It's all just numbers, isn't it?
Day by day,
Year by year,
Always counting.

Day by day look at the number on the scales.
Let the caloric calculator count until your head is filled with numbers.

Minute by minute count the seconds it takes for him to text you back.
Let the doubt and fear multiply until your head is full of him.

Term by term let a percentage on a piece of paper define your worth.

Don't we have better things to do than count?

Dad, I am going to try and write this
It may be a poem
It may not
But from my heart
I miss you
I remember the last time I kissed you
Your eyes were closed
They opened wide
As I kissed your forehead
In that terrible place
So white and clean
Where people die
But you will never die
Dad
I love you so much
And you will always live on
In my heart
Forever
God, I miss you so much
It's so hard to write through the tears

Today I stopped to imagine

If hindsight were foresight,
love languages always matched,
and needs were always met

If we never hurt each other
or let each other down
and if distance, time or death couldn’t separate

If…
If only…

How rich and beautiful the tapestry of our connections would be

There are different reasons why you write.
You write because...
...you're happy?
you're sad?
you're delighted?
you're mourning?
keeping a secret?
But whichever reason you have,
you still write what's inside.
What other people can't see,
can't decipher beneath the words you speak,
can't understand the emotions flowing
through the sentences you can't speak out loud.
You write, pouring the feelings you can't let out,
you write. using the words you once thought can't explain what you feel.
You write, thinking that someone out there can finally discern what you're hiding inside.

My entire life
is in a backpack
because even if where we stay isn't the same
as the day before,
at least the stuff I carry
in this backpack
is the same stuff every day.