Most Of The Time

Most of the time

I feel as though

The universe is testing my resolve

Because every breeze

Whispers your name

And every raindrop

Sounds like your laughter

And every shooting star

Begs me to wish for you

But i do not

For i know fate has a cruel sense of humor

If I asked you to kiss me

would you do it?

Do not pretend to be shocked because we both know you felt it too. Went through it all just like I did. Even if it all happened so quickly. Too quickly. The falling in love. The falling out of it.

If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?

Rest your hand behind my ear, lean down a little farther than comfortable because youd have to. Just like I always imagined you would. Right in front of the door you met me at everyday. Without fail. To try. And try again. Where I would tell myself it was over until you showed. And i would find myself trying too. Because you made me want to.

If i asked you to kiss me, would you do it?

Call it...closure or whatever you need to be at peace with yourself when we touch but some part of me needs it. And i think you do too. Because why else can neither of us seem to ever let go? I think it is because the peices of the us that are still in love are rioting inside us. Refusing to die because they know knew we could have been something beautiful. And i know, that we do not have that kind of time anymore but

If I asked, would you kiss me?

For you. For me. For the us that was. For the us that is, still, in love, despite everything.

Would you kiss me?

Acknowledge everything we never had the chance to be?

Would you kiss me?

If I aksed?

Just because I asked?

Where Does Poetry Come From

Where does your poetry come from, you ask. And this. This is where it comes from. From questions like this. Feel the words turn to ink in your mouth. Coat your tongue and drip onto notebook paper. Watch the ink turn into black hole droplets, and poetry my love, comes from the universes encapsulated in that darkness.

Where does your poetry come from, you ask. And then you smile. And that. That is where it comes from. It is birthed from the way the sun reflects off your teeth and eyes onto lined paper perfectly. The shadowed letters begging to be penned. Claiming they are here from the heavens and it is impossible to think otherwise.

Where does your poetry come from, you ask. And that is where it comes from. From the way every word spoken by your voice possesses a lyric like quality. A melody that sings me to sleep and wakes me gently to the sunrise. A song I cannot quite remember the words to and so I try to recall them with pen and paper and the quiet background track of your laughter set on repeat to keep me company, and jog my memory.

It needed to be said, but just not to you

~A Writer's Paradox

~When beauty is in the eye of the beholder ~T.R.

I broke a heart once

Twice

A few times

It is not what one might expect

Because most assume to break a heart

Means that you do not have one

That you have forgotten how to care for a delicate thing of that nature

But this is not true

To break a heart is to be reminded

That you do in fact have a heart

Feel it mirror each facture a thousand times over

And know that you caused this ache

I do not expect your pity

Nor your mercy

Do not ask you to forgive or forget the pain

But perhaps

Promise me you will try to be happy

In the way I could never make you

Promise me that you will not avoid eye contact in the halls

Smile like I am no one

That you will not change your seat on the bus

Sit next to me like I am stranger, far from perfect

Erase every trace of me

Every photo, email, sweater

Tell me that the light no longer refracts the shards of you that still cling to me

Tell me that you saw my blood sacrifice soaked sheets

That were a result of long sleepless nights being nicked by every last peice of your broken heart caught in my blankets

And threw them away

That you healed yourself and did not need me to do it

Tell me that you are happy

And I had nothing to do with it

But I suppose

I deserve no such redemption

And so I will sit here

With the ache of two people

Who never meant to break a heart