what might have been

Another book devoured
within hours.

The joy I experienced
within Lucy’s world
had me skyrocketing
to corners of imagination
and learning sensations of my body
seldom visited
or experienced.

Living out what-if scenarios
in detail
through until the end,
mirroring the tangents
of my own imagination,
I found someone:
a writer, a character,
who thinks the same way I do.

The emotional journey
I traveled with Lucy
both resembled and outshone
similar journeys I have embarked upon
alone.

Solace and comfort and
inspiration
from a single story
of two possible realities
winding and intertwining
together
messy and imaginative
and meant to be
each in their own right.

Maybe whichever path we choose
is the right one
for us at that specific time.
And maybe
life has a way
of interjecting paths together
even after we think
we have left one behind.

Inspired by the book “What Might Have Been” by Holly Miller

deceptive roads

I cannot help but think about the past
imagining the could-have-beens
for me,
and all who crossed my path.
A deceiving road to travel,
and one cunning enough to make me believe
the pictures my mind paints for me.

Today I’m diving head-first into the paint,
the scenes of memories long recollected
accurately.
I see me, I see them,
I see a dozen different outcomes
besides the reality proven true
by where I am now, here.

It’s entertaining,
it’s painful,
it’s therapeutic.

vivid dreams

I cannot remember a more vivid dream
than the artistry
which played behind my eyes
as the morning sun slowly adorned my eyelids
and danced with me.

You danced with me.
You held me, listened to me,
and it felt so real
I could feel your skin on mine,
I could hear your voice, familiar.
It was as though you were waiting for me,
like you have been waiting for me
all this time,
more than I deserve.

Then, simultaneously
my eyes open and well with tears, to realize
it was all in my head.

my mind running away

I think back to years ago
recalling small, singular events
of you, and me, and us.

I start with what I remember,
then my mind switches to imagination
and runs away.

As it runs away
it conjures stories and conversations
I know never happened,
but are real enough behind my eyes
I sit confused, uncertain.

Did we kiss?
Did we date?
Did we love each other?
Or,
did we end before we could begin?

behind my eyes

I can see you in my dreams
almost as clear as stars in the sky.
I can see this fictional world
crafted behind my eyes
and attempted to craft on paper.

You began behind my eyes
and live there every day,
help me go to sleep
daydream
and accompany long drives.

The part of me that never developed
until now.

memories turned to dust

Collecting dust in the corner,
memories of who I once was
and hoped to be,
stand stagnant
letting the castaway remnants of air
settle, and find a new home.

Layer upon layer,
compressing those beneath,
perhaps eventually
stratifications will appear through the dusty clouds.
Memories, all visible,
stacked on top of the other.

Remove one layer at a time,
clean and polish the surface.
When memories have turned to dust
it’s time to let them go.