.roadtrip.

Today was such a relaxing day...a day for quiet contemplation.

As I mused silently to myself for the greater part of the day, more often than not, I felt my mind shift ever so gradually back to you with each new topic.

It is like a constant aura surrounds my thoughts...a constant feeling of undeniable happiness pervades each consideration.

As I sit here now, listening to the rich harmonies of one of my favorite folk singers, I cannot help but imagine what we would be doing on this quiet Sunday if it was just you and I.

Perhaps we would walk outside and breathe in the crisp scent of winter and take in the natural beauty.

Maybe we would stay inside, snuggled close, and spend time laughing over the thousands of absurd inside jokes we have already accumulated in such a short span of time.

Oh, just maybe we would take that roadtrip we long to go on...you know...the one where we will not tell a soul where we're going...and the truth is, we will not even know where we're going.

We will just drive.

I will dangle my hand out the window like I always do, and I will smile over at you as you sing along softly to the music.

We will stop in the most arbitrary places and the most unique places, always taking the time to just reflect on how fortunate we are to have found each other in this maddening world.

So, here's hoping that we'll take that trip someday...and maybe, who knows...this trip we have embarked on together may last a lifetime.

.two separate lives have never been as beautifully intertwined as ours.

Oftentimes, I step outside into God's beautiful creation to enjoy what He has set before me in this part of the world that I am so blessed to have lived in for most of my life.

The beauty of today was undeniable...the soft afternoon light touched the trees in such a way that made me sigh in awe of how wonderfully splendid nature can be.

I sat there outside as the slight breeze gathered my hair around my shoulders and gently laid it to rest across them. I wished for you to be here with me.

I know that you would join me in an afternoon walk of the most wonderful type, one that involves not only deep, meaningful conversation...but also one that takes moments to stand together silently and just breathe it all in.

After all, I am a firm believer that nature is not always meant to be enjoyed in the confines of a solitary life...to have someone there with you who appreciates it as much as you do is nothing short of a blessing.

So please...know that it is moments like these that make me miss you the most, moments like these that make your absence all the more acute. I may be one voice, singing alone tonight about the depth of my care for you, but soon, I know you shall be here, joining in on my melody that I sing.

But even in my loneliness and solitude, I know that through the thousand miles that separate us, our hearts still lie close together tonight, melding and meshing into one in perfect harmony.

And I wait...as usual...to see your sweet face again, to cup your chin in my hand and to tell you how I really feel...I think you know it, but hearing it will be all the more sweeter, don't you agree?

.you.

I am not into the idea of living without you.

No more you? Might as well hand me a sentence for a life lacking all the little parts of you that make me smile. Please say this is it for you too...there's nothing more without you.

Please forgive me if I seem to gush about my sentiments for you...I honestly cannot help it because you are so wonderfully inspiring to me.

I have made it my personal mission to find out all the little things that make you tick...what brings that light into your eyes...what makes your heart feel full to the point of bursting?

With each little tidbit of information I find out about you, I feel even closer to you. I want to be that one for you for all time...the one who just knows.

No words have to be exchanged...we will just know.

I will be able to look into your eyes again in 20 days and see the depth of your care for me...and I know that when you gaze into mine, there will be no hiding just how much I care for you.

Even if you came out here to see me and you never told me those three words, I would still know them in my heart, my darling. It's not so much that I need to hear them, but when I do...oh, there will be nothing to compare.

Truly, did you know how closely you hold my heart now?
It is at one with yours.

Though I am not into the idea of being without you, your voice, your laugh, your words...they all make this absence more bearable.

So here I am again, counting down the days until I can see you again and the hours until I can hear your voice again...and rest assured, those waits are precious to me...because it makes talking to you all that more special. <3

.speak.

Your voice holds so much within it, my dear.

With each word you speak to me, I feel more and more at peace because I know that I am with you.

No, not physically...but truly, my heart draws nearer and nearer to yours.

Though this connection we have each night is a far cry from what we hope/wish/dream of, I know that I feel closer and closer to you each time you call me your darling.

So much weight is carried in the inflections of your voice, and the adorable little ways that you go about saying certain words resonate within my heart each night because I grow more and more attached to that voice.

I know that, in a wide crowd of people, if I heard your voice calling my name, I would stop in my tracks and search you out...that is how important hearing you is to me.

So, each night, when I'm lying downstairs in my darkened basement, awaiting your call, I eagerly anticipate the moment when I shall hear your voice again as I tuck you close to my ear and listen to the sweet tones of you.

With each laugh, every shared moment and all the tones of endearment that find their way across the spiraling phone lines and into our awaiting ears, I shall grow closer and closer to you.

I know that when I come to find you at the airport in 21 days, I will literally just stop and listen to your voice...because, when I have all of you in front of me, it will be good to remember just how important that one part of you is to me when you're not here.

Please never stop letting me listen to you, my darling...I would be content with hearing you, and only you, for the rest of my life.

.little did i know.

I never thought I'd be so anxious to see January.

When I left you that day at your hotel, I didn't realize that I was driving away from the one who literally holds my heart captive.

I swear, I didn't know when I was sitting there with you in that random parking lot, my head nestled into your shoulder, that I would be longing to relive that moment just days later.

I didn't know that the few hours that we did spend together would soon integrate themselves to the most often replayed moments in my head.

I didn't know that I would think of you with every laugh that shakes my body, each dream I entertain, or every beautifully crafted sunset...if I had known how palpable your absence would be, I would have clung tighter to you when you had to leave.

Missouri seems drab this time of year. The endless see-sawing back and forth between snow and rain, mild and harsh and pleasant and dreary has taken its toll on my spirits.

But when you were with me in that gray city...no place else on Earth was as beautiful or as highly sought after to me. There was no place I'd rather be.

When I left you that day...I did not know how unbearable your departure would be until the next morning. I awoke, excited but oddly empty because you were not near.

I never thought I'd see the day that I wished for the odd, dreary month of January...but since this month, just like the city you visited, holds the promise of you...I think of little else.

And finally the silence,
Looking out, looking back across the sky.
Trying to find a meaning
Knowing that I just left it all behind.

.this isn't romantic as much, but you know how i feel.

Leave.

The need to get away has overwhelmed me lately. Breaking free of this Western society's expectations of what is good, noble and true has been impacted upon my heart again and again as my ventures into further understanding Christian spirituality have solidified this notion.

My heart keeps telling me that there is much, much more spreading across this continent's expanse...so much more out there for me. Beyond this small-town, stop sign riddled area, there lies a wealth of opportunities.

It makes sense that you are so far away. You are out in the unknown, far away from what has surrounded my daily life...and I love it. You speak of bustling cities, crowds walking quickly and never-ending open eyes...the city that never sleeps is literally in your backyard.

