he had fallen asleep reading
and the book laid with the pages
pressed to his chest
he could still hear her voice
narrating the story
even as he snored now in his sleep
even though she was only imaginary
a small comfort of fiction
to keep his heart warm
through the winter of his bones

she rearranged the letters
as she slipped off the page
and slide out from under the book
and laid beside him for a moment
watching him breath
watching his chest rise and fall
watching his heart
  thump against his ribs
she sighed a small sigh
as she carefully lifted
the book from his chest
and closed it
she kissed the tips of her fingers
and then as soft as breeze
touched them to his forehead
she wanted to stay
to fall asleep next to him
to wake up in the same dream
but she knew if she slept
he would turn to smoke
and disappear into the bathroom mirror
she reluctantly stood
and took quite footsteps
towards the bookshelf
placed the book back in its spot
and ran her fingers along its spine
the book purred
and she smiled a sad smile
and spoke without speaking
and said “until next time my friend...”

she snuck out the window
and climbed up
and through the clouds
she sauntered and wandered
around the moon
and waited patiently
as her eyes hopped
from star to star
until she caught the glimpse
of a comet
and hitched a ride on its tail
setting a course
through an unknown time
of an untold adventure

she fell asleep in
the vast emptiness of space
and dreamt of dreaming
and somewhere in the dream
she heard his voice
telling a lie
a harmless mess
of obvious mischief

and they both smiled
a smile bigger
than any smile
could be imagined

there was the bittersweet smell
of mischief in the corner
of her smile
and in her eyes
he could see everything
that was good about love
and their was a delicate balance
of beauty and pain
woven into the warmth
of her heart

he sighed

knowing he could only imagine
doing anything other
than just imagine

as children we believe
there are monsters
under our beds
as we become adults
we start to hide our dreams
beneath them
until most of us forget
we ever had dreams at all

tell me
how many nights
has it been now
that you have slept
without getting any rest

being tired all the time
may have become the norm
but that doesn't make
it a healthy habit

wouldn't it be nice
to dream again
to play with the monsters
under the bed
to finally get enough rest
so you could sleep
truely sleep

some stand
at the edge of abyss
and hear music
enjoy the silence
know that it doesn't
always need to be ok
carry the cold of winter
inside their marrow
some feel this
is the last safe place
their hearts can beat
can breath safely

this is where I saw her
dancing with ****** feet
a recklessness to her pulse
a wild child
an old soul
a delicate being
something both
broken and beautiful

she never said
a word out loud
she smiled though
there in the darkness
despite the gloom
the pain
the grief
that brought us each here

a simple act of kindness
a small gift of love

I smiled back
and never said a word

what a strange thing
this mournful pain
this longing for what
and who we've lost
for those who are gone
to places we do not know
cannot follow
this heartache
this broken hurt
this bitter fruit
we dare not let go
a hollow sound
an endless echo
a voice haunting
our every heartbeat
and is it not
above all
beautiful by its own right
its delicate necessity
how through its pain
we are also made comfortable
to be reminded
how fragile this life
how little time
we have to breath
how fast our nights fade
as if it all is but a dream
a bubble about to burst
nothing but ants
marching towards starvation
and one by one we go
a cruel act of kindness
to remind those left behind
how precious
how important
how necessary it is
to love

her soft eyes held
a quite suffering
a delicate pain
a strange beauty

I wanted to reach out  
to offer a comforting hand
a quite moment
to let her speak
to let her fall apart
to break down
to let her be alone
without being alone

but who was I
other than a shy child
trembling beneath an aged body
scared of what I admired
terrified of what I might love

so I sat motionless
hiding beneath silence
planting seeds of future regrets
that will bloom  
into the words I will
have wished I had spoken

How am I suppose to read the warning signs
when I am emotionally illiterate
what I'm trying to say is
that I have never learned
how to deal well with heartache  

I know how it feels to have a weightless heart
when ever thing is measured by gold
my ribcage has a collection of nothing
but rusted pennies
sitting at the end of a bottomless dread

wishes that come true
sometimes have a way
of exploding like a dandelion

days of good intentions
can tumble unexpectedly
no matter how well
they are stacked together

the future is never certain
everything has an expiration date
wether it is printed in black ink
or a secret only the wind
and the leaves know  
it could be something as warm as death
or as cold as betrayal
or something far simpler
than we make it out to be

our own stupidity comes to mind
our careless behavior motivated by ego
and the ego does as much damage
when under inflated
as it does when it burst from its own pride

months and years of silence and solitude
has turned loneliness
into a comfortable home
a safe haven
free from the fear of things going wrong
a place I have no need to regret
the things never said
the people I never said those things to

and somewhere between memory and fantasy
things that once may have been
and things that never were
there is a strange place
that feels happy enough
what is love other than a feeling
a feeling of comfort
of warmth
of dreams
what makes it more or less real
if the heart is fooled
why not play the fool

something real imagined
imagining something real
if I whisper a name
I do not know in my sleep
or dream of kissing a name
I fear to speak
what would be the difference
when I wake in an empty bed
surround by the cool comfort of silence
if the feeling remains the same

maybe if I had read the warning sign
I would have known that
I don’t deal well with heartache