“I don’t know what love is,
but I think it’s being a little
happier when I meet your eyes.
I think it’s sitting in a quiet garden,
talking about the little things.
I think it’s wrapping you in my arms,
in an attempt to love you louder.

I think it’s interlocking hands,
when you feel a little lost.
I think it’s meeting eyes,
in a room far too loud.

I think it’s listening,
when all you can do is scream.
I think it’s soft breathing,
when the night creeps around me.

I think it’s trusting one another,
when we find comfort in others.
I think it’s a silent promise,
to walk the path beside you
when it leads through hell and worse.

I don’t know what love is,
but I hope it greets me kindly.”

A.V.

"Am I worth of love?
The true, romantic one.
If I even know what that is.
I can't make out difference sometimes.
Do I like them?
Or just the comfort of given friendship?
I don’t know what to feel.

Do I deserve love?
I must, right?
Despite the bad things I've done.

Take my hand,
Don't ask too much.
Let me talk.
Pull me away
To kiss me in a corner.
Or do it right now.

Friends or more?
I don't know what it is.
Please tell me what it is,
And my heart'll be mine?"

A.V.

i’ll probably stumble to the driveway
before the stars are all done shining
find a place still open
where the locals are unwinding

i got a fresh pack and a pocket of cash
ready to spend my last check
on the first girl that looks my way
forgetting all the word she’ll say
doesn’t matter, we’ll be gone by day

i know a lot of people
upset with the way i’m living
but i’ve never been known
for making good decisions

If I can't unlove you
                Surely I can write myself
                                                  Out of love

Information splattered
Hopes and dreams, tattered
A trend
To defend

To the end

Or is there a causality
A lack of sympathy
Purported 'apathy'
Unrecognized duality

Radio and boys
Playthings, toys
Commercial noise
Monetization, adroit

They gave it their all
We remember their fall
We write, heed the call
In a shadow, we feel small

In absence we forget
All the things they regret
Our path is ours to set
Or a poster-child of lament

Be well

I fed grief for years—
now joy knocks, and I answer.
My ghost waits outside.