whenever i sit down put pen to paper try to conjure something new it is always without fail you you you

a whip of your tongue cuts me in half,

rendering me immobile in the wake of your

rage.

i have learned to acquiesce.

when it feels like i’m drowning in the waters,

my lungs burning,

lurching into my throat,

i count the air bubbles leaving my nose.

the longer i wait to come to the surface, the better.

how do i tell you,

after all these years,

that i still think of you often?

how do i tell you,

after all this time,

that i miss you?

i don’t know who you are now.

i knew you in college,

when we were younger

and i was careless.

i knew you at a time in my life

that was easy.

maybe my life was easy because you were in it.

i don’t know what you’re like now:

i don’t know if you still listen to the same music.

i don’t know if you’re still as goofy, or if you’ve become jaded like me.

i don’t know what you do for work, or what you do for joy.

what i do know is that no matter how much time has gone by,

i still think about you,

and i still write about you.

i’m glad you were in my life.

i wish things were different, and that you were still in my life, and maybe that will happen down the road.

but if it ends up that our paths only crossed once,

if our stories were only entangled for a moment, i will be okay.

because i lived so much in the time i knew you.

i was so happy.

i hope you’re well.

i wish you nothing but joy and happiness.

it’s early

we lie awake in bed,

the sun-soaked linen hanging gently off our limbs.

i look at you, watching your eyes

flit and flicker; i wonder what you’re thinking.

perhaps you’re replaying last night’s dreams.

perhaps you’re planning the day ahead.

the chirping of birds pulls you from where ever you were.

you finally meet my eyes.

you sigh deeply.

i brush your hair away from your face.

you take my hand and gently kiss my knuckles.

you whisper “good morning”, your raspy voice barely audible above the birds and cars outside.

i tell you “i want to lie here all day”

and we do.

i’m so incredibly touch starved

that the slightest brush of your hand against mine would dizzy my head more than any alcohol ever could

i simply don’t know what would happen if you kissed me

i figure i might just collapse

or burst into flames

every nerve ablaze with desire

so maybe it’s best

for now

if we didn’t kiss

but i think i can handle the dizziness

i tried to burn into memory

every curve of your face

every pitch of your voice

every freckle on your chest

every curl on your head

but i failed

i forgot how your eyes are positioned perfectly in relation to your button nose

i forgot your once familiar lilt, how comforting it was to listen to you speak

i forgot how your freckles form constellations that delicately adorn your collarbones, as if you were wearing jewelry made from the stars

i forgot how each strand of hair intertwined with another, creating a mess of curls i want to sink my fingers into

i’ve tried to conjure an image of you in my head, but it’s painfully out of focus

i have never forgotten, however, the memories we shared

every late night talking

every glance across the room at a party

every drunk shenanigans

every touch that lingered just a bit too long

every hello, and

every goodbye

everything but you

burned into memory

some days i wish i could remember more

other days

i wish i could shake myself out

like an old bedsheet

and watch the memories of you

float through the air like dust,

catching the sunlight as they fall

If I were to stop here

and plant my feet where I stand,

roots would grow,

so strong and entangled that

I don’t think I could ever unearth them.

Yes, roots would grow.

But I fear that I would remain dormant;

try as I might, I would be unable to bloom or flourish.

Even with limbs stretched to the sun and rich earth beneath my feet, the dry cold would keep me small.

I know this is where my seeds were planted.

I know this is likely where I will return and grow old.

But I don’t know that this is where I will bloom and flourish.

If the wind blows me elsewhere, and the roots don’t stick, I’ll know to come home.

I left my window open

in the hopes that your ghost would

slip in through the crack.

all that came in was the cool wind

that left me shivering come morning.

I am fragile today,

but I am trying.

I am reaching and missing;

like when you were young and small, and you leaned as far as you could to reach the first bar of the monkey bars.

and you missed and fell, despite your arms feeling like they were stretched far enough to touch the sun.

But just like when I was young and small, I get up and try again.

I reach and reach and reach until

I no longer miss.

on another chapter of my life closing

it’s here.

it is dizzying and encroaching,

saying “look at me, acknowledge me"

but i do not.

i have been occupying my mind with mindless distractions,

avoiding inevitable confrontations with nostalgia.

i know this is a call inward.

i know my usual tactic of avoidance will not suffice.

i know how this goes:

nostalgia returns,

takes my hand and walks me through my past,

holds a mirror to my face and tells me

“look look. you hold these places, people, experiences, good days, bad days, all these things of your past within you. the changes and years are visible on your face now, but you are still you”.

nostalgia then tells me to look forward.

“you are going that way. your past is with you always; carry it with you

forward

forward

forward"

I keep waiting for spring.

I keep waiting for the leaves to return.

I keep waiting for the warmth and the sun.

I keep waiting to wake up and see that my life has bloomed, just like the lilac in April.

But the trees are still bare.

It is still cold and dark.

And my life, much like the lilac, has yet to bloom.

i ask the universe what she has in store for me;

i am impatient and curious.

she is silent, and i worry that my query has upset her.

she knows i mean well, so to ease my mind

she tells me:

‘sweetness'

i become human again

my body has become an old antique store.

memories, now tchotchkes adorning obscure crevices of my mind.

feelings, compartmentalized and hand-cut into ornate decorations hanging from my ribcage.

mementos and artifacts,

all housed within this abandoned shell i call a body.

should i box up all of these relics?

i don’t know how my past can coexist with my present.  

i hold on to this pain only because i fear letting it go.

what happens when i let go?

you knew that i wanted you.

how could you not?

it was written all over my eyes.

every time i met your gaze, i was professing my complete and utter adoration for you.

but there was always something that stopped us from

falling

completely.

every goodbye was an awkward dance; uncertain of our own feet, not wanting to step on each other’s toes.

there was never a final goodbye.

i never said goodbye.

i would tell her

‘i want our love to feel the way this song makes me feel'

i want this love to feel like

a summer day in June,

our sticky sweet skin glistening in the light,

the sun gently kissing our faces,

and i watch as freckles form constellations

across your cheeks.

i want this love to feel calm,

something i have never known.

i want you to hold my matchstick bones in your arms without having to worry about igniting your paper heart and setting you ablaze.

i hope my moments of stillness counter your moments of chaos, and vice versa.

i want this love to feel new and old all at once

i want to know you deeply

all the while discovering you.

i want this love to be

happy crying and

cheeks hurt from smiling and

soft, lingering touches and

longing glances and

i know that this love can’t be this perfect.

this love will be

messy and

strenuous and

awful and

it will be all the good and all the bad

all the time

but it will be love.

at the end of it all,

i want this love to feel like

home.