Life is a Journey

In the joy of summer it didn't take much to make a spark.

The forest was so dry, quickly turning us into a forest fire.

The wind of autumn carried the fire to the prairie of our lives.

Burning everything that had sustained you,

And leaving you without enough to spare for me.

Winter's wind brought in the snow,

Covering us with a layer of insulation that would leave us colder than ever.

But when that snow melted you were washed away from me.

Now that water hits me in waves,

Reminding me of your absence and soaking me in pain.

The summer sun is returning and burning my skin.

Why can't these waves even keep me cool?

Why must these winds always take you farther from me?

Now the world is different.

I look up from the book I am reading to see the tide has receded again

Further evidence of passing time when turning the page is not enough.

The birds wade in the water feeding on the shellfish that have been left behind

I wonder what it is like to live such a simple life if hunting and gathering

While I have no work for the next three days and the plans I allowed myself to hope for have collapsed.

The fog is coming now and I feel its cold through my sweatshirt and the gaps between the bench slats

And I am reminded that this cove is connected to the ocean like all of this you're reading is connected to my past writings.

Is this "low tide sand with water channel looking like a river" another thing of beauty I can't appreciate

Like the sunrise I awoke to the other day before my alarm when I wanted to sleep more?

Or am I right to believe that this grey air on grey water receding from grey sand is as depressing as I feel?

I know so many things in this world are simply a matter of perspective

But it may not always be enough to stand on the desk or climb the tree or listen to the difficult answers

Sometimes you also need to

Blink

But you have me wrapped around your finger, and that's something that I want to hold on to more than anything that I've found so far.

You wrap your legs around me and say that's the most that you want from me.

But that reuniting kiss wasn't lustful, nor was it the kind you give to your other friends at a party, so I don't believe you.

I can predict summer storms in the afternoon, but you've always been a winter woman.

I'd swim through a lake of fire, but you breathe frost to freeze my desire.

The first time you held my hand was your decision to accept that you liked me.

The last time you held my hand was just something you felt in the moment.

A week later you told me that you don't think we can ever be together.

The next morning I was too weak to be alone.

I'm trying to figure out how to say I don't believe you, without calling you a liar.

But it's like saying you're only a little warm while your pants are literally on fire.

The winter winds are being replaced by warm breezes.

The truth may come out along with the baby birds, tapping at your insides until you crack.

Or maybe I'll be wrong, and I'm simply falling for a beautiful egg shaped stone.

Can we be the wind beneath each other's wings?

I don't remember the first time I noticed that I could sort of experience the wonder vicariously. But the ability for others to experience it has become something that I really appreciate in a companion.

This is why, despite the valid criticisms of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope, it's still something that I'm attracted to. The ability to bring joy out of mundanity. The ability to embrace not just "the suck" but also to dance in the inconvenient rain. Bringing that sense of joy into my life is incredibly valuable.

I find it difficult to be present in the moment. I'm always thinking about the future or the past, and there are so few things that can distract me so thoroughly that I can just EXPERIENCE it. I think there're only three things that I can think of right now.

The moments when I'm drumming with other musicians, and we're just making everything up as we go, and I actually forget for a couple notes that it's me making the beat, and that I'm not just drumming along to it. When I'm learning something completely new, and my mind is so focused on how this new thing works, trying to understand all the details, that I don't think about why I'm learning it or how I will use it. And then there's people who are so interesting that they become a thing to learn about, to understand, to experience without a reason beyond the moment.

If I take a break from romanticizing for a moment, I must admit that this trait is not "one in a million," and it is also possible that everyone could have it if I were to change my perspective. However, I still believe that this is something special, because I did not actively choose to view you this way.

The metaphor has stopped serving me, and I'm not sure if I should stop serving you. The purpose of loving is not to be loved. However, my therapist says that I should pursue another. I gave up trying to find someone to date and found you anyway, so my current plan is to try that again. If my options are to put effort into loving you for you to not love me, or to put effort into finding someone else to love without any reason to expect that I will find someone to love me, I think I will choose the option that allows me to love sooner. Life is too short not to love.

Those who use this phrase usually have an answer for you, but they have their own temple, and you need not let them dictate your life, your virtues, or your praise. How many temples does their god require? And should we praise one so greedy?

Do you want to sing your words of worship? Do you feel like dancing will bring praise to your values? Do you sometimes sit in your temple with closed eyes and meditate? Or perhaps like me you write your prayers and cast them into the void hoping that they will reach someone, and that they may send something in return so that you know you are not alone?

Do you worship a god of blood, of war, of terror? Do you praise the struggle against death, or the benefits of community, or the bounty of the world? Perhaps it is silence, peace, and ease that you hold dear?

Whatever it is that you have enshrined within your temple, engraved into the boney pillars and the domed ceiling, painted in a thousand colors on the mural above the altar, and filtering the light of the world through those two stained glass windows above the door from which your songs (or silence) ebb forth... Be sure to act within your temple in a way that glorifies those things.

Standing under the water, you closed your eyes. The water streamed down your face, converging in the center of your forehead before choosing a side of your nose. It glistened like a string of diamonds on a circlet. Even the water knows you are deserving to be encircled by diamonds like the center stone of a ring.

