss you" and "sleep good" and "we'll talk soon"
…I suppose all but the last is close enough.
(I'll probably always carry a pocket of regret that six days before that,
I never received a notification to your reply.)

you once wrote to me about love and small fonts
and I will never forget the first time i read it and my heart stopped
because you Knew, you understood when I have never even told you.
I'm chasing so many tails of uncertainty now, my dear,
but I will try to remember I can find that I am Loved.

The first girl I ever kissed
was in a bathroom at a dance.
I remember my heart pounding because I was finally telling her,
finally saying something to her about how I might feel,
which was this jumble of confusion and uncertainty and
just wanting to try.
I had been thinking about her for awhile,
because to me, she was the only one who could settle this.
I remember her smirk, and how she kissed me hard,
and my head spun and the world fell away
and it was an ecstasy I hadn’t known before.
She slipped her knee between my legs
and I knew what desire was.
Someone came in and she quickly turned around,
and we pretended like I was helping her with her dress.
I left that night in a whirl of guilt and bliss and questions.
That was my first kiss that was beyond stupid teen pecks.

The first boy I kissed,
(and again, here I mean kissed more than half a second)
he was tall and handsome and wore black jackets.
We got caught kissing in school once.
He said he loved me. I think he believed it.
(But his promises started to feel more like threats.)
I remember being alone with him in a room,
and as we were kissing,
my mind wandered back a year.
I remember I thought of the girl kissing me,
and my mind said,
“wasn’t that better?”
I could hardly stand to kiss him after that.

The second girl I ever kissed,
I knew.
It was a love I hadn’t known before. It made the others seem faint in comparison.
We had so little opportunity to be alone,
but I was addicted to kissing her when she let me.
(She eventually broke my heart.)

By the third (and fourth and fifth) girl,
It was all I knew.

There was never another boy.

where are the people
who can’t wake up in the morning
no matter how much sleep they get
and where are the people
that find such comfort in a cup of coffee
who turn to the black liquid sweetened and warm
where are the people
who spend hours alone, just the way they like it
but when someone reaches out,
such appreciation you won’t find in anyone else
and where are the people
who let words fall from their mouths like stones
and words from their pens like precious gems
where are the people
that find heroes in ordinary people
because miracles sound nice but are so unlikely
that the ordinary is just enough, thanks
and where are the people
that remembered to buy bread and cereal
and they let that fill them with such pride
maybe they’ll even get the laundry done too
or maybe that should wait til tomorrow
where are the people
who spend nights turning over in bed
or staring at computer screens
or  flipping pages of books
hoping that tonight, tonight they will go to sleep with good thoughts
and where are the people
who got told growing up that there was so many things they had to be
that now that it’s their turn to become
they are torn between expectation and desire and sheer ability
where are the people
who have already learned that there’s no such thing as an adult
who have realized we’re all making our way in a messed up world
with polite smiles and appropriate clothing
and we are all pretending like we have it together

where are the people
like me
because i think a little connection between us
would make us stop asking
“are there others like me?”

this morning i saw the sentence “if she is a goddess then i am no longer godless” and i thought about that a moment; the way our hands press to each other in reverence and how silent prayers leave my lips (and i never knew who they went to, but when i’m alone they ask for your presence and when your fingertips are learning my skin and your tongue becomes a tool for my destruction they go to you, they go to you). they say the body is a temple and if that’s true then i will light every candle and place an offering at your altar and stand in silent awe of your pillars and halls every blessed day. i will sing through every song of praise and dance in joy of the life you give to this world, my world. i never thought i knew much about how to worship but when i tell you i love you and you say it back, when i keep a promise that has lingered between us, when i brush my lips across your cheek or kiss your fingertips, i feel like perhaps i have always known. i have been a faithless wanderer who had no use for religion, but if you were a goddess, i would be a believer.