I sit here, kicking pine needlings with my feet, wishing that I could run/fly/walk/drive to where you are, take you by the hand, and discover what this life is truly about.

You and I, we know that this is more than a religion. It is a relationship. How can the relationship we have with God ever be relevant if we do not actively seek to build relationships with others who so desperately hold their chapped hands out, begging for relief and truth?

We both know that it is quite impossible. That is why I am so glad that I have stumbled upon you, someone who shares this insatiable passion to help, seek and manifest what God has so wonderfully given us.

These Ozark bluffs reach to the sky, filled with towering walls of limestone and shale that seemingly fade into the hazy clouds that hang low. I stand there, collecting leaves from the towering oaks that dwarf me and wish, wish, wish we could just leave it all.

Leave.

They say that you cannot grow until you leave behind what you have always known. If you sit there, festering in that stagnant pool of water you were birthed in, you shall spoil.

The endless velvet sky is spread before me now. The hills are hidden behind this veil of darkness that has been so artfully draped over my slice of this globe. The cosmos taunt me with the sheer madness and beauty of their endless expanse, and I reach toward them, wishing to uncover the grand mysteries behind their twinkling facades.

I wish to leave.

I wish for you to come with me.

I wish to change, make a difference, do something worthy of this life given to me.

To waste this precious gift our Father has given us...a tragedy.

You and I, we shall not waste it. We shall soon be together and I will caress your hand as we both ponder the infinite beauty our Lord has show us...and we will not waste this life. We will not waste this life.

We will leave what society wants us to do...and we will not waste this life.

.tis the season to tell someone how you feel.

When I awoke this morning, the sun was streaming in my window and dancing across my face.

I blinked my eyes and cuddled closer to my blankets, silently missing you more than ever before, it seems.

Each day that passes brings a new level of trust and companionship with you, but it also sees the increase in the intensity with which I miss you.

I lay in bed for a few moments longer, staring at my ceiling and wondering about you and really just wondering how I got so lucky.

Last night was very special to me...for some reason, it really just made me feel so close to you. All our talks are to be cherished, but there was something about last night that made the longing to be by your side nearly unbearable...

It's Christmas Eve...and that means a large dinner and an even larger amount of company. In the midst of all the laughter and fellowship, I will feel at peace because I will be holding steadily onto your heart. I know that the entire night will be filled with my wishing that you would be my Christmas present because, truly, you would be a far better gift than anything currently residing under our tree. :]

You seem to be the touchstone of my days and a constant reminder to slow down and remember. You always remind me to remember how this beautifully crafted relationship would never have been possible if not for Him.

Only half a month has already taught me the difference between the emoticons you use, the zip code for New Jersey and how closely a Chia Pet can bond me to another.

Well, it's not just the Chia Pet.

It's you. All of you.

.wish you were here.

Oh, my dearest...I need you so much closer.

I stood there today, wishing you would come bounding around the corner to take me away to watch the sun set over these Missouri hills.

I know that there is 1097 miles separating us at this exact moment in time, but truly, if there was a way for me to be where you are, you know I would be by your side in an instant.

To capture your hand in mine, to hold your gaze with mine, even to feel your presence near mine...it would be pure bliss.

I stood there today, wanting you here. Knowing that you are mine but that you cannot be here brings out the terribly selfish side of me...I want you near me always.

I want to cook you dinner and kiss the nape of your neck as I set your plate in front of you.
I want to rub your shoulders when you are stressed and brew you tea when you're sick.
I want to walk with you out in the mist of the night, counting stars and our many blessings as we are sweetly aware of each other's presence.

Quite simply put, my dear, I want you. Every part of you is beautiful to me.
I quite adore you...most ardently.

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see.

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all.

.falling fast.

I cannot tell you how excited I was to read the beautiful letter you wrote me today.

Your words, poured out across that page, meant more to me than anything. You managed to capture your heart in three pages, and I loved every bit of it...and I cannot thank you enough for telling me those things.

Truly, each sentence was precious to me. I'm sure that, within the span of a few months, I will have the letter memorized just like the first one you wrote me because I will have read it so many times.

I could literally feel your heart reaching out to mine across this distance, my dear...and I ever so gratefully clasped my hand to my own heart, for the feeling of your presence was so utterly wonderful.

I have fallen for you. Completely.
I am yours.

.you make me happy.

My days seem so much lighter and carefree now that you are a part of them.

Knowing that there is someone out there, albiet 700 miles away, who will always listen to me and care for me is truly a wonderful feeling.

And I surely hope you have a similar one, because this girl is hopelessly head-over-heels for you.

I spend my time thinking about what I want to tell you, what I want to show you and what I want to experience with you...each of these thoughts grow more and more precious to me with each passing day as we grow closer and closer.

Can you imagine us a few years from now?

We'll finally have a chance to get lost together just like we did on that rainy day in St. Louis. We'll discover even more oddities as we stray further and further from the beaten path...and we'll love each minute of it.

I know I will, at least, because any moment with you will be a cherished one.

In the middle of nowhere, we will embrace for a long time as our hearts are connected together stronger than ever...and the distance shall separate us no more.

.adore.

I am absolutely adoring you.

It's true...you are the highlight of my day and the special person I want to tell everything to.

Driving home tonight, the fog was thick and I could barely see as I leaned over my steering wheel to see the faint yellow lines on the road.

Though I was intent on driving, all I could think about was you. I wondered what you were doing and what you were thinking...and hoped you were thinking of me.

I sent a little prayer your way, thanking God for just you in general...because you are so very wonderful to me.

So here I am, falling ever more quickly for you with each passing day...we grow closer and closer together as I grow dangerously closer to letting those three words slip from my mouth because, at times, the need to tell you simply overwhelms me.

I adore you. I adore you. I absolutely, irrefutably adore you.

.no more dreaming.

I find myself daydreaming a lot lately...

I've always been the type to zone out while staring at some distant object that no one but me really sees, but recently, I catch myself just sitting there and imagining quite frequently.

You're the topic of these daytime escapes from reality...obviously, since you are the one who encaptures most of my thought processes daily.

I can see us, a few years from now, in our own apartment with the windows open and the curtains blowing in the breeze, running around and laughing at each other's antics. I'll gallavant around in my favorite pair of cotton shorts and a loose T-shirt and cook you enough pigs in a blanket to feed an army.

You'll probably still be wearing your favorite pair of black comfy pants that your mom gives you grief about because you wear them so often. Our dog will most certainly be called by the hilarious name we have already decided, and we shall spend our evenings snuggled together on the couch and sharing about our days...in person, for once.

