“As I stand in the terminal to No Where, lingering between the lanes of Stuck Here and Left Behind, I reach into my pocket and count all the Should-haves I could have spent when you took the bus to I Don’t Know When I’ll See You Again: One, when I saw you from the terminal gate as you fumbled toward me with your heavy luggage, I clenched my empty fists; I should have brought my bags along. Two, when you showed me the ticket you bought, punched with the same holes perforated in my heart; I should have bought the same ticket. Three, when the whistle blew and the conductor called, I should have paid more attention to the loudness of the pounding in my mind, telling me to cover your ears with my trembling hands so you won’t know that it’s time to go. Four, when you hugged me tight and kissed me good bye, my spirit sank to the floor to which my feet were glued; I should have hugged you tighter. Five, I should have kissed you longer. Six, when you set foot on the bus, I know you gave me one last glance; I shouldn’t have closed my eyes. Seven, I should have boarded that bus with you. And I debate with myself if I shouldn’t have let you go or if I should have gone along, and I remember that time when you said that it hurts just as much to leave, but the truth is, it doesn’t. There is no pain that compares to the pain of being left behind, and maybe it’s true that you’re needed in more than one place, and maybe I’m just being selfish, but I wish you knew that the place that needs you most is called Here With Me. I toss my final, useless Should-have away, like a coin to a well that doesn’t grant wishes - I should have asked you to stay.”

“I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word home means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name just by the way you describe your bedroom when you were eight. See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate, and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow? And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms or would leave your snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree? And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek? Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad even if it makes your lover mad? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? See, I wanna know what you think of your first name, and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel. Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old beating up little boys at school. If you were walking by a chemical plant where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud or would you whisper “That cloud looks like a fish, and that cloud looks like a fairy!” Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin? Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea? And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me — how would you explain the miracle of my life to me? See, I wanna know if you believe in any god or if you believe in many gods or better yet what gods believe in you. And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself, have the prayers you asked come true? And if they didn’t, did you feel denied? And if you felt denied, denied by who? I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling good. I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling bad. I wanna know the first person who taught you your beauty could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass. If you ever reach enlightenment will you remember how to laugh? Have you ever been a song? Would you think less of me if I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key? And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry I just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around me who have learned the wisdom of silence. Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence? And if you do — I want you to tell me of a meadow where my skateboard will soar. See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living. I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving, and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I wanna know if you bleed sometimes from other people’s wounds, and if you dream sometimes that this life is just a balloon — that if you wanted to, you could pop, but you never would ‘cause you’d never want it to stop. If a tree fell in the forest and you were the only one there to hear — if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound, would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist, or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness? And lastly, let me ask you this: If you and I went for a walk and the entire walk, we didn’t talk — do you think eventually, we’d… kiss? No, wait. That’s asking too much — after all, this is only our first date.”

“People change and forget to tell each other.”