#thisismyheart

I have only ever been capable of loving him.

I saw a resilience in colored fog, A shifting of attentions, Subtle energy…vibrant and burning Pressed together like fall leaves Between the pages of a story we picked up on… Right where we left off Our book, a mark, to leave the place to start a new chapter The dust jacket is tattered and slightly faded from the sunny days…like a well loved story One read over and over…like a memory

Inside there’s an inscription….it reads:

The Acoustic Poet & Sleepless With Out You, Not Seattle…always.

It’s in two different scripts…different colors…always Crimson and blue. Slightly smudged…but then again my writing was never the easiest to decipher…

Chapter one - Instant chemistry

Lost in a maze of stairs and perfectly manicured patches of grass…learning how to tie a perfect Windsor knot…a kiss that stopped the world from turning…

Chapter 2 - New Home

Friends…adopted family, cars filled with 22 years of books, dusty clothes and trinkets forgotten in dusty corner…your laugh and smile holding me together as my world fell apart around me and I started over…hand in hand with the only one who kept me grounded…

Fast forward….kittens dreaming lazily next to cups of tea and Harry Potter books…our little furry daughter….pause. Remember how she used to curl up smaller than an Xbox controller? Rewind…our family curled up…dusty light shining through a screen door. Lazy Sunday.

Fast forward past the part where I lost you. Two years of self discovery…mistakes made in hazy judgement…lessons learned in waves crashing on piers…lovers that took my attention but never that integral piece of who I’ve always been…

Chapter 13 - coffee shop smiles

I looked calm but my palms were red from repeatedly rubbing them on my jeans to try and stop the nervous reaction…

I saw you first I think…the only one, freeze. See? There…that smile…you looked at me…like…well…you know. You knew then didn’t you? That I never…that the last time wasn’t the end of this story…

I never really used bookmarks not the traditional way at least…I always had them but you laughed when I folded up old receipts and neon colored index cards in their place…stop.

Windows rolled down wind rushing through what you fondly refer to as feathered hair…I’ve never known what you meant…the only thing running through my mind was gorgeous…intriguing. That energy that drew countless admirers to you…yet, me. I paused a lot in between steamy sips looking through foggy cafe windows in your absence…I never could figure out why. You walked into dark spaces…filled them with this buzzy warm light and laughter…I always swore there was a hidden music there even when you were being obnoxious and way too loud, I always acted annoyed…I love(d) it though. It makes you who you are… Like… The perfect day in berk…sunsets on windy hillsides over looking lost souls and a city full of dreamers… Bookshop familiars…black and white fuzz at our feet as we browse stacks of anything from philosophy to the fairytales we grew up wanting to be a reality.

Dare. Be the person I needed when we first met, be my light and my home…be someone you’ll be proud of….like I was always proud you were mine. The light to my shadow

Truth. I’m terrified. Feelings tend to fuck me over. I’m safe not letting it sink it…but your stories and nervous hiccups found a way into places I never thought anyone could reach.