Dear human- as- possible Human,

I wonder what goes on
in your head besides the times of
when you strive to help people?
Sometimes, do you just sit there
and gaze out the window, staring at a cloud going by,
and seeing a face in the cloud,
or seeing something in an object that would
remind you of something?
Do you sometimes pour water into a glass,
just so that you could put it
in the sunlight and look through
the beautiful crystals at eye level,
and just marvel and dream?
Do you sometimes just have
a blank sheet of paper in front of you,
a pen in one hand, and a lamp on,
and do you just sit there,
unsure of which of your ideas
would be meaningful enough to place on paper,
and for the whole world to see?
If these things happen often
during your life, then you and I
are both much more alike than we thought.
And that might be a good thing.
Because sometimes, the coincidences,
the overlapping actions,
and the identical ideals of two people
finally meeting and emerging together,
is like the collision of the sun and
the moon, forming a beautiful, rare,
magnificent eclipse.
And the best part is, let there be
as many eclipses as the stars
in this universe, and no two eclipses
would ever be the same.
I hope that you will come to realize
that you are not alone in this world,
and may we meet very soon.
For as each footstep on the
lightly treaded clouds, stars,
and cement roads,
are never there for long.
They will always be fading away, like ripples in the water.
When we find ourselves
facing one another on the same path,
let’s slowly stretch our hands
out towards each other,
and intertwine your fingers
with my fingers.
That is reuniting all the lost souls in the universe.
Let me gaze into your eyes,
and fall deep into them, like a feather
somehow going against all the rules
of gravity and sense, graciously sinking
to the bottom of the sea.
That is the loneliness and aching pains sinking away
to the core of the earth.

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

time; can you hold slowly for me,
i find that i can't unravel myself
these days.


all i can think of is my old home by the river,
on the stone-lined hill
by the church


(i've spent three years here with you,
from that first breath and then dive right in to you.
but i was not ready, and it never felt the same)

and i only crave a time when i savoured everything.
a slow time
alone
in my old apartment.
with her wood floors
and high ceilings
and a window that opened like a guillotine
onto the balcony
with my white cast iron furniture
where the rain would collect
and the sun would hit me in the morning,
and i'd wake to it.
and september would be my favourite month,
because of the leaves, not because of your birthday.
and coffee would be my ritual
and i didn't have tv
and i had my records
and places for things
and my plants would sit by my window
and i'd draw there
and sing
and cook
i wouldn't order food, i'd walk to the grocers
i'd work out in my living room
watch movies on my terribly old tv, on a dvd player
i'd watch tv shows on repeat
and i loved it


and i was alone.
and i loved it.

In the clear, calm stillness
of a chilly winter night,
where the stars twinkle
like icy diamonds in a
dark sapphire blue sky,
I feel the crisp, cold breeze
ruffling my hair and brushing
my cheeks,
hear the soft crunches of
freshly fallen snow beneath my shoes,
I look up to see twirling snowflakes
falling softly down upon the earth,
each one's intricate design
shimmering in the pale moonlight,
I catch them and peer at their
delicately crafted beauty,
but then suddenly they vanish,
leaving me alone, and wishing
that I too could vanish
along with them
and leave my presence to be mourned.

I yearn for something
bright, and warm,
and soft,
and glowing, and gentle,
and kind,
like a blanket of flowing sunshine
engulfing me,
creating a cocoon of kindness
to shelter me from
the outside world, and
everything in between,
I want to feel safe, and loved,
freed from inner demons
and jabbing words,
and tainted stares,
taken away and hidden
from poison,
my skin and eyes glowing,
my mind a vast, welcoming
pale blue sky
my lips a creamy peach,
tasting sweet honeysuckle drops
on my tongue,
I want to breathe easily
air as fresh, and clean,
and pure with the essence
of innocence, and
hushed, content breaths
of peace,
I want to curl up
into a ball, and
be my own savior,
wipe my own tears, and
preserve my own laughs
and soft, genuine words,
I want to be left alone,
alone from guilt, and fear,
and the red threads
of fate, tying me to
others, who make me regret
my existence, and every breath
I inhale,
and every broken step I take,
I just want to be
free and forgotten from it all,
to just be safe and sound
in my cozy little, but wide
room of warmth,
and softness, and solitude,
I will forever dance
like a beam of sunlight,
twirling softly in a palm,
always out of reach,
like a forgotten dream.

It's hard to fight when the fight ain't fair,
struggling as you climb the mountain
in an internal uphill battle for something
you never knew what to make of,
lost in the throes of other people's demands
while facing personal demons alone,
people's voices all mingling together
and brushing past your head,
leaving you dazed and isolated
as you can't seem to figure out how to
join in the conversation
and be a part of the flurry of life
happening all around you
because inside you, it never feels like
much is happening,
it's like your capability of perceiving
anything good has been switched off,
like someone violently flicked at it
and beat it in with a hammer
and stomped on it before tossing it into
the back of the memory room, where nothing
is ever remembered or taken back out again
and now when looking through
the lenses of your eyes,
everything is drab and gray, like a discoloring
filter has been applied to make sure you see
things for what they really are,
so that then there's never a chance to
mistake anything for being anything else
that you might have wanted it to be,
so you can remember to always remind yourself
that nothing, and no one, is there for you
and will ever be there for you,
because they are all caught up in the present,
a time when you are utterly insignificant
because one day someone decided to
reach back into the back of your head
and lower your voice and expressions several notches
below silence,
because it was better that way for everyone else's
convenience
they wouldn't have to worry anymore
about hearing your cries of help or anxiousness
of being lost in the throes of other people's decisions
for you
they wouldn't have to hear you
express any doubt or show your real longing
during a time when you were still able to
dream or recall a hazy yet bright idea
of what you wanted to do or study
of the life you might have wanted to make for yourself,
they wouldn't have to take care of you
when you broke down from trying to
dodge expertly concealed insults and recited misfortunes
being hurled at you from all directions
the only kind of pity present in your life
is self-pity and remorse,
self-pity because no one's pity would ever
be enough to accommodate
and remorse because you were never
good enough in the first place
and you know it all too well
and it hurts, that you can't even make things
better for yourself while fighting a fight
that ain't fair
because you don't know how to.