So, it's simply a daydream for now...but never before have my dreams so closely toed the line to reality in my mind. I can very well see these lofty ideas coming true.

Each time I hear your voice, I am reassured that the sweet sounds of your words have most assuredly bridged the gap between my dreams and my reality. :]

.dying to let you know...

Oh, there are many different ways to eloquently explain feelings...

Endless combinations of words, gestures and signs can be used to tell someone how you feel, but for me, only a few words can sum up how I feel about you.

Nothing else seems worthy, really...my feelings for you literally overtake me sometimes, rendering me silent and unable to string together words in complete sentences.

Truly, you make this girl melt at the sweet way you say "coffee" and the way you tell me that you want to take care of me when my head hurts.

Can I be that girl for you for all time? The one you want to make you macaroni & cheese...the one who makes you say "sweet mercy"...the one who makes you want to travel miles and miles to see?

I hope so...because, truly, you will always be the boy that makes me put my hand over my mouth when you tell me that I'm beautiful...the one who I want to visit Bill Nye with...the one who's hand I want to hold forever, if you'll let me.

So, here I am over here in Missouri...literally stuffing my fingers in my mouth when I want to let those words slip out because I want to look in your eyes when I tell you them...because, truly, I mean them with all of my heart. Every bit of it.

.thanks.

You bring out the romantic in me.

Today, when you told me I was beautiful, the sincerity of your words literally made me clutch my heart, for it was beating so fast with pure joy.

It's the little nuances like that that really make my heart sing...and you have already figured that out in the span of a few short weeks.

You're smart. :]

I put together a package for you today and I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it because it all had to do with you. I got joy out of thinking about your reaction to the different items I decided to send you, and I was thrilled.

I mean, my whole being is happy when I think about your care for me. You truly do complete me and compliment me in all the ways I never thought anyone could.

So...thank you for being so truly wonderful...and knowing my heart well enough to make it yours completely.

.stunned silence.

It has always been easy for me to express myself through writing...and a few kind people have told me that I have a way with words.

Any emotion or feeling was fair game. I was always able to pour my soul out onto the paper and let the words seep through my fingertips to dance across the page.

But, for some reason, when I try to talk about you or describe you, my tongue gets tied up. Words do not seem wise, for even they cannot capture your soul.

My meager attempts to do you justice through this paltry language we speak do not measure up to what you deserve, I know this.

But...do you know that you are all I have ever wished for? Truly, a dream come true...a fleeting dream that had only haunted me previously when I slept.

But no, you are living, breathing proof of a watchful Father who cares deeply for the happiness shared between two who so ardently seek after His will.

With each breath I take, each time I step, and every blink of an eye, I shall strive to turn the praise back to Him for you...for you are truly His, anyways.

Distance? What does that mean? Nothing...for two hearts could not be closer than ours.

.snow.

I sat in the back of my father's Jeep today as we drove home in the deepening night down the snowy backroad that leads to my house.

I stared out the window, watching the hills rise and fall in their pure white beauty, heaving up and down like a the chest of a panting runner.

I traced my finger across the fog on the window as usual, drawing shapes and following the cresting bluffs with my eyes.

I knew that you had snow too, and oddly enough, I felt connected to you in that small way.

Hustling around all day, I still felt like I was in slow motion and very detatched from the fray around me. I saw with such clarity today, and once again, saw His presence following me around like a faithful shadow.

It's weird how unaware some people are and what a difference a kind word or a geniune smile can do. I know you'd appreciate this revelation, for you're the kind of person who loves to make the days of others better.

Observing others is what I love to do. Sitting back, being quiet and just listening is one of my favorite pastimes. You learn a lot that way. You and I would be quite the pair, sitting there and just watching.

Or maybe, we would be traversing those snowy, gently rolling hills, hand in hand, looking up at the gray sky in awe.

Either way, as long as it's with you, I'm content. Well, more than content. More like ecstatic...or euphoric...you get the idea.

So here I am, once again, counting down the days until I can see you again...but for now, I am finding comfort in pressing my nose against that foggy window and feeling your heart reaching towards mine through the snowy expanse that separates us.

.you are wonderful.

My darling,

I woke up this morning and the first thought on my mind was you. I rolled over and blinked in the sunlight and thanked God for your presence in my life.

You are so very wonderful to me.

The little things I do throughout the day, they are but a mere distraction from my devotion of my thoughts to you. You are always on my mind.

There is such a beauty in seeking passionately after what is most desirable to a person. For me, watching someone wholly give their being to our lovely Heavenly Father is beautiful...and, my dear, you are the epitome of that!

And, dare I say it, I believe you are also passionately seeking after me...as I am after you. Our relationship is absolutely gorgeous...and I know it's because our Father has deemed it right.

There are so many little things about you that I love...your devotion to your family, your kind spirit and your drive to help others. Your penchance for macaroni & cheese, your adorable accent and the cute way you say "Sweet mercy!" have seriously stolen my heart.

But, covering all that, your devotion to God is so, so apparent. And that, my dear, is beautiful. Your beautiful heart is what I have fallen for, head over heels...and you must know by now that I wouldn't have it any other way.

.missing you...of course.

When we first met, I wondered if it was possible to miss someone so terribly...in only a few days, no less.

Goodness, can I even begin to describe how much I feel like my heart is constantly reaching out to touch yours?

Truly, my heart is currently residing in New Jersey...you know this, because you've stolen it.

Oh, God is so good...I feel I cannot hide the smile that is constantly radiating from my visage because His goodness has been so apparent to me lately...all because of you, my wonderful.

You truly are wonderful...I cannot wait to see your sweet face again. I want to hold your hands in mine and tell you all about what He has done for me lately. I know that you would love to listen to me...nearly as much as I love listening to you.

And, my dear, I know that others may not understand...but God is faithful! I need you so much closer, but my needs can be put aside for this beautiful, beautiful relationship.

My heart is full almost to the point of bursting with my emotions for you.
I miss you so very much.

.bliss.

My mom always said I was a precocious child.

Forever asking questions, she told me I drove her nuts sometimes because I asked about things she really couldn't explain to a three-year old.

Not much has changed...I still ask a lot of questions. I always want to see the big picture, get all the facts and attain as much knowledge as possible.

I question almost everything...but then, I met you.

Can I just tell you how amazing it is that I have never questioned our relationship and whether or not it will work?

I just know that God wanted this...He so clearly wanted this.

And that makes me happy enough to shut my mouth and stop questioning the infinite beauty of this union.

Because, really, I don't need to ask about it...it's all there in front of me when you speak to me and tell me of your care for me.

And you must know by now that I reciprocate that wholeheartedly...and I surely cannot wait until I'm able to run my hand over your cheek again and pour my soul into those probing green eyes of yours.

