I suppose
I have gotten older.
When I was younger,
I believed that things
would just work out,
in life
and in love.
What a naive fool
I was.
I now see
that the most valuable resource
someone can ever trade
is not money
or gasoline
or blood
or tears.

It is time.

To make time,
one must expend effort,
the simplest
yet most profound source of energy
in the universe.
Time given is never retrieved,
and as the days pass,
I find myself longing
more and more
for someone who can return
the time I wasted
on those who did not deserve it.
We are only ever given
so much time, you see,
and it is never as long
as we think it is.

Do not waste yours, stranger.



I used to believe I was broken.
That my cross to bear
was being born
with a heart
much too big
for this body.
It has often led me
to consider it
more curse than blessing.
But then, a thought came to me.
Perhaps I had loved someone
in another life,
and I had promised
to find them in this one.
Maybe all of the warmth
and joy
and hope
and love I had
was carried over
so that when I find them,
we could begin again.

That made me a smile a bit.



At night
you come to the moon
in tears.
You tell him,
in between sobs,
that it has been so long
since you have seen
the Light.
But all he can offer
is a sort of
sad smile,
because in your naivety
you have forgotten
that he shines just as bright
for you, too.


7:30 p.m.

All my life

I have fought;

For others,

For attention,

For time,

For love,

But I am tired.

I think the most


thought I have had of late

is that I want to know

just once

what it feels like

to be fought for



I believe
that writing
is a lonely art.

you need
inexorable happiness
or unyielding sadness.

And no one
truly understands



Even if it was for a short while, what an incredible, beautiful privilege to matter to you.

I just wished it turned out differently, you know?

I think, no, know, that if we met at a different time, maybe when we were both older or met somewhere else, things could have worked out the way we wanted them to.

Maybe then I wouldn’t be here trying to tell myself  to not miss your darling laugh and your gorgeous smile, or your hair and how fucking amazing it was to run my hands through it. I don’t think you ever had to try to look absolutely elegant.

I heard it said once that love is a privilege, not a pastime.

I never really knew what that meant until I met you.

I cannot ever be interested light little flings, or long loveless marriages, or skin-deep attractions. When I saw you, I knew I wanted only raw, full-blooded connection, to share a bond full of breathtaking adventure and passion.

I don’t know how, but you always brought out the best in me.

I don’t mean a sense of maturity or better manners, or whatever else this tired world demands of me.

I mean you make me want to climb roofs, run recklessly and wildly, take fantastic risks and chase my silly dreams with integrity and passion.

Around you, I start living.


I missed you for too long, in so many ways, that it became another part of me;

with each passing day engraving itself deeper into my heart.

I would wake up, breathe, stretch, and miss you.

I cannot tell you how many people told me to let it all go, to let you go.

I would always say “You cannot just will your heart to stop beating,

that no matter how long you hold your breath for, you cannot hold it forever,

and were I to stop missing you, I’d stop being myself entirely.”


this is me,

saying that I cannot unlove you.

I cannot forget the way your voice sounded at 2 am.

I cannot forget the way your lips would press against mine.

I cannot forget the way we fit, like the pieces of a puzzle, whenever we hugged.

I cannot forget the way you made everything in my life okay.

It may be killing me, but I cannot unlove you.

This is me, here and now, with arms open, heart out.

I want all of you and then some.

I want your 3 am brokenness.

I want to know what terrifies you the most so I can tear it to insignificant pieces.

I want to spend the rest of my life exploring your blazing hot, cosmos of a heart.

I want to show you that all of the flaws and beautiful imperfections that separate you from the gods are the very things I will always fall for the hardest.

I’ll choose you.

In a hundred worlds,

in a hundred lifetimes,

in  any version of reality,

I’d find you and I’d choose you.

It’s like a disease, this love.

Coursing through my weary veins.

It’s going to destroy me in the end, I know it will.

But I hope,

oh God, do I pray,

that it could save me, too.



We met at the cafe by your house.
it had been so long
since my eyes last had the pleasure
of seeing you
face to face.
We ordered our drinks
and sat in the corner,
undisturbed by the rest of the world.
You asked me how I had been
during our brief interlude
of time and space.
My heart was screaming to tell you
just how in love with you
I still was.
How every day and night
and been filled with nothing
but breaths taken for you,
wondering when we could speak again.
But I lied.
I told you I was fine.
You told me about what you had been up to,
and I am not sure if there is a word
for loving the way a persons lips form words,
but there I was
falling in love with you
all over again.
We went back to your place
and took pictures of the moon,
and talked about us.
Polar opposites,
you and I.
You, Aries
and I, Libra.
Yet somehow,
the attraction between us rivaled that
of the Earth and the moon.
You would look down and smile to yourself
when we locked eyes.
You knew you still had me,
but darling,
I still had you, too.
We always looked at each other
a little too long
for just friends.
When I left, I held you
in my arms
for as long as I could,
the smell of your hair
reaching and taking root
deep in my lungs.
The familiar feel of your hands
reaching around me
and pulling me close
made me forget the distance
that lay between us,
and when you looked into my eyes,
I saw us,
60 years from now
on the porch of your aunt’s house
that you always said you’d buy someday,
with our grand-kids running around the yard.
A quiet
summer breeze
wafting the smell of your hair back into my lungs.
It’s you.
It has always been you.

And I think it always will be.



radiant souls
gather to read
these pitiful musings.
I am not enough for you all.
But allow me
to illucidate
how I feel.
I am truly,
You must understand;
There was a time I wrote
long ago,
for the heart of one
I held higher than my own,
and got nothing
but silence.
But here,
after donning the Mantle,
I have received so many
and support.
I fear there is nothing I can do
to repay this inordinate amount
of kindness.
The only thing I know how to do
is what feels right;
what speaks to my heart
and what quiets my mind.

And that,
my friends,

is to write

My deepest thanks to you all
for choosing to follow me.
May I repay this debt to the best of my ability.



I met a woman today.
She didn’t have your freckles
that could dot the night sky
but her skin radiated a warmth
and glow
that you could only find in the sun.
She didn’t have your brown eyes
that looked like sage
after a sudden downpour
but you could see the clouds
in hers
and silver linings lined her iris
like flecks of pearl.
She didn’t have your chocolate hair
and it lacked the wildness
I loved so much about yours,
but hers made me believe
I was watching sunbeams
pierce the heavens
in the most brilliant sunrise.
Her laugh didn’t sound like the ocean
breaking against wind-beaten
but reminded me more
of a soft breeze,
blowing gently through
the treetops.
Perhaps I had given you too much credit.
I wrote you out to be this incredible
force of nature.
A hurricane of a woman.
But truthfully,
you were just a broken girl
breaking others
because someone
had broken you.

A fickle thing the moon, calling to the darkness.



Vision failing,
black veil
is not right.
No light
to define darkness.
No shadow
to pronounce light.
What place is this?
Umbral figure
cloaked in cosmic dust.
Extending hand,
beckons me near;
cannot turn away.
like splitting glacier
demands payment.
Quoniam sapientia
Hands meet,
my flesh
encased in Mantle,
Left in grey,
no light
no darkness.
there are greater callings
than justice.


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