Ask The Moon

Ask the Moon

On the days that I have gone silent and it seems so has our love When I seem to be drifting away from you slowly Caving in on myself slowly On the days When my eyes cannot seem to focus on what is right in front of me And you begin to look foreign and I, like a stranger

On the days that I have gone silent and it seems so has our love I invite you to ask the moon for all it knows of me Retell all the nights we spent together just her and me, often in the company of shiny things; Like city lights and phones and stars and tears Ask the sun to tell you my story and then tell ours She did not see me often, But still smiled every time we passed Tell her I know she was trying. Let her tell you that she knew I was too Ask the air, to spill all the secrets I have breathed to it. You will hear your name more than once Go ahead. I give you permission. Let them tell you more of me than I ever could.

Let them tell you of how they saw childhood melt off of me leaving sticky honey footprints on the pavement and watched as me and my shadowed merged.

On the days I have gone silent and it seems so has our love

Stay Have a conversation with the moon Let her tell you of how even though she sees less of me now, she is glad of it Let the sun whisper it's thanks to you for getting me out more, share your love of playing with my hair and kissing my eyelids Have a conversation with the air that shudders in our presence Let them tell you of how different the whispers taste now, of how different I taste now Make friends with my friends Let them remind you of everything you mean to me Even when I can't

On the days I have gone silent and it seems so has our love Let the moon keep you company and assure you both her and I will be back tomorrow On the days I have gone silent and it seems so has our love Ask the moon She knows Better than I do Exactly how much I love you

mis·an·thro·py

/məˈsanTHrəpē/ noun

The general hatred, dislike, distrust or contempt of the human species or human nature 

I often think falling in love is like being stabbed, for more than one reason. See, it is forced upon us without much choice. Plunged into the depths of our soul and we call the pain a blessing because at least something has reached us. Has touched us. At least we feel something. I often think falling in love is like being stabbed, for more than one reason. It is fast and violent, too quick for you to realize what is happening until you stagger back and realize what is really going on. You stare at the hilt jutting out of you, mesmerized, terrified. Because it hurts when it happens, but we are more scared of the pain that will come with the extraction of this thing killing us. We call the removal Heartbreak when really our heart was fractured as soon as we were hit, yet we only start to feel it when the blade that was keeping us together, filling the wound is taken back. And we choose the torture that is love every time Because we know we can either live with this ache or bleed out alone.

The Universe’s Sense of Humor

Anyone awake and want to talk...

~Sincerely a sappy sleepy soul

“Hey,” they look at me trying to draw my attention and I try, I really do, try and focus.

“Hey, you're going to be okay,” they lean in another inch and their voice is soft and I try and focus on that.

“You can do this,” they are only an inch or two away and I can feel the warmth of their breath as they whisper these words and I try to focus on that.

“Adam, look at me,” and I do, “when you're there,” I take an unsteady breath at the mere mention of some moment beyond this one. But their gaze is beseeching as they look up at me and I try to focus on that.

“Hey, no, listen, when you're there I want you to try and imagine a moment. A happy moment. Maybe something from your childhood. Maybe something from a good time with a friend. Maybe a summer walk. Maybe imagine being in the kitchen, preferably not flooding,” they smile meekly, “in the middle of the night. Imagine you and me with a cup of tea. And go to that place when you need to escape. To go somewhere else for a bit. Okay?” I nod. Only slightly. Because they are so close I can feel every word as much as I can hear it and I do not trust myself to speak.

“A happy place yeah? Where you felt good and safe and okay...” there gaze trails from my eyes down the rest of my face and up again and I focus on that.

“A happy moment, maybe even this one…” the hand behind my neck is guiding my head down and their lips are on mine. Soft and warm and we share a breath and it is as though they are reminding me to breathe. And even though I am nervous now it is a good nervous and when they pull back and look at me I am focused on that.

“Are you okay…” they ask slowly, warily.

“Yes,” I breath.

“Remember, you can always call me. It’ll be tricky but we’ll work it out. Okay? You ready?”

I don't know what to say. How to say I will never be ready. That I was not ready for any of this. I know I cannot stay here forever but just another moment. Another minute. Another millisecond.

Their hand is still on my neck and I find my hand trailing up theirs, resting on their upper arm

“Maybe,” I feel their warmth seeping out of their jacket and pay more attention this time. A happy moment, try to mentally photograph it, memorize every detail.

“Maybe just another one for the road,” I whisper.

Leaving France ~ Excerpt from A Woman’s World. 

So I’ve officially decided I’m using the Parabati Vows as my marriage vows and that’s final