The words "I miss you" don't seem to capture it,
     this feeling of loss,
     this feeling of not quite being whole.
I don't think I knew I could miss someone like this.
     I wish I were with you again.


[["So yes, I want to go back to last year when you and I could take on the world and kick its butt all the way to pluto, which used to be a planet."]]

It was one of those moments, the kind where you feel awkward inside your own skin.  He gazed at her as she looked away.  "So," he said.  So never solves any problems, but it hushes the silence for one-eighth of a second.  "So," she echoed.  "Well, I should, um, go to, um, the library."  He lied.  "Yeah… I need to… eat."  Also a lie.  She had just been in the cafeteria.  They both knew that.  It didn't matter.  "Okay, see ya."  "Yeah, bye."  They hurried off in separate directions, not allowing themselves to look back.  What had just happened?

They had met a few months prior.  There was immediate, initial attraction, but neither one had acted on it.  "Friends," they said.  "Let's be friends."  And friends they were.  Really good friends. 

She slowed her steps as she walked back to her dorm.  She wondered if her lips would ever feel the same way again.  Why?  He had only touched them lightly with his fingertips.  How can he affect me so?  She threw her backpack down on the floor of her apartment, walked out of her shoes, reached for her guitar, and sat down on the sofa.  She played furiously, reliving the scene over and over in her head.

He walked purposefully all the way back to his dorm room.  He changed into jogging pants and a t-shirt, pulled on a hoodie and slipped on his sneakers.  It was time for a run.  He ran violently the mile-long course he'd mapped out over campus.  He didn't notice the time or how many laps he ran or when the sun went down.  All he felt was the freedom of running, the wind in his face, and the picture of her lips in his mind. 

Her lips weren't exceptional in any way.  They were really quite… just like everyone else's.  But perhaps it was the adorable smile they turned into.  Perhaps it was the way she pressed them together when she was thinking hard.  Perhaps it was the softness he felt when he touched them.  Perhaps it was the girl they belonged to. 

They bumped into each other (literally) at the coffeehouse that night.  She had gone for the very reason that makes a coffeehouse a coffeehouse – the coffee and the music.  He had gone, knowing she'd be there, but not understanding why he wanted to see her so badly.  She got up from her seat and was looking at the stage as she walked away.  He was walking towards her but she didn't know that. 

It was one of those moments, the kind where your problems float above your head and you pretend not to notice them.  The conversation was normal between them ("Oh I'm so sorry.  What are you doing here?  Did I hurt you?"  "It's okay, I just wanted some coffee, and no I'm not hurt.") and they sat down together like they always had.  Neither one of them mentioned what had happened between them earlier that day, and the silence was awkward between them until some of their friends arrived. 

Later on that week, she decided she needed time alone.  She didn't think anyone could see her.  So far away from the rest of campus, nestled in amongst the trees by the stream was a bench.  It was her favorite place to forget the world.  She often went there to think or play her guitar.  She had decided to talk to the sky that day. 

As he was coming to the end of his daily run, he saw her.  She was standing on a bench under the trees with her arms raised upwards in a Y shape.  He couldn't figure out what she was doing.  He knew her so well and yet, she was a mystery. 

A few days later she was playing her guitar in her favorite spot.  For some reason, she couldn't get him out of her head.  It was his lips that got to her.  Funny thing to get stuck on, she thought, they're not even all that great.  Perhaps it was the way his lips matched his eyes.  They had been friends for so long, such good friends.  She thought about what would happen if they changed it.  She didn't want to lose his friendship if things didn't work out.  But she couldn't help but think that things would work out. 

Another week passed.  It was driving them crazy, but they were both too stubborn to talk about it.  The incident haunted them.  It visited them in dreams and jumped out of closets in the dark. 

He was spying on her.  She kept going to that bench.  He wondered what she did there, what she thought about, what she sang about.  He couldn't stand it anymore.  He had to know what she thought of him, if things had changed in her heart the way they had changed in his.  Tomorrow, he thought.  Tomorrow, I'm going to talk to her. 

The next day, she went to her happy place in the morning.  The sun was coming up and she was there to greet him.  She asked him some questions about her life.  Of course Mr Sun didn't answer, but he was always a good listener.  She wanted to know what had happened between her and her friend.  Things were always awkward between them now.  She suspected that he felt the same as she felt towards him, but he wouldn't say anything.  She felt the subject was too delicate to even bring up.  She didn't think she could live like this any longer.  Something had to be done.  They either had to start dating or stop being friends.  Her heart ached at the thought of losing him.  But there weren't any other choices.  If his heart doesn't match mine, then we're done.  But we need to decide soon.  I can't stand this agony any longer and I don't think he can either.

It was actually a few days before he worked up the nerve to approach her with such a heavy thing to talk about.  But it had to be done.  He couldn't keep living without knowing what she thought. 