With the soap on your skin, my hands glided across your body as if it was a superconductor and my hands were magnets: quickly moving to the next spot my mind yearned to feel, and unable to separate their connection. They had no destination, but would slow down at every curve, wanting to visit everywhere and so unable to stop.

My lips alighted on your neck like birds returning home to roost: hopping around a little until settling in the hollow above your collarbone. I drank from that small pool of water blessed by your grace, and now I pray that I may carry a piece of your beauty with me until you are under my gaze again.

Suddenly in physical form, they take on new vulnerabilities.

While now they can endure beyond my life, so too can they be destroyed by the philosopher's knife;

Ou es-tu la pire maladie que mon cœur puisse supporter?

Tu fais le silence sombre

Et tu tords la distance

Jusqu'à ce que je ne puisse plus voir

Et je ne me sens pas ta chaleur.

Maintenant j'écoute le son de mon cœur

Solitaire sans ton battement;

Je ne connais pas l'heure

Mais tu me manques vraiment

À chaque minute du jour.

Si tu peux entendre mon cœur

Si tu peux voir mon silence

Si tu peux te sentir ma chaleur

Que tu as toujours mon âme dans ta bouche.

Mordre. Mâcher. Rendre tendre comme mon cœur.

Alors que ces cicatrices sont invisibles,

Ils sont crus et brûlent lorsqu'on les touche.

Je suis ruiné parce que tes marques sont profondes

Et elles suppurent avec négligence.

Je n'ai pas le désir d'aller sans toi

Mais c'est seulement en continuant

I hope you are happy

Enjoying your life, feeling less burnt out,

Experiencing the freedom you need.

I hope you are happy

Wielding that knife, still cutting me out,

Healing yourself while I'm left to bleed.

I hope you are happy

Even if you've found another lover,

But I don't know, so compersion isn't feasible.

I hope you are happy,

Because if we aren't going to see each other,

Again.

I should sleep on my back for my spine

But now laying on my side reminds me that I'm alone.

My hand yearns for the curve of your waist

The taste of your shoulder faded far too fast

I miss looking into your eyes...

When you aren't pitying me.

It's said that love is a socially acceptable form of insanity,

But you can't accept my love for you.

I hope this time alone allows you to get what you need

But I've given up on giving up.

So I'll be here when you're ready.

Still.

Mais le douleur de manquée tu

Est moins de ça d'essayer d'oublier toi.

I have given up on moving on

Waiting is just less saddening

Than failing to not think of you.

Si tu eres con il una otra vez,

Espero que consigas lo que necesitas,

Y terminarlo por siempre.

Reviens juste vers moi

When you are done.

It's been three nights since I've heard your voice

The sultry, the giggly, and the sad.

From this distance I cannot know

If you think of me as I think of you

I don't remember what I was saying when the call cut off,

But I remember it felt important.

I might have sounded like a politician again,

But I only wanted you to vote for my love.

It's been one week since I've heard your voice

and I struggle to conjure that song,

but I can still feel the pull of your words on my mind.

The silence settles around me like snow:

At first it's unnoticed, but soon it is everywhere.

As my spirits drop with the temperature,

I recall your face the moment before we first kissed

And I have to wonder if that's when I should have stopped.

It's been two weeks since I've heard your voice,

And I can't endure this sadness any longer.

I've worked backwards through the stages of grief

Starting with a decision that I thought would spare me.

Now I'm denying that this can be over

Because the hope is all that is keeping me sane,

And I'm trusting that you will come back to me

The sand does not care for their color.

To the beach this is the same as every day.

The color must be significant to the author.

The sun pierces the ceiling of clouds as they drift.

Imperceptible motion when they have no texture.

The sun is not symbolic of hope.

A storm is coming despite its light.

The workers pause for a break.

A respite for the ongoing slog.

Some drink coffee while others snack.

But your heart beats for another, still trying to get over her, I fear. And you're straight, which makes me wish that I could have the courage to tell you that you're an amazing, beautiful man and I'd love to know you more. You are amazing. And even though the stars won't align for us, I'll still wait to see how your eyes shimmer under the moonlight when I see you next time.

I don't know when this was sent,

But it must be recent to refer to the dent

In my heart which was recently rent.

I'm glad to have provided you light,

But I don't often smile just passing in the night,

So it's likely that made me laugh just right.

If you want to message me not anonymously,

Perhaps we can become friends more truly,

And I can stop rhyming so religiously.

If it helps you to be more comfortably seen,

@sablestarboi can attest that I'm not mean,

And I don't mind my friends crushing on me.

But thank you for the distraction either way,

And the compliments aimed my way.

Kissing you is vodka straight to my blood

I'm drunk on every part of you

From your moonshine eyes to your whiskey fingertips

You're swimming through my mind

So I can't think straight

If only you were here I'd black out

Indulging in your breath

Consuming your shape

Imbibing each word you speak

Let me drink your thoughts

And sway with me to the music

Of our mouths meeting

You turn the grass into a bed

You turn the rain into music

And return wayward thoughts to my head.

The cosmos may not revolve around you,

But you fold the distance between us like the clasping of our hands.

You turn the clouds to animations

You turn the city into a home

You turn each day into a story

And you hold me up more than my bones.

I may not always understand your words,