the reminder

it hurts to hear the ache.
not the ache in whats gone,
but the longing in wanting.
wanting to be that,
that warmth.
that solace.
that good.
to be the space
between
the keys that ring,
as each melody silently
cries for
more.
the letter in each
word
begging for a promise,
in his prose,
in his poems,
in his promises.
sacred and unfilfilled
are these secrets
never to be
shared with
me.
for other ears
to other pasts
and other girls.
but alas, i will never be these things.
and yet, i can still feel that ache.
and know
that though such odes
don't belong to those like
me
i can still hope
that one day they will.

Maybe Not

as she sat there reading, it suddenly dawned on her. like a ray of overwhelming light to the unwelcoming eye. she would never be the protagonist in this story. the heroine in his storybook. the recipient neglecting a return to sender.

for many reasons she was still unsure of why.

maybe she wasn't broken enough. maybe she gave in too much, give parts of herself up too soon.

the push and pull made the inconsequential matter more than she wanted to admit… and in that moment she understood that the same hurt he experienced from others, was the same thing he was doing to her.

and in that she realized he was right. she really didn’t know this other person. couldn’t know someone unwilling to open up the torn pages that rendered his broken heart, or hers for that matter.

and maybe that thought made her reconsider, consider whether this was worth investing… effort, emotion, her heart into? maybe he would never share those parts of his past. maybe (for him), that was the past, and as far as he was concerned, not worth knowing. but maybe (for her) it was. maybe for as much as he gave, she would always know that he was just like the others, always hiding, afraid to give in, give it all… Let Go.

and no matter how much she cared for him, that realization would play like an afterthought…. of something missing… always lingering in the furthest most regions of her limbic system, like innate notion of a frown, always there, but never here.

a clearing

today i walked along a path,
and found a broken home.
foundations once filled with sterling
now rotted from the outside in.

it's silver bricks once layed carefully
now displaced upon the floor.
grasping walls in my inability to feel the ground,
i lightly tread upon the surface, if only to avoid the cracks.
two hands decipher the lettering
hands distangling carvings of promises now eaten away by time.

my hesitation to walk any further leads me into questions, and more questions into more thoughts.

where did it all go?
why did it really end?
or is there more i just can't see?

i step away from the clearing
back into time
harboring speculations much heavier than when i began,
dragging the guilt of unknown loss behind me.

and yet, my steps guide me somewhere dark.
moving further away from my thoughts
away from the weight
as if each sound takes me further into suspension.
into stillness.
closer to the safety of shelter.