He spotted her sitting on her favorite bench in the twilight of the moon and stars.  She rose to meet him.  It was a perfect night.  He gazed into her eyes and looked at her lips longingly until he couldn't contain himself any longer.  "I think you're magnificent."  She smiled and reached up slowly to place her fingers on his lips.  There was such intensity in his eyes.  She moved her fingers from his lips to her own.  He knew what she meant. 

It was one of those moments, the kind where you lose yourself completely and at the same time are acutely aware of who you are and who you're meant to be.  Their eyes closed, hiding the fire they felt in their hearts.  Their ordinary lips met in the most unified, passionate, and complete kiss either one had ever known.  They finally understood: They were meant to love.

[[This piece seems to be missing some of the middle pieces.  But maybe it's okay like that?  I'm not sure what else I could add to make the story stronger.]]

Let's be silent about this now
We will promise not to tell
This can be our little secret
It will go with us to hell

Let's be silent about this now
We wont let anything slip
Our lips won't reveal the truth
And our eyes will match our lips

Let's be silent about this now
No one will take the blame
We can never be what we want to be
But we will never be the same

Let's be silent about this now
We'll pretend that everything's okay
We'll go on like nothing happened
But we understand: It's all just play

Let's be silent about this now
But we can never go back
It was lost forever, to you and me
And our silence will never take us back

Let's be silent about this now
We'll be each other's lie
Ours is a great grandiose tale
That they'll believe until we die

Let's be silent about this now
I promise I won't tell a soul
Silence surely is a virtue
Because then you never have to know...


I wrote this poem a month or two ago.  It really had nothing to do with my life, and I don't know where it came from.  I'd work on it sporadically... Some of the lines from it came to me last night as I was pondering a situation I find myself in.  And while the poem does not fit my life at all, a few lines I seem to find relevance in. 

I found it last night, just like it is written here, and thought "well maybe that's not as bad as I had originally thought."  It passed a friend's inspection, and so here it is, for the *world* to read. 

A few of the stanzas are a bit awkward yet, but I think I like them that way.  Sometimes it makes a poem seem more real.  The ending verse does not rhyme and it's not supposed to.  It's supposed to sound weird and like it doesn't fit.  Perhaps it is the only truth to the whole thing, and the reader never finds out what the truth really is. 

These are poems (and things) I wrote during my freshman and sophomore years of college.  Sometimes, they relate to me and the situations I find myself in today. 


Cutting Strings

I'm giving up.
I'm letting go.
I thought the world might like to know.
This is it.
I'm moving on.
I refuse to be your pawn.
My hands thrown up.
I'm giving in.
I don't care.  You can win.
I'm cutting strings,
The tie that binds.
No more controlling hearts or minds.
I'm going deep.
I'm saving face.
Only living by his good grace.
I'm done wtih you.
I'm cashing in.
I will not have a heart of tin.
I'm giving up.
I'm letting go.
I thought that you might like to know.


Hung Up

I haven't let go.
I don't think I can let go.
So I just hope
that you fade with time,
that what we shared
will one day disappear.
But until that happens,
I'm still here.
And I must learn
to deal with everything I hide. 


Catch the Sky?

The sky is falling.
My hands held high.
Should I try to catch the sky?
Just let it fall,
fall hard on me.
And knock me out.
And let me be.
Alone. Again.


fall

how are you doing?
i want to ask.
but i know i can't.
cause i'll fall for you again.
you've moved on.
and so have i.
i really am over you.
sometimes i just forget.


Here is something random I wrote; I'm not sure what you'd call it...

.... so after all these long days, long months, long years in anguish, pain, and bondage, you'd think i'd be able to let go.  you'd think that you wouldn't hold sway over me anymore.  you'd think that i could just forget about you the way you have forgotten about me. 

.... but i didn't.  i didn't forget, didn't let go, couldn't let go.  you meant too much to me.  over time, i did get sick of it all... sick of being a slave to my thoughts and dreams and fears of you...

.... and i started to let go.  just the other day, i decided (again) that you were not going to entrance me any longer.  really i did.  i took that first step.  a step i've taken so many other times, but this time, it was for real...... but maybe this has to be a process.  because i fell down already.  learning to walk is tricky.  take a step, fall down.  get back up (that's the hard part).  take a step, fall down.  get back up (that's the hard part).  take a....

.... but there's something about you that's wonderful.  and it makes me fall, makes me want to fall.  maybe it's safe.  falling is always hard and leaves you with bruises, scratches, and dents.  but getting up is even harder.  staying on the ground is always safer than standing, than taking another step.  because if i get up, and take another step, i might fall again. 

.... and by the time i learn to walk, i will be so hurt and banged up... will it even be worth it?

And here is an essay thingy....

