Fighting gravity always seemed futile
But hand over hand, I gripped each fissure
Ignoring the natural patterns
Denying the pull towards the inevitable end.
And you're an ever surging mountain
That scrapes the sky
Like the sun personified
And I- a wingless Icarus
Long to stray close enough
To burn the tips of my reaching fingers once more.

Planted firmly on the ground
My feet would wander aimlessly anyway
Always circling the base
Always coming back to the place where I could tilt my head back
See you shining there, perched atop your shrine
Like the most beautiful treasure
Like the unattainable cookie jar on the refrigerator
Only no amount of crying will ever place you in my eager hands
No amount of sweetness could quell my need for you.

No, hand over hand
I push against what should be,
What is,
And what will never be.
Struggling against
The necessity of
Letting go.

One day, you'll awaken,
with blood shot eyes,
scratching at a five o'clock shadow,
even though it's seven o'clock
in the morning, and
wonder where it all went wrong. Where she all went wrong.

When the arches of her feet stopped
tiptoeing across the room
to kiss you good morning.
When the parallels of her calves
started making diagonals
when laying on the bed.
When the crook of her elbows
no longer wrapped around you
like the beautiful ribbon on the present you gave to her last Christmas.

Do you even know where that present is?
It's there,
up there on the shelf collecting dust
along with all the "I love yous"
and other promises that you stash away for cold winters nights,
when you crave her warmth,
and long to feel the chill of her sapphire-painted fingernails.

But somewhere between the cicadas of summer and the apples of autumn, you lost her along the way.
You lost the way her hair finds its way onto every surface of your house.
You can't find the way her nose wrinkles when she laughs,
even if you turn over all the couch cushions,
and look under the rug.

You check your file cabinets for the way her chest heaves when she sleeps,
and check in the pantry for the memories of her propped up on her elbows,
looking out the window sill at the rain,

But all that's left are phantoms of her amber scent,
and ghost-smiles that have all but gone stale.

I had to leave
I would have died if I didn't
I was locked in your fatal grasp
Clenched in your desperate snare

You said you loved me
How empty words can be
I was left to wonder if it was really me you loved
Or just the fragrant idea of a girl you called "mine"

I'm sure you're bitter
But I just couldn't stay
You see, I have hopes and dreams that cannot be squelched
Please forgive me, but you are not one of them

So I must be going
Because somewhere out there is my one true love
Yours is out there too
It just won't be me

Were you silent the day he left?
He'll crush you, but at least you'll feel something...
                  at least you'll feel something...
I've come to the conclusion that nobody's actually in control anyway.
We all want to be, but none of us are.
And if you think about it,
The comparison of people to mirrors and windows,
Well...
We aren't either.
We are opaque and non-reflective,
And what you see from the outside
Rarely scratches the surface of what's inside.
And I saw the moon in shades of red tonight,
And stupidly mistook the color as blushing.
But then the realization struck that it was fury;
The moon was furious with the sun
For his constant indecision,
For his periodical love for her,
For the ease with which he would change his mind...
The thunderstorms are continual these days,
And I know it's cliché,
But it really does rain all the time.
The rolling sighs of the water against the windowpanes inside my mind
Have become a habitual dance
With footwork as intricate as any fire and ice rose,
Any tango or waltz,
And nothing has really felt like this before,
               but at least I feel something...
At least you'll feel something...
I just want to feel alive again.
Make me feel alive.
Can you even hear my screams?
I know six feet under is too deep to ask,
But could you try to listen?
Can you hear the divorce that didn't happen because of us kids?
Can you hear the bitter resentment in every exchange?
Can you hear your fingers combing through my hair in my dreams? Your lips on my forehead? Your heartbeat underneath my hand?
Can you hear the anger he spits at us everyday?
“I didn't want you two to grow up in a broken home.”
But we have. Just not in the traditional sense.
Can you hear the sound of ***** pouring over ice?
Can you hear the television so loud I have to close my door to think?
Can you hear the mascara stains on every pillow in the house?
Can you hear the distance between each member of this "happy family"?
Can you hear the regret?
Can you hear the bitterness?
Can you hear the frustration?
Can you hear the solitude?
Can you hear it?
Of course not.
I've learned by now that no one hears a silent goodbye.