The year was nineteen forty six, the memories still raw,
Europe’s Jews were still encamped as they had been before.
True, they now had food to eat and decent clothes to wear,
But in that Displaced Persons camp, little else to spare.

When Lilly told her fiancé about her dream one night;
her standing beneath the chuppah in a flowing gown of white,
Ludwig promised Lilly that her vision would come true,
but in a displaced person’s camp that might be hard to do.

A former Luftwaffe pilot proved an angel in disguise;
Ludwig traded, for his parachute, some coffee and supplies.
Miriam, the seamstress, swore to do her best
to fashion the silk parachute into a wedding dress.

Some miles from Bergen Belsen lies the little town of Celle
Its desecrated synagogue would serve the couple well.
They made an Aron Kodesh from a kitchen cabinet
A Rabbi, flown from England, would officiate their fete.


Lilly’s gown was beautiful, the bride felt like a Queen
Within the battered synagogue, her wedding matched her dream.
Miriam’s creation would be worn by many more;
Girls from camp made brides in white that year after the war.

The Gown’s in a museum now, the bride now old and gray.
She lives nearby in Brooklyn in a house down by the bay.
Her lovely great granddaughter, her loving heart’s delight,
now has the dream of being wed in a gown of flowing white.

You came in black.
Drenched in black,
encompassing the night into your every move.
Sun or moon for each eye,
stars twinkling your feet
so that you can slip quietly in,
black holes removing all evidence of breaking in.

You crept slowly, surely
grabbing everything you found,
every little
secret, scar, soul shine
into that bag you clung to,
clutching it so that it hung from your back.

You passed my fire place.
Empty, with nothing left but coal and dust.
The fire once there?
Now long extinguished.
You shivered,
and continued looking.

You glanced at the kitchen counter.
Strewn across it were spices
and ripped up shreds of pictures
of all those loved.
Mixed into remnants of
entrees, appetizers, desserts,
too good to be true,
gobbled up too fast,
gone.
You shudder,
continue.

Finally, you find what you're looking for.
In the basement, kept in a safe right by where I slept,
you found it.
You reached towards me,
slowly, silkily took the key I had around my neck
as I sighed at your touch and unconsciously let you take it.

You twisted the key,
opened the safe
and grabbed the
ornately scarred,
worn down wooden
box that was held inside.

You opened the box.
Inside lay a red thing.
It resembled a minuscule
mauled, mangled, mutilated
crimson heart.
You sighed with relief and tossed the box and it's hideous contents into the bag.

You grabbed everything else you found and put it inside your bag.
Some were lead heavy, others too light...
Memories kept too long,
some fading,
some still fresh,
others just too strong of a memory.

You crept quietly away,
but not before you heard me whisper your name.
You looked away
like the coward you are
and left the house.

HAPPY OTAKU DAY!!!

I told you I tripped today
cause I stumbled over my own foot,
that I'm so clumsy.

But really,
I stumbled cause I was trying to please you,
to get our team that goal,
and maybe you would be able to see me.

The whole time,
I was literally "falling" harder for you.

You don't text me for months and months

Then suddenly you have the nerve to say "Hey how are you?"

Then I don't hear a word from you for a full week, and suddenly my phone buzzes once again with a message from you.

Apparently you miss me.

That doesn't even make sense, I'm not the type people miss.
Why are you doing this to me? Telling me I used to make you nervous when I sat near you, saying you were too scared to even make eye contact with me, and I throw my phone at the couch because you need to stop this. It's not fair. Stop doing this to me.

Being comfortable enough in your relationship with a girl to tease her (playfully I mean) means you have a better relationship than you would if you were comfortable showering her in compliments.