Yesterday I went into a store
where they were burning incense.

And, in an instance
I recognized the smell.

Sweet, sweet nostalgia filled my nostrils as I remembered
riding my bike so many summers ago,
down a road that at the time felt like I was riding
into a different plain
of existence.

It was quiet and the streets were paved with concrete
as opposed to the ashy asphalt that covered the rest
of the small town
I grew up in.

Something about the way the neighbourhood was lined with colorful bungalows and huge trees
where the wind danced and sang
as I peddled past.

I once longed to live in a place like that.

Sometimes life is perpetually the calm before the storm.
Everything can be fine,

peaceful silences, and
glowing sunsets

but you always feel that tug of regret,
for what is yet to come.

Living life in this state of unknown
can grind you down to the bone.

Can make even the most familiar of places,
not feel like home
anymore.

Time passed, drama class.

I didn't know who I was or what I was.

But I was in class.

The only friend I knew was one who I wasn't fond of but I latched on anyways.

And then, someone else. A stranger. I had never seen her before.

Although we had gone to the same high school for the past 2 years.

We were told to get into groups of three, and I spotted her, coming over to me and at the time I was mad.

Like who is this random person invading my space.

I reluctantly let her join our group.

But boy was I duped.

That was the first time I saw the first love of my life.

The first knife in my back.

The first girl I look back,
upon.

It's all fine now, and everything is well and good,

But back then, it seemed like all I could do was grieve.

And misbelieve.

And be lead on.

Had that drama class not happened, had we not had the same lunch period for two years to come.

Would she still have ended up in my bed? In my head?

We've been classmates for like ever.

And I guess you've been around for better or for worse.

You were always in the background but I remember getting blackout drunk and asking you to tie my shoes. It was only you who seemed to make the most sense.

Flash forward like five years later, we were all in highschool and all pushing paper I threw a party, with my best friends at the time.

That was honestly a moment I will never forget, never regret, how we told everyone we knew to come through and **** did they.

By midnight the house was full, skateboards in the basement jackets on the stool.

And I watched you as you found a mans.

And sure, your relationship was good for as long as you can expect, until he hit you.

I'm so glad that we are passed all of that.

And Jessie, I don't know why I chose to wrote a poem for you,

but ****...

You should feel special.

It's been going on like this for days, weeks, years.

I can't seem to bring out the best of me.

Although words broadcast like teleprompters I can't bring them to paper, and often can't remember.

What I said.

I used to be able to ***** out such wisdom with such ease.

These days I feel like I am mocking my own talent. If I even have any.

I am a poet but I can't write poems, I am a writer but I have never finished a story.

And I am sorry,

But I feel like a phony.

At least right now.

Is that normal?

I always feel cold when
I watch it snow.

Outside windows,

white sheets sleet like linen sheets.

Textile worshipping cults praise Satin.

Maybe we're all better off believing in something,

getting down on our knees,
and phalic objects.

Because in the end
none of us really know
why we are here?

But does there have to be a reason

Can't it be enough to watch the seasons.

To fall in and out of love,

to have feelings.

You were, you are.

Amazing.

And when I think about the bones of the past, the time lapsed.

Notes in lockers notes in hand.

I only joined the choir because you were in it.

Night bright star light, you ashes your scent.

The sunset.

The truth is I don't think of you,

don't think of old concepts.