It pains me, a bit
to think about the possibilities
of life if you were here,
if I could watch your smile
bloom upon your face
see the signs of laughter brewing
just after I’ve said something silly.
I’d cook you dinner
and blush with happiness
when you teased me for my
utter lack of skill
and after you would make hot cocoa
for our movie marathon
and we’d have punch drunk discussions
on the philosophy of psychopathic ******
for dessert.
While the credits rolled
your eyes would droop
and your head, heavy with sleep
would rest sweetly on my shoulder.

Would I kiss you, then?
Softly, so as not to ruin the mood?
Or fierce and biting with the breaking
of long-held restraint?
Would you invite me to your bed?
And if you did, would I accept?
Or would I stroke your hair
and kiss you a gentle goodnight
at your bedroom door?
Would we grow old together,
counting wrinkles as they form,
marking the days with
ridiculous anniversaries:
first kiss, first fight, first joint bout of pyromania?
Or would it end, perish early
like so many things are wont to do?

Would you die first?
Or would I?
And when we were gone
would we have anyone
to tell stories about us
and the crazy things we no doubt said and did?

Would I ever tell you this poem was about you?
Maybe.
Maybe, if you were here, I could.

yes i knew the date and i remembered everything about it.
i remember the streams of light that came through the window
as i cried and cried in my nephews bed, begging for you to not die.
i sobbed as you said your last "i love you" before you went under
and maybe thats why i woke up at 7 this morning with the same heaviness in my chest that i felt last year on this day and with tears rolling down my cheeks. i remember the 5 heart-wrenching messages i sent you. and i remember wishing my sister wasn't such an *******, because yes, i was crying that the girl i loved was going to have screws and rods in her back, it frightened the hell out of me because of the possibility that something could go wrong was relatively high.
i didn't know what i would do without her.
i still don't know sometimes.

he likes that we can sit in a comfortable silence together
and he likes that i can talk his ear off about the universe
he likes that i call him cute and that i think he's cute
he likes my hair, whether its short or long
and he likes my lips, he says they're beautiful
oh, and he likes that i read a lot, he says it shows how intelligent i am
and well...he says he likes me
and i like that....
i like him.

I knew it wouldn't arrive
I knew it was a lie
How much time cause of him did I loose
Broken promises with zero done
This is love, very problematic
Like you, Like me

It's a wait on the telephone
The simple adventure on the ilogic
The craziness of the magic
A posion without any antidote
The bitternitess of infity.
This is love, very problematic
Like you, Like me