Memories

Do you know that feeling? When it’s like you’ve lost something but can’t remember what it was. It’s as though you’re trying so desperately to think of a word but it won’t come to you.

You said no matter how many times you erased me from your phone, you would still recognize that number when it flashed on your screen.

Sea of Strangers
In a sea of strangers,
you’ve longed to know me.
Your life spent sailing
to my shores.
The arms that yearn
to someday hold me,
will ache beneath
the heavy oars.
Please take your time
and take it slowly;
as all you do
will run its course.
And nothing else
can take what only—
was always meant
as solely yours.

I just hope you realize how much you mean to me. I just wish I could remind you of how beautiful you are. I’m sorry I haven’t told you in so long. But please don’t think I have given up on you. I will never give up on you. My arms are wide open. There is always a place for you here.

Her Words

Love a girl who writes

and live her many lives;

you have yet to find her,

beneath her words of guise.

Kiss her blue-inked fingers,

forgive the pens they marked.

The stain of your lips upon her—

the one she can’t discard.

Forget her tattered memories,

or the pages others took;

you are her ever after—

the hero of her book.

it’s strange how the smallest things can wreck a ship. Like a rock, or a wave, or a hairline crack in the hull.

One day he will find you. He will touch you and you will feel a lifetime of indifference—of apathy melt away in a single moment. And you will ache for him. You will love him, in the way you walk a tightrope—in the way people learn to fall asleep in a war zone. You will bleed for him until the day he is gone. You will bleed for him every day after that. The time will pass and you will feel robbed—and you will grow bitter. You will ask why, but you won’t get an answer. And that is when the words will come.

You were the storm that changed the skyline

Forget her tattered memories, or the pages others took;you are her ever after—the hero of her book

Nines and sixes that were reminiscent of two contented cats, curled together like a pair of speech marks.