So call me mushy and unbridled in my emotion, but for once, I'm okay with it...okay enough not to question the giddy feeling I get when you speak to me or the rush of blood to my heart when you call me yours.

I am not my own; I am so undeniably yours. And His. Three strands cannot be easily broken.

.path.

"In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy path..."

How beautiful is that? If we can seek so ardently after Him in every aspect of our lives, God will personally direct our lives in the way He so desires for us to live them.

Who better to plan my life's path than the Creator of all?

Today was a dismal day. Rain. Rain. Rain.

Oh, and some slush.

But mostly rain.

But that verse, it circled my head, softly whispering in my ear, reminding me of how infinitely wonderful God's plan for my life is.

Today, it seems much clearer how beautiful that path is...simply because you're now walking alongside me.

The rain, it dripped across my brow as I pulled my scarf tighter, but I was lost in another realm again.

We were walking down a sun-dappled path together, gazing up at the glorious sky, and thanking Him for bringing these two hearts together.

.wait.

The image of a bride when she is prepared for her groom is a one that is used throughout the Bible to explicate the most radiant kind of beauty.

Imagine that kind of powerful love, the kind needed to make a marriage last...that's the love the Father has for us and the love that He wishes us to know.

Truly, I am constantly looking forward to the day when I can look into your eyes and see that you have so much love in you. I already know your care is deep, but that precious emotion of love is one worth waiting for.

We both know we're in this for committment, much like that beautiful bride slowly traversing the aisle toward her true love.

It seems certain aspects are irrelevant right now, for our feelings know no distance or span of time.

I am good at waiting, especially for someone as infinitely wonderful as you. Time shall not hold me back, nor the miles that separate us.

You and I, we shall defy the odds.

.frozen here.

The ice came last night, engulfing every living blade of grass in its own chamber of sparkling, crystalline beauty.

The entire world was made of diamonds this morning as the trees bowed to the ground under the weight of all their splendor.

I thought of you and how you would love to sit here with me next to the fire and gaze out the window as God traced His fingers across this landscape, making it shine brighter than the sun.

I thought the ice would shatter if I touched it with my fingers...beauty so powerful should be delicate and fleeting.

I thought the idea of us was far too beautiful for me to ever come close to, yet alone attain.

But, as I ran my fingers over the solid expanse of ice that caught our windchime in mid-swing, I knew that we, like the ice, were strong.

The ice will melt soon. The rivers of water will find paths through the slender green grass and gather in puddles around the bases of the once-entombed trees.

But we, oh, we shall stay close. Dreams will pale in comparison to our relationship, and we shall outlast all the seasons, my dear.

This winter wonderland is beautiful. But, oh, I plan on seeing spring with you too...and summer...and fall...

For all time.

It's beautiful.

It's strange how, when I touched your hand for the first time, it wasn't so much a jolt of triumph as that feeling of coming home for the first time in quite awhile.

Don't get me wrong...I was so happy. So happy.

But it was more than that. It was like all the loose ends had been tied up, all the puzzle pieces placed perfectly and all the questions answered.

I was complete in that moment when your thumb caressed my knuckles and I knew that we were supposed to be in this rainy city at this time together.

It felt so good to be with you. I know that God put a smile on our faces that day because He wanted us there. He was so present in this entire situation that even the most skeptical cynics couldn't deny the overwhelming notion that this relationship was meant to be.

I usually avoid using cliches, but that's what we are...meant to be.

Even in my deepest desires and needs, I don't think I even brushed my fingertips with the notion of someone as perfectly wonderful as you. This is so beautifully different that it's unreal.

Our heads aren't meant to comprehend what's intended for the heart...and you, oh, you are solidifying this notion.

I'll never be able to wrap my mind around how insanely perfect this God-crafted relationship will be. You are beautiful in every aspect to me, and I am counting the seconds until I can be in your arms again...

Still, without your physical embrace, I know you will be with me during every sunset and every glimpse of beauty in nature that I happen to see. You find beauty in places I do, and I take such comfort in that.

Hours upon hours could be spent with you, probing the depths of our hearts and seeking after the Truth that He offers...I plan on spending much more than mere hours with you though.

I'm looking for the Master's plan now...and while I would never claim to know the ways of an all-powerful God, I think I can see where this is headed...at least, I hope it's headed here.

The euphoria of this union won't wear away for me. This is so different. So brilliant.

It's beautiful.

.time is on our side.

Oh, the rain stung my cheeks today, but still, I couldn't help but smile when I think of you.

The concrete turned deep gray in the spots where the trees hung over, heavy with rain. Their leaves were like cupped hands, bowing to spill droplets on my head and across the ground.

I walked carefully, avoiding the cracks, and looked up at the tumbling clouds, pushing past each other hurriedly like shoppers in a crowded mall, racing for a bargain.

We both look up at the same sky, tracing our fingers around the shapes in the clouds and we sit and think about the beauty in this world and we give credit to Him, oh yes, we do.

Even in the rain, I know you could find beauty in this just as I do. The fierce meshing of the rain-laden clouds created a kind of stark sensory explosion in my eyes as I struggled to maintain focus on one tumultuous cloud.

I know you would have stood there with me, your fingers tracing shapes across the back of my hand as you drew me close and watched the sky.

Your whispers in my ear would have silenced the cries of my heart and then, we would both be silent and listen to the whispers of the One who watches us both, smiling contently as He receives our joy with outstretched arms.

Standing there alone, your absence becomes more apparant with each passing day, but oh, I can wait.

All in life that's worth anything is worth waiting for. For now, I shall tilt my head up to the sky again and lose myself in the boiling clouds. I shall stretch my hands out to receive the rain from the heavens and let the sparkling orbs run down my face.

Bliss will be mine, and I will wait, oh, I will wait.

.skyline.

Please explain to me how anyone could not see the sun-dappled beauty in today.

There is something to be said in quietly observing the actions and nuances of others; I find it is quite like a porthole into their lives and their vision.

As I paced across campus today, my feet pounding the familiar grain of the concrete, I noticed that no one was looking up at the glorious sky like I am so apt to do.

The sky is a palette of beauty and the panoramic view, oh, it could never be captured through human attempts. The hints of gray at the horizon were in bold contrast with the dark lines of the bare trees today, and though winter is slated as the season of dying, I thought it beautiful.

Walking with my neck craned skyward makes me prone to stumbling, but a mere sidestep is worth it.

At times, I feel like clasping my hands toward the sky in a feeble attempt to capture the moment, but, though I cannot, I rest assured that tomorrow will bring a scenery just as spectacular.

Students were staring into a cell phone, the eyes of another, or at their feet as they walked to class.

Me?

