Dear Love.

Dear Love.

Dear Love,
Why so far away?
It’s awfully lonely here,
With winter tundras and piercing winds,
With silent nights and orange glows.
This ice chills me to my bones,
But this distance stills my marrow.
Days and days meld continuously,
And endless nights bleed my rainbows into black.
Perhaps I shall meet you tomorrow,
Whenever that may be.
Tomorrow, today,
An endless moment away?

______________________

Wistful thoughts.

Lost in Winter.

Love doesn't end
It comes back in floods and flashes,
With still photos and shifting images,
With lost laughter and sudden memories,
It comes back like waves too high to resist,
Waves too strong to struggle against,
It comes back like rip tides,
Ripping. Tearing. Destroying.
And leaving another body out to sea.
To be found...to be lost.

Love doesn't end.
It walks with you, its invisible footprints by yours,
Trailing in the snow.
It whispers old phrased and warm memories into your ear;
It enters the spaces between body and jacket as you fight the ice,
As you push back the biting wind.

Too cold to cry,
Too cold to do anything but walk with Love.
Side by side, heads ducked low.
Deep in conversations about... Why? What if's? What now's?...
Spoken is hushed voices,
You swear you've had this conversation before,
Long ago. Or was it yesterday...

And suddenly Love disappears,
Gone as you reach the steps.
As you open and enter the door.
But Love waits for you.
Your next Winter stroll,
Your next moment of solitude,
Love waits.
Always there.
Always waiting.
Always.

Untitled.

Often times I find my actions cannot express the contents of my thoughts.
My thoughts cannot convey the complexity of my heart.
And my heart lacks the intensity of my soul.
So I ask that you see me not for what I do,
But for what I am.
And I apologize if you peer into me and find little there;
I swear there was more before.
But maybe if you try hard enough,
If you gaze past the lying eyes, the lying smile,
And the figure of this adult growing up too fast,
You might see my old silhouette.
A giant behind my current frame,
The shadow of a child,
With a genuine smile,
With sparks in these hollow caved eyes.
I ask that you forgive me,
Forgive me if I hide behind a veil of words,
If I create this gap between us.
Because I swear it isn't what I want.
Forgive me if I cannot reveal myself to you,
With clarity; in speech or action,
In prose or poetry.
Because the truth is,
I want to.
I just can't,
Because.
The truth is...

I'm afraid.

To Care, or not to Care.

What does it mean to care about someone?

It think it means to give up parts of ourselves to someone.
To allow them to hurt us,
To allow them to move us,
To allow them to have control over us.
But why?
Why would we let someone affect our feelings,
Affect our thoughts and actions.
Or... to a greater extent,
To allow someone access into our being,
To let them come and go in our hearts,
To trust that they wont misplace parts of us,
To lose pieces of us,
To steal away what makes us... us.
The answer?
Because we want to be that person.
We want to be the person worming into other peoples secrets,
We want to walk into peoples hearts,
To come and go as we please.
We want to be special,
We want to be cared about.
We, me, you, us; we "trade" ourselves.
We barter in emotions and secrets,
And doing what we do,
In this dangerous business,
We eventually get cheated.
Somewhere along the line, we make a bad trade.
We give up too much
And get stuck with too little.
What suckers we all are,
What chumps we all are.
For falling for it,
Time and time again.
For letting people cheat us.
For letting people come and take what they want,
For not charging enough,
For holding up these stupid sale signs,
For throwing ourselves out there too easily,
For giving ourselves away,
Until we're stuck with fractions of who we are.
And we sit around,
Thinking "Why was I so dumb?"
We sit around,
Lying, telling ourselves it won't happen again.
Knowing it will.
And it does.

---------------------

Here I am. Fifty percent off.
Fifty percent gone.

We.

Is everything I write or do going to be a work in progress?
__________________________________________

What are we
But individual raindrops,
Cracking the surface of reflection.
Merging echos; shattering mirrors.
Becoming one.

What are we
But individual raindrops,
Forced together on planes of glass.
Combined and separated by rushing winds.
Sliding together
Slipping apart.

What are we
But individual raindrops,
Searching for unity,
Losing to entropy,
And existing as you
...and me.

edit later.

l a l axjade (1:34:47 AM): you're no longer that like.. carefree guy anymore that does whatever cuz nothing bad will happen

Here we go again.

Dull.
That's one way to describe my life.
Where is that spark,
That excitement that separated "living"
and just "existing."


"You cannot be disappointing if you do not have expectations."
It's a sad way to live actually.
But sometimes, it's better this way.
No one can let you down or hurt you.
You are a diamond sculpture,
Unfazed by any words or actions,
Beautiful in your resolve, in your sadness.
Not moving, not changing,
You exist...but you do not live.
You are, and that is all.

I am afraid to live,
And so I exist.

_______________________________
"Is a brighter discontent the best that I can hope to find?"