I live my life through the words I write
I can see you standing beside me
talking to me
looking at me
I can feel you touching me
skin to skin.
There, on the driveway,
dropping me off outside the door
lingering for goodnight.
Our lips join in fireworks
the pattern rehearsed.
My mind plays games with me,
this dreamworld.
You know as well as I
we never saw each other again
and likely never will.
Sometimes
I dream in memories
of you, and me,
and the toxicity surrounding us.
I dream
of my naivete,
the youthful, innocent, optimism I held
even for you.
I dream
of what I chose to see
and lived for.
I dream in memories
because sometimes
they hurt less than reality.
You were the river
eroding shorelines
constantly flowing.
I believed
I could stand on the sandbar
in the middle
and you wouldn’t hurt me.
You swept me up
and into the current
proving how helpless
I was all along.
I held on to you for years
believing that if I did not,
the electrifying joy you brought to me
would leave with you
and leave me dark and dull.
For years
I believed you were
my source of joy.
It wasn’t until you faded away
and at last I cut the rope
I found a similar joy
in someone else.
For always,
you will be the one
who first brought to me that electrifying joy,
but not the only.
I loved you
before I even knew what love was
though I never told you.
I wonder if you got the hint, though,
from the smiles, timed laughter
and how I always seemed to be there
where you were.
Probably not.
I thought I knew what love was then
and even now
I laugh
because half the time
I still don’t know what love is.
If I had known then
what I know and understand now
I would have treated you better.
I know this to be true.
But that was then,
and nothing I do now
can change the way
I broke us
and broke you.
Empty beer bottles line the windowsill,
collecting dust down through their necks
to mix in with the last few drops of alcohol
not consumed,
nor rinsed out and down the sink.
Lined up in a row
they tell a story of the evenings past
filling our stomachs with barley and malt
until they reached our minds
and made us feel better.
Some are yours, some are mine,
but we drank them together
talking, smiling and laughing,
liking each other.
For me, at least.
How many beers will it take
for us to tell each other
how we really feel?
You ran away with my light
hours away
into a thick, dark forest
where I could not trace you.
Then, you gave it to him
so I could chase after him instead,
who held it for mere minutes
before passing it on again.
Now, my light is constant
burning bright through the night
amidst occasional flickers,
like lights do.
Where is your light now,
who does it burn for?
Dreaming
of someone like you
but different,
someone who looks
but does not sound, like you.
How I would imagine
you would feel, taste,
smell,
feels real.
Almost as if
you wanted to see me
but under disguise.
I believe, if I see you again,
it will not be the same as before.
We will both be different people
than the first time,
reuniting as new strangers
not old friends.
Maybe for the better
with us both in the same place
and at the right time,
a chance to try again
carve a new path together through the brush.
Maybe for the worse
with us still in different places
serving as a cold, stark reminder
that we will never be more
than what we are.
It will not be the same as before
for better or worse.
Dawning Words 