No, I was staring at the sky again.

Won't you come and join me? See His beauty and talk with me for hours about how marvelous this creation is? Will you sit beside me and caress the fold between my thumb just how I like it and really, really listen to me?

Most importantly, will you look toward the sky with me?

Will you?

Autumn Leaves in December

This room, this girl, these hands.

Everything is just the same and as it should be and the usual balancing amount of chaos clings to the corners of everything I touch.

Just as well, as this is how I choose to live.

A different feeling looms over me today, but it is not the hulking shadow of fear; it is more like the creeping path of the rising sun, eventually reaching the zenith to cast a beautiful ray on my forehead.

It's something unpredictably out of place in my usual flurry of actions that is the touchstone to my days and, inevitably, the key to my still-beating heart.

My ballet flats beat to the time of the canned Muzack fluttering about in the background as I sat in those plush, overstuffed chairs waiting for another hurdle to be cleared in this mad rat race I've chosen to participate in.

The slowly rotating Christmas tree caught the flourescent light, ridding it of its dull pallor and breaking the glow into a thousand tiny silver sparkles as the silver tinsel reflected across my eyes.

The entire room dripped of holiday cheer and of the rushing winter that would soon engulf me with chapped lips and dry lungs.

However, a smear of burnt orange caught my wandering eye, searching for something out of the ordinary to comfort me.

One lone leaf topped a black pen, speaking of the season past and valiantly defying the sickeningly excessive amount of fake snow, jewel toned spheres and Mariah Carey carols.

That touch of autumn evoked a kind of soaring joy that only you can relate to, as I was like a lone leaf panning across your vision, blown in from the west.

I twirled around and settled on your shoulders, and instead of chalking it up to fate, you stared up at the sky and remembered.

Comfort washed over me as I rose and ran my fingers over the false fibers that made up the cloth leaf and I remembered.

I remembered how all our actions, no matter how arbitrary and out of place they may seem, may make all the difference.

beauty in books

Words dance on my fingertips like fireflys daring to escape the confines of a jelly jar.

Sometimes, I let them free but other times, I am selfish, letting their light play across my face for awhile longer.

Writing is like giving birth, confessing your deepest secrets and pouring out a part of yourself all at once. It's making the private public, the secretive well-know.

At times, it feels like extracting the part of me that is the darkest, but often, I am capturing a bouncing fragment of light from my soul and trapping it long enough to understand it well enough to cement it in words.

The pen is mightier than the sword, and the written word can move mountains, end wars and express emotions.

Poetry can capture the beauty of nature, the passion of love or the devastation of death. The rhythym can release a tulmultuous flood of feelings over a reader, and, with each recitation, a new facet is revealed to cherish and to explore.

Me? I am content to read Anne Sexton's confessional poetry and marvel at the images it incites. Her image of Jesus in the grave provokes me to thought. She says she could never bring herself to believe, but oh, I think her poetry is her version of praise...its beauty is undisputable. Whether she actually came to faith remains uncertain, but her suicide tends to make the needle point towards the negative.

If only she had believed!

Well, maybe her poetry would not have been so melodramatic and twistedly beautiful, but it's a small price to pay.

I would sit there for hours, in my soft bed, reading her poems over and over to press the images into the folds of my mind permanently. Fragments of her poetry hurtle at me from time to time, but the context is often lost. How I love to revisit that dusty, slim volume of poetry and pour over the dog-eared pages to dip my fingers into the genius of a tragic poetess like her.

Literature and poetry are two of my greatest loves. The written word can be skewed, twisted and molded to say whatever you want. Never take that for granted. I know I never will.

Silver lining: 2

Hooray, hooray.

I'm your silver lining.

I tend to focus on the bad in myself and the infinite good in others. Trust me, I berated myself endlessly and built him a castle in my mind to rest his laurels and his ego on, even though the leaves were withered and his head could not cross the threshold.

If I focus on whether or not I'm prettysmartcharmingwittyendearing enough, will they ever be able to see what I am instead of what I am not?

Or will they see me, perpetually bent over a microscope, examining and charting up my insides for everyone to see the good that won't come out of me? I will highlight and circle the good, shaking the transparency, but all they will see is the me on the outside, terrifying and lifeless.

That's what I truly fear for you. I have poured out my good for once. Usually, people say it's the opposite. The good on the outside, rotten on the inside, like an apple. Me? I know it's there. I talk with it, mold it and take comfort in the fact that there is some good in me.

But my outside, I fear, isn't a clear indicator of me. I focus on the negative, relinquish the task of finding the good to someone else. I gave up on going to the doctor to prove that my good is indeed there.

But today, oh, I got over it. The good WILL come out of me and frankly, I don't care who sees it.

Why hide something beautiful? Why run from the puzzle pieces that snap together so perfectly? Stop saying that it's too perfect, it will never work, it's too hard. Just breathe, wait, and stop depending on the doctors to show the world how good you truly are.

Silver lining.

There's that tiny spark again. How I missed it.

Have you ever met someone who makes you feel so very alive? Like every nerve ending is a sparkler, shooting tiny stars throughout your body? I feel like my very fingertips are glowing lately, and I am slightly terrified that someone will discover my well-kept secret.

I honestly don't know how they can't tell...I feel like I have the tell-tale flush creeping over my cheeks and the familiar gleam back in my once-dull eyes.

I've spent days tussling back and forth with myself in some sort of highly stigmatized battle of wits over whether or not my other half is truly out there.

Well, I'm still not sure about that, but the silver lining is so very apparent today.

The sun hit the edges of the clouds just right and shapes popped out in three separate dimensions as I fixed my eyes on the heavens.

The cacophony of greys swirled together in a syncopated dance, thrilling me as the slates and silvers melded together in a final crescendo of perfect harmonization.

We were looking at the same sky today, and the rays of sun bounced off those beautiful, chaotic clouds, richocheting until the slivers collided with our hearts, connecting us across the miles.

Exactly one year ago today, your mom loved me.

She exclaimed over how cute I was, how helpful I was and how "unlike your last girlfriend" I was.

I thought that was a good thing...apparently not.

Exactly one year ago today, your grandfather, with brown age-spots splattering his veiny hands, clasped my tapering fingers in his, telling me that his grandson had chosen well. My intelligence impressed him, and in parting, he told me that he hoped he would "see me again."

Too bad that didn't work out, huh?

The truth is, I am amazing at making great first impressions, but when you dig too deep, like you did, you tend to come up clutching the bones from the skeletons in my closet rather than the secret and adorable nuances you were hoping to uncover.

Oh, they are there, but you always find the stupid bones first. Stratification has left the good underneath the bad, but just like a walnut, you've got to get past all that to find the real me.

