If you know me, or even talked to me at all, you would know I like my music loud because I want to shut the world out. music to me is your lovers voice to you, soothing for me like a mother's voice to her sleepy baby.

You would know that I don't know what I want to be because I love everything and I love nothing.

You would know that I love my freedom because I'm selfish and all I can see is me.

You would know I'm not the type of person to be set to one person because the tune gets boring.

You would know I don't want the red roses on our first date, I don't want to coordinate our colors for prom, I don't want the butterflies in my stomach, I don't want to worry if what I'm doing will hurt your feelings.

You would know that I'm not the type of girl that guys fall in love with.

You would know not to make me a priority because you aren't mine.

You would know that I don't care what you're doing and I won't ever.

I'm not the type to change,
I'm the type to leave you behind and not regret it.

So don't expect anything from me
Because I'm not the type to care.

You sweep my hair back,
Nestle your lips into my shoulder.
Sweet and gentle
Kind and soft.
You plant your kisses like this.

I carry your gardens on my shoulders,
My love.

I sit on a bench by the water, alone.
Old couples silently stroll by,
young men run on
with their collies and yellow labs,
and children race
down the fine gravel path.

Even the ducks
that come to say hello
do not linger.
They bob away
and don’t look back.  

I walk to the edge of the water
and crouch down,
looking for a skipping rock.
I wonder…
Have all the best ones
already been skipped?  
I throw a few;
they don’t jump
more than twice.

I head back to the bench
and watch a family of four
stopped by the boulders
bordering the shore.
Dad snaps a picture of his wife and near-grown kids.
“Would you like a photo with the four of you?” I offer.
Dad grins.
“We haven’t had one of those in years!”
I smile and take the photograph.
They thank me
and carry on their way
down the fine gravel path.

I desire tulips from my love.
Carefully placed on the nightstand,
Just close enough so my open window pushes their perfume
Towards me.
You would get the pink ones,
Because you remember me telling you,
"These are my favorite."
In the grocery store last week.


You could leave me a 4a.m. voicemail.
"I woke up and I missed you."
Only to surprise me at 11 o' clock,
Cover my eyes,
Wear your black checkered shirt,
And pull me into a passionate I-missed-you-so-much-these-mornings-without-you-are-unbearable kind of
Kiss.

And you would think of all of it.
All that I wanted.

But...youre too busy and me?
I am
Hopelessly
Romantic.