arms and legs
spell untimely stories
just as eyes
are the windows to souls
the scars on foreheads
and the bruises on hands
take home
the stories you dont want told

Stars only reflect
the inner most desires
burning to escape.

I am forgetting about you.
Your smile has gone away.
No longer written on your face for me to see every day.
It's getting easier for me day to day.

I am forgetting about you.
Saved memories emerge from time to time.
They're full of colors of you and are easy to find.
But are fading away to darkness as if I were blind.

I am forgetting about you.
No more haunting smiles in dreams.
No more deep brown angelic eyes that made my soul scream.
Because I couldn't have you in my arms under the sunbeams.

I am forgetting about you.
That part of me is dying.
That part of me walked under the moonlight and was crying.
But there you were in the clear night sky simply shining.

I wonder if I will forget about you.
I think that part of me will not die.
I think that part of me will stay alive.
Nothing left for me but endless goodbyes.

The moon does not veil herself in the cloak of the night sky,
And whispers of no apologies for her flaws:
The craters, scars, and all else that manifests her.
In spite of her imperfections,
She shines with a light brighter than that of the seven heavens.

Its not a feeling i can describe
Its everything and nothing
Too little and too much
At the same time
I'm everywhere and nowhere
Thinking that im not
Disconnected from a mind
Floating off
Just drifting

"But what if we're wrong?"
It was silent
But her thoughts echoed around in my head as we laid on top of her pickup truck
I swatted at the eighteenth mosquito chewing on my leg
I don't want this to be love

We were tangled up in the acoustic music they play on the radio on Sunday mornings
She was trying to dream up something clever to write about
And I was pretending I could learn to play guitar through osmosis,
As if blending myself in with the harmonies, finding her in every lyric, and sheer willpower would give me wings or at least magic guitar hands

She set the alarm, checked it over and over
She was not going to be late for her first day
I told her I'd be asleep when she got home, she told me she knew
I told her to wake me up

I wasn't looking for perfect
Perfect really only applies in first year physics courses
After that, we learn to fall in love with "rough around the edges" or "unique" or "unfinished"
As if their life is a puzzle that we need to complete
Just so you know, it isn't

She bought me breakfast and dropped me off
She used to tell me she loved me, but I know she didn't
She does now, so she doesn't have to say it anymore
When I said, "love," before, I didn't really mean it
Not like I mean loving the garden on the balcony of her apartment or thunderstorms in May
Even if I was a puzzle that she completed (and I'm not saying that I am), we didn't need any glue to fit perfectly