Too bad you didn't stick around long enough to pull out the nutcracker.

Oh well. I prefer that your parents remember me as the witty and helpful girl I was when I skipped my family Thanksgiving to eat with yours. I loved your mother and her crazy ideas and tendency to start a million art projects but still manage to finish them all. Your dad was delightfully unconventional, and took us all for a ride in that ancient model A that made the day perfect and archaic at the same time.

But, like that rusty but exquisite car, time changes things and feelings fade, change and get twisted by lies.

But you already know this. We've rehashed it enough. I'll stop.

I'm thankful for my family this year. Never again will I skip our ridiculous games and hilarious teasing.

you

I've been having restless dreams again. I wake up in the middle of the night, my throat burning, and reach for the ancient bottle of water I keep by my bed for situations like these.

It was full last week, and now I barely have enough to make it through another tumultuous night.

I see faces in my dreams and I recognize them, but the context is wrong. You're a teacher handing me a test to go take in another room, sending me away to be alone with my thoughts. You have been an evil carriage driver, a detached waiter and, most remarkably, a loving priest.

My dreams usually have nothing to do with my waking life, but sometimes, I make dim connections that shock me into believing each dream has a meaning. I can safely say you haunt my dreams rarely, but lately, I can't keep you from reaching your fingers into the mist of my mind.

It's you, you, YOU who keep me from sweet slumber. It's you. You. You who keep my emotions kept inside.

You. It's you. Your doing.

I don't know exactly what provoked me to let you back into my life as, dare I say it, a friend.

The gentle nudging of my Father to repair what was once broken softly pushed me closer and closer to your retreating back.

Much to my surprise, you turned around when I tapped you on the shoulder and, though I could not make eye contact, I felt your warmth all around me. Your apology was like a vice had been released from around my heart and my burning lungs opened up again, allowing me to breathe deeply and fully.

I don't know what provoked it, but I was glad to hear of your eagerness to see me.

Two days later, I was literally shaking as I pushed open that jangling door to sit down across from you in that intimate little coffee shop that smelled like home and cinnamon. The dim lighting of the art-deco lamp that sat at our table surrounded you, making your edges blurred and the lines of your face soft. I drank my bitter hot chocolate and nuzzled the rim of my cup to my mouth to hide my trembling lower lip.

Four sets of eyes from across the room bored holes through my concentration because I knew what they were thinking.

"What is she doing with him again?"

I was asking myself the same question the entire time. Sitting down across from you broke the dam that I had built to hold all those painful memories of you, and they all came flooding back over me, eroding the mountains I had built over the graves you dug in me, exposing those skeletons I had so artfully hid from everyone.

The familiar canter of your voice, the golden stubble on your jawline and the piercing blue eyes choked me as I forced my green eyes to meet yours. It was painful. So painful.

I think I did a nice job acting like I was fine. I think I am fine most of the time, but these little rendezvous remind me of how unprepared and broken I still am. You saw me as strong, collected and moved on away from you, which is exactly what I desired.

But inside? Oh, that's another story. The withered heart that still faintly pulsates in my chest from time to time was jolted to life with a electric spasm when I looked into your eyes.

You remind me of a time when we were so alive. Do you remember that? Do you remember that?

You are so wrong for me. So wrong.

But tell me...why do I still imagine us together?

Pour your soul out onto the canvas. Spill it here. Drip it there.

Give a little of yourself, child...the picture is dull without your tiny spark.

I saw a baby today, reaching her hand out toward me, but I could not, oh no, I could not make eye contact because an infant's soul is the purest creation. She would have seen straight through these dull eyes into my diseased heart and she would cry.

Heaven forbid.

I saw a mother today, caressing her child's face and the bond they shared, oh, it was so intense...like two lovers intwined, they have a link, a grasp on the soul of the other. A kiss on the lips joins two hearts, but nothing, oh nothing, can compare to the union of mother and child.

My dying heart gasps for air, longs for relief but I refuse it, oh, I tell it that the pain will soon subside...time is always the answer.

Months slip by but the days are the ones I cannot handle. Climbing that mountain and reaching for a friendly root to grasp, I find the silt and pebbles slipping through my tapering fingers as I fall down, down and away from you.

Witness

Witness it. See it. Feel it. Show it.

But please, just please...at least do something to show you're still there.

It's not faith if you see it with your eyes, but my eyes are blurred anyway, so what good is it?

I wake up each morning and rub the sandy sleep from my eyes but still, I cannot see those crisp autumn leaves against the milk-blue sky. What's wrong with me? Do I need to get my eyes examined?

They won't find anything because the doctors are looking in all the wrong places. The eyes are not the culprit. The heart is. Dead, dead heart disease, my dear...scour all your medical references, but it's not there. No one wants to talk about it.

They push their wire-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of their formidable noses and look to the left but never directly at you when you plead, question about your illness....they leaf meaninglessly through their twenty-tree textbooks but they are faking it, darling...the intellectuals know the answer but they are silent, for no touching evidence backs it up. No one wants to talk about it.

Please. Slap me across the face, pinch my lifeless cheeks, do something...anything to save me from the numbness and the frostbite of the heart that threatens my very being. Oh, I'm sane...sane as the doctors.

Something is to be said for at least feeling a tiny spark when I look up. Fan the flames?

family.love.madonna.

The watery eyes are worth the words of beauty. I feel the sixties reaching out to me when you speak, and the ebony ink against the yellowing page reminds me of the tips of your fingers after you smoked too many cigarettes.

Your lungs gave out on you? Or was it just your soul?

My grandfather died with a lump on his head, and all I can remember were the dozens of crows that stood outside of the nursing home where his bandaged/turbaned head drooped to the left and my mother cried, her black curls brushing faintly across her rouged cheeks.

My father is distant, cold, but not intentionally...at least, that's what I tell myself. My crimped handwriting pales in comparison to his engineer's block print, every number perfect. He told me that carpenters use square pencils so that they won't roll off the roof, and once, he threw my math book across the counter when I could not understand.

But really, it wasn't his fault...I'm stubborn. Born Taurus, born hard-headed, if you place your belief in stars.

My mother uses a lot of hairspray. The plated gold of the doorknob to her bathroom is dull now from all the aerosal-liberated clumps of goo. She is consistent, punctual and ordinary, but our eyes are mirror images of each other.

My brother and sister have dark hair and flashing features with pale skin. He is a mathmatical whiz, and she is the picture of youthful vigor as she stretches her legs over the diagonal black stripes. His eyes stare into Colorado mountains, but she looks at the insides of things and remains unattached and unemotional. I'm proud of both of them, but especially her...she mastered the art of how to deal long before I did.