Something you may not know about me is that I do not sleep well with other people. It's always a very broken, restless sleep and I wake tired and I dislike the first thing I have to do in the morning be to talk to someone.
The reason you don't know this is because it doesn't happen with you. In fact, I sleep better with you. I fall asleep easier and I actually stay asleep and when I wake up I love having you in my arms to press close to and say good morning. This is new to me. But it feels right.

Something you may not know about me is that I've had my heart broken before. Yes, I've loved before, throwing myself into it the first time and ending up with a terrible aching heart that took years to heal.
The reason you don't know this is because now that I'm with you, it's like my heart has never known that hurt. I feel like I'm new to love again, ready to give my all and not knowing what I'm getting myself into it but enjoying every bit of it. This is almost scary to me. But I'm grateful.

Something you may not know about me is when I'm alone, I think of myself as a quiet person. I prefer to be on my own with just my silent words for company, I like calm and stillness.
The reason you don't know this is because I can't shut up around you. I speak like the words will be erased if I don't get them into the air, like I will collapse if I can't make you understand. I just want you to know me. And I laugh loudly and freely with you, because there's a joy I need to express. This is unsettling to me. But I like that I can do it with you.

Something you may not know about me is I have said "I love you" to many people. I love easily and openly, when given the chance to poke out of my shell.
The reason you don't know this is because when I say I love you to you, it's like the first time. The words taste fresh and sincere on my tongue, like they've been reinvented just for you.

This is new to me. But it feels right.

just wait for me, one day i’ll make a home with you.
don’t fade, don’t wane, find your way back to me.
be here.
i’m drowning myself in love songs,
doubling my emotions to make up for the lack of you.
right now you’re a ghost, a motion in the corner of my eye,
a longed-for touch, a missed presence,
words on a screen, a vessel for my love.
don't let go.
one day there will be only goodnights,
no more goodbyes.

In a language unknown,
in words truthful and opaque,
in dully shining rusted tones
he spins a tale of love and loss
that you lean forward to hear
and strain with all your being to understand,
because in his twists and corners you find you will Know.
Winding and vaguely present,
with wraparound phrases and
a heart that fathoms and unravels the trickiest of souls.
He Knows.

I push you because I love you,
because I have faith that you will get better.
See, I cannot save you.
I can only be there to witness the saving of yourself.
And I told myself, even if this makes her hate me,
Even if she begins to resent my pleads turned demands,
I would be fine with that.
I will bear the internal wounds if it means you will not deprive yourself.

But the first time you told me,
"Sometimes I really want to tell you to shut up"
All I said was,
"I know. But I'll take it."
But inside I felt the smallest of rips in my heart.
This will not **** me, I thought,
It will merely tear me apart.

There's almost no way to write about you without sounding horribly cliché.
(I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.
I'm alone and lonely.)
Maybe this makes me a terrible poet.
Or maybe this is what you've made me:
a tangled mess of clichés and needs and loneliness.
All things I thought I'd abandoned long ago.
But still, just let me get this out:
"I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.
I'm alone and lonely."

When I'm with you, it's hard to remember I'm still on Earth
because you are my heaven.
But also when I'm with you, nothing feels more real
because you are my home.
I wish I could erase the miles from the map and have them disappear.
I want to be more than words on a screen or a voice through a speaker to you.
I want to be your hand-holder and blanket-stealer,
I want to be your shopping buddy and house-cleaner.
I want to be your goodnight squeeze and good morning kiss,
I want to be your date and plus one.
I want to be with you.
Instead, I am Here and you are There and Everything is in between.
Maybe lyrics will say this better than I ever will,
but I miss you.

Just keep waiting. I'll be there.

you are not a star, or a gentle breeze,
you are not fire, or cool water…
and you do not burn or smother, you do not hurt.
you are none of the things people usually akin to those they love.
instead, you are smoldering coals and city lights,
you are the last note of someone’s favorite song,
you are twilight.
you patch but do not mend,
you create beauty but do not perfect it.
you are a question with a twist answer that i have yet to find.
you are not subtle,
you are bold strokes in tones of grey all the way to black.
you are sketched lines and eraser smudges.

you are not a star, but you amaze.