Doors and Rooms

          What if our lives are a maze of doors and rooms? Has every decision we have ever made, every path we have ever chosen, been the opening of a door? Beyond that door there is a room. Maybe it’s a long blue room in which we spend lots of time. Maybe it is a short yellow room with only one door on the other side. Maybe it is a round red room with lots and lots of doors to choose from. Maybe it is an oddly-shaped green room with lots of curves and sharp corners. Maybe the room is a dead-end and the only way out is the door we came in.
          As a child, we didn’t have much control over which doors we chose, over what types of rooms we stayed in or didn’t stay in. Our parents made those decisions for us. Or maybe Life made those decisions for them. Maybe we have walked through more doors and rooms than we would like to have experienced. Maybe there was only one choice, and even though it wasn’t good, it was better than the room we were originally in. Maybe our parents didn’t even have a choice; sometimes Life just happened. Sometimes there were pleasant surprises, and sometimes there were awful realities. As we grow, we learn to open doors for ourselves.
          Maybe we have made some bad decisions and opened some wrong doors. Probably we’ve opened some right ones too. We can decide if we like the room we’re in or not, and we can change it. We can try a different room or go back to the old one. Maybe we change rooms frequently, in hopes of tasting everything before deciding on a specific room to stay a long time in. Maybe we decide to enter a room, find out that it’s not exactly what we had expected, but stay anyway and make the best of it.
         Sometimes we have an idea of what we want. We dream about it, hope for it, pray for it. We do everything we can to find those doors and rooms which will lead us to the room we are ultimately looking for. We pursue this dream, and we are on our way there. Then an unexpected door opens. Curious, we walk through it. Wow! We decide this could be part of our plan, that maybe this is the plan, the dream, what we’ve longed for! But slowly, we get pushed out. Somehow, we end up in the room we were in before. What? What’s going on here? How did this happen? This is so wrong! And we stay there and we sit and stare at the door we were just pushed out of. And we stay and we sit and we stare… for a really long time. We pull on the door, we talk to the door, we try to break through the door… we do anything we can to get into that room again. We get mad, we get depressed, we start to feel numb to the whole situation. But still we stay and sit and stare at that door. 
         What we don’t know is that the door right next to the one we’re staring at is standing wide open, and that door holds more dreams-come-true than we could ever imagine. All we have to do is stop staying and sitting and staring at that door which could never fulfill all we wanted, and look around us, and walk through the door that we really wanted in the first place.

We are
friends.  Or at least we say
we are.  We talk... its true.
And I know
that you still care for me and I for you.
But things will never be the same.

We lost
it, you and I.  But it wasn't me...
It was you.
We are broken
now.  But you got healed.  Why
aren't I?  Why can't I
be logical and see it too?
All my logic just points me back to

you.  It's sick. It's gross
and pathetic.
It's me holding on to nothing and you moving on.
I cannot detach myself.
I cannot break
promises.  I said I
loved you.  And I
do.  There's something ... that won't
let me walk away.

And so we are
friends.  But not like we
used to be.  You
ask questions.  I
answer vaguely.  You
let it slide.  But if I
wanted you to know --
No!
No.  You can never know.


[[I started this over a week ago but didn't finish it right away.  The concept of this poem is no longer true, as it seems our friendship has almost completely dissolved now.  But still I wanted to post this, even if the timing is no longer right.]

Also, I am undecided about the title.  "Broken" sounds a little bit too emo I think.  "Cracked" was the other title I came up with, but it doesn't really match so well, because we are more than cracked, we were destroyed and are trying to rebuild ourselves.  And so I went with "Broken" but if something better comes to mind, I shall change it.]]

It hurts. 
And i wish there was something i could do. 
But i am powerless. 

It hurts.
And i'm afraid to even say anything.
But i believe.

It hurts.
And i wish you could see it too.
But i won't show.

It hurts.
And as you leave, don't remember.
But should you need me...

They told me,
You just know.
And I did.
And now the knowing is forbidden.

Will the knowing turn into knowing something else?
Will it just fade?
What if I know the next time,
     And the next time,
          And the time after that?
How many knowings will it take?
How do I know which knowing is right?
And what if there's never another?

I remember the way things used to be
When rolling down hills and swinging were all we needed
When butterflies were blue
When bricks were gifts and friends made fun of us
And gave me a Frosty to give to you

I remember the way you used to be
When bumpybouncysqueekycreakyfuzzy was a word
When you knew you weren't alone
When you gave me sauce packets and rings
And the word forever was one we owned

I remember the way I used to be
When I wrote stories and ours had a happy ending
When we used to watch the stars wane
When we took long walks and honored traditions
And you used to kiss me in the rain

I remember the way it used to be
When I attacked you with pillows and poked your dent
When pictures were words of art
When kisses told the best stories in the world
And I used to listen to your heart

I remember the way life used to be
When you carved us into forever and saw our future in the sky
When fire + water made sense
When my silliness made the tough times harder
And God's smile made things less tense

I remember the way we used to be
When we meant it every time we said those words
When we were the perfect rhyme
When we were together because God wanted us to be
And your essence mingled with mine

Blow out the candle.
I don't want it anymore.
It has lost its use.
   Darkness is more to my liking,
   Dulling the pain that paralyzes,
   Numbing the joy that makes one alive,
   Slipping into nothingness.
   Do I really believe there is a God?
   There is Freedom where one cannot see.
   Blindness enhances other senses
   Like one of being dead.
Blow out the candle.
I don't need it anymore.
It has lost its use.