The wool hat that I have for no reason because I never wear it still sits in my blue wicker basket, begging to be used, but I refuse it because it reminds me of approximately one year ago this November when I wore hats and that boy said he liked it when I did. Begging to be used, ha...I guess that's ironic, right?

No, this won't be a sad song.

Six minutes until Halloween is over, and on the radio today, they asked if you would dress your daughter up as Major Flirt, a sexy soldier. I choose to dress up as nothing, as the black eye make-up makes my eyes water, and I save that suffering for precious words from her.
Eight year olds in short skirts make me sick, but if Madonna says it's okay, it must be true.

After all, she adopts starving children, so that means she is right.

Thanksgiving is coming soon, and there will be too much food and I will watch my father cut the white meat out for me and look the other way when I swipe the best parts. That's how I know he loves me.

My Precious will come with her white hair and benevolent smile and hug me, enveloping me with her baby powder/Mary Kay lipstick smell. Gary is the only one who can call me Kate and make it sound nice instead of harsh and ugly. He has large hands, and his balding head almost scrapes the doorframe when he slides our glass door open.

They always take coffee when my parents offer it and stay and Gary's laugh rings throughout the house and everyone is happy and smiling over the rims of their steaming mugs.

And they all love me, oh yes, they do.

snowglobes

I still shake up my snowglobes and watch the white flecks of "snow" fall to cover the village/teddy bear/swan/basket of flowers that are surrounded by the transparent orb of glass.

There's some sense of comfort in winding up the metal spring that releases a soaring but cliche melody of delicate plinking sounds.

I always liked the drowsy ending of the music box, when the key turns slower and the notes regress into a ritardando that slowly slices away like sheet music lifted gently in the wind, whipping away into oblivion.

The sharp click that sounds when the music stops always jerked me out of my dream-like reverie, sending me crashing back down to my time-warp of a childhood room.

I broke one of my sister's snowglobes by bouncing on her bed when it was sitting, inexplicably, on her quilt, sending it soaring to the swirling wooden floor. The crashing emitted a cacaphony of dissonant notes, scaring me almost as much as the shattering of glass.

The water ran out slowly and seeped through the cracks in the floor. Little grainy white pieces clung to the figure of a kitten, and the jagged edges of the once-perfect sphere gave me an unsettling feeling.

Most of all, I could not forget those horrible notes.

It's funny how the most beautiful treasure, when broken, can be the most awful sight.

Religious fanatics scare me

Class was long today, but after extracting myself from the world of geology, I was met with the slap of cold air on my face and the sounds of an older man yelling...about going to hell?

My interest piqued, I joined the growing crowd of students that were pushing closer to the grey-haired man in a houndstooth suit that held up a sign that proudly listed all of the people who were going to hell:
Rock n' Rollers
Sodomites
Feminists
Alcoholics
Dopers
Liars

A red-head in a tie-dyed shirt puffed on her cigarette as she asked the man why people who listen to rock and roll were going to hell. He began quoting from Matthew (a verse that really didn't answer her questions) and the translation he used further alienated her, as it was filled with high filuten words that only those raised in the church really understand.

He kept proclaiming that we must "repent" and be saved from "the flames of hell."

He had hit on the single most effective way to alienate and frustrate a campus of college students who partake in many of these hell-bound actions and further perpetuated the stereotype of the fanatical Christian who judges all others.

A girl with short dark hair and three piercings pushed her way to the front of the crowd and began asking him why he was being so judgemental.
He peered down his thick glasses and stared at the tattoo adorning her forearm and began to berate her piercings and her "body modifications."

Astonished, she began yelling, asking him why he thought "he was God" and who was he to judge her?

Laughing, he merely asked, "You thought I was God? I am just NOBODY talking about SOMEBODY who has died for your sins! HALLELUJAH!"

Various people began yelling at him, but their comments slid right off his back. It was clear he came here to be persecuted and to stir up trouble so that he could go home at the end of the day, relax on his couch and think to himself, "I have done good today. I was persecuted in the name of Christ and met with adversity today, but I preached the word, and though I suffered, surely God looks up on me with favor."

God is love. There is freedom in Christ.

I only have one question for him. Is that your definition of Christ's love?

I'll shiver in the cold, but will you ever really look at me again?

My hair fell over one eye today as I tried to hide the fact that when you look at me, there is nothing more to find. Dead woman walking, maybe, but I prefer the term emotionally frigid girl who really doesn't give a damn about her own lack of feelings. It takes longer to say, but I like it.

I washed my hands too many times today, causing a trillion skin cells to commit suicide in protest. As I nurse my chafing hands, my eyes glazed over, further affirming my suspicion that I have no feelings left to exploit. Lucky you.

The eyes are the window to the soul, but that means nothing if the curtains are drawn.
Living behind a veil might be thrilling for a breath in time, but when the urge to tear it down overwhelms me, I find that my fingers refuse.

Today, I ran through that street and up the pine needle-strewn steps where I sat with you last winter and all I could think about was how weak I was and how cold you were, and now look at us...distant strangers that avoid eye contact whenever possible (at least I do) and I will shove my sunglasses up my nose so that you cannot see my dead eyes and you will pretend not to see me while my flats smack the sidewalk obviously and the faint scent of your cologne chokes me again...

I'll see you tomorrow, of course. It will be at the one place where you can perfect your vain visage to the masses and I will stumble in quietly and sit in the back with my scarf still twisted around my neck, ready to leave at a moment's notice, especially when you deem it necessary to lock eyes with me. You always were so good, were you not?

I do not want you to see me looking so hollow. In fact, I do not want you to see me at all, and I do not want to see you.

I cannot wait for the moths to chew holes in the thick curtains that hang low in my sockets. When those threads finally give way and I can see clearly again, I sure as hell will not be looking for you.

Hazy View

I stood at the show last night, watching the mass of urban scenesters push their way closer to the stage as the security guard demanded that I fit my feet on the concrete floor of the pit. I sighed and shoved my toes further in toward the blonde in the Ramones shirt that was standing close enough for me to smell the Herbal Essences in her hair.

Observing is half the fun at a show, and I was in my element, quietly watching the hipsters silently eye each other's tattoos and judging the style choices of the girls who had so clearly come only for their boyfriends, not for the music.

A smoker lit up behind me, blowing his cancer cloud toward the back of my neck, giving me a hazy view of the requisite row of blonde style mavens hanging out on the railing to the right. As the band played, they merely nodded their heads in time with the changing beat, refusing to show any more indicators that they actually liked the music.

However, deeper in the pit, the over-the-top fans were trying hard to show the band how much they adored their lyrics by intermittently pumping their fists and folding their black-nailed fingers into the international symbol for rock.

One boy stood silently next to me. His hands clutched the required band tee that every avid concert-goer obtains, but his similarity to the rest of the people in the crowd ended there. His worn fleece pullover was pilling with age, and his hair, though shaggy, did not angle diagonally over one eye like the rest of the crowd. My eyes were fixed on his grey sleeve, but his eyes were fixed on the stage. He did not move. He did not sway to the music. He did not break his stare of allegiance to his favorite band. With his hands in his pockets, he did not sing along with the lyrics, yell cliche rock concert cheers or even blink, for that matter.

When the set was finally over, he pulled his hands up to give five strong claps and nothing more. With a dazed, awe-struck look in his eyes, he turned away from the stage and walked out of the haze, my eyes boring holes in the back of his head.

Emotionless

The surgery that removed my attachment to you inevitably removed all of my emotion.

Beautiful fall afternoons will evoke a swelling feeling of completion, but lately, I cannot say that the spark of love in someone's eyes would do the same.

So, like a baby, I'll tug on my ear when it aches, secretly hoping someone will shove some sort of miracle drug down my involuntary throat.

Sure, I will cry and scream, but the familiar flickering of sensitivity will be welcome. I scorn those whose hearts are undeniably easy to ascertain, but maybe I actually long to be as easy to comprehend.

People revel in their complexity, but oftentimes, I find myself wishing that everything really was as it seemed. The thrill of the chase would be lost, but I've been sitting on the same dilapidated porch step for months now, refusing to take even two steps forward, so would it really be that different?

I'm surrounded by those vapid people who live for the clutch of alcohol, but perhaps my own vice is worse. Better to be drunk off emotions than sober with no feeling at all.

dead RVs

Scarves that I wound around my neck choke me as the itch of the wool catapults me to that broken down RV park that you took me to. The shimmering shards of broken beer bottles littered the place, turning the desolate landscape to a crystal garden.

That crudely assembled bench is still there, with the same nails sticking out. We sat there until the cold became too much to bear and you told me all about her.

The gently sloping hill gave way to a pathetic stream, strewn with old tires and 2 x 4 planks. Your eyes followed the trickling path until it bent around the brush and out of sight.

The hollow eyes of the blown out windows of the mammoth RVs stared at me bleakly as we left. Their sockets had no plugs, and their life was invariably extinguished until the rust consumed their shells. The carcass of a log lolled unsettlingly as we retreated in the distance, and a shiver ran through my heart, for I knew that these signs of death could not be good for us.

The Silence Choked Us

The lake was beautiful.

An air of death and stifled regrets hung around the playhouse, scrawled with brightly colored chalk messages of high school crushes. The fleeting sun blinded me as I stepped inside, taken aback by the musty scent of age that should never accompany the haunt of a young girl.

He was solemn as he showed me her favorite stuffed bear and her small handprint on a circular plate of porcelain.

I was silent as he haltingly walked around the width of the tiny structure, pacing nervously as if he expected her to come bounding in any moment. She was a light to him, extinguished far too soon.
We finally ducked our heads and stepped outside, and I breathed a sigh of release, glad to be free of such a constricting memory. His sadness was palpable, and I smoothed my fingertips over the creases of worry cutting across his forehead.

The lake was hers, and I felt like an intruder. He clasped my hand as we walked around past the marshes and whistling cattails, and I could not speak, for words did not seem wise.

The sun had melted into the horizon, leaving the dense settling of twilight on our shoulders. The royal hues of purple seemed fit for the princess she was, and the rosy tinge of red on the horizon was a mirror image of the flush that crept across my cheeks each time I saw him.

The spindly branches of a bare birch tree stretched to the sky against the deep sky, and a tantalizing sliver of the haunting moon shone brightly to the left.

He tried to verbalize pent up feelings, but the silence choked us, leaving us sitting in the dew-damp grass, counting our thoughts as the luminous moon rose above the line sketch of the tree, now consumed by the dark.

As we rose, our feet left prints in the shimmering grass as we left the silvery lake behind.

Her whispers in his ear broke his silence, and I was left with my hand still around my neck, choking all words of comfort.

Nostalgia?

We always had it good, didn't we, baby? Sneaking around was a thrill, but the funny thing about walking on eggshells is that the shards got imbedded in our heels, eventually making it impossible to move forward.

So, you know me...I just quit trying to like your music and the layer of dust that coated your room from years of racing around on the back roads.

The sunlight that filtered through the trees today reminded me of when we first stood side to side, staring straight ahead but still managing to be sweetly aware of each other's presence. Two feet and two years separated us, but those were just numbers, baby...we never were good at math.

The memory is a strange device. I remember late nights outside, shooting old fireworks and irritating the neighbors. I can't forget sitting on the icy concrete, watching your thin legs stretch to the rusty chain net as my own legs slowly went numb. I remember your ancient guitar, a gift from some obscure family member. Do you still remember the song you wrote me or has it become a despicable memory as well?

Hate me. Go ahead. Hate the parking lot of the bank and the idling car we sat in for three hours. Hate rhythms you beat out to me. Hate the insensitive girl I became.

Most of all, hate those damn eggshells. We will never be able to dig them out of our aching feet, baby.

Living in a Dreamworld

The edges of your face were blurred, but it wasn't from tears, my dear. Don't flatter yourself.

Perhaps it was the dusty pane of light streaming through the splotched window that gave your visage that angelic glow. Ironically, you were anything but heavenly to me at that moment.

Deities had nothing on you in my mind until December finally came, constricting me with the constant feeling of closure in the air and frost on my chapped lips. Maybe I had the feathered wings right, but you could only soar so high, falling far short of the stratosphere where cherubs reside.

Their rosy cheeks could not compare to mine that day as I stepped away from the unfocused planes of your face, stumbling as if I couldn't get away fast enough.

The sour taste in my mouth wasn't from your paltry excuse for a x-mas gift but rather from the steel grey feeling of blood where I gnawed the left side of my cheek to shreds as you watched me silently.

I was the girl with her heart in her hand, on her sleeve and around her neck. You were the boy who traced his chest faintly around the area where the heart is, forgetting that it is more than skin deep.

I felt on the verge of dreamland and my mind was hazy as I backed away, wondering if I should surrender to the cliche and pinch my slack arm in a feeble attempt to shake away the clouds that gathered around my head.

The slush gathered at the edges of my shoes had melted, and I had been there for too long.
I slid my heart in my pocket, gently prised it off my sleeve and tucked it back inside my sweater. You brushed your feathers off, ridding yourself of all reminders of me and willed me to find love again.

I pushed open the decrepit door, and like Lot's wife, looked over my shoulder one last time, even though I should not. The taste of salt captivated my lips.

Your face is now unrecognizable, but I swear, I am not crying.