I will haunt the edges of forever,
just to chase the echoes
you leave behind.
I’ll swallow both our silences,
a ritual upon my tongue.
I cannot bear to tell you
the Gods cannot undo
what’s already begun.
Tell me—
are you more afraid of
me, or your memories?
You whispered, “I picked you dandelions,
and you just threw them away.”
I told you, “I’m a realist—
who needs wishes anyway?”
But you knew I did,
I do.
I do.
You probably wouldn’t get it
but I could walk for miles in your shoes,
the soles split long ago
and the pain became my muse.
I hung your clothes out to dry
in exchange, you wrung out
my tears and prayers under moonlight
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
The fabric smelled of salt and soil
and I knew the ocean had
borrowed your body for a while.
Autumn’s kiss wasn’t enough to wake you
I don’t know why I thought I could be any different.
You were Spring’s wind,
and I was afraid of my own reflection.
We never had a chance.
No, we never had a chance.
Who needs Damocles
when you have Aristotle’s lantern?
Dreams are “just dreams,”
and your presence is a phantom.
I don’t need to touch galaxies
to believe in divinity.
Brushing against your fingers
was enough to unravel me,
and I can’t get the taste of you
out of my eyes.
You are everywhere—
and everywhere you haunt me
“Do you ever get that feeling?”
I tell her she’s too sensitive.
The evening lark laughs,
spinning silver through my bones
I push away the irony,
I am not afraid to lie
in the bed you made for me.
You used to love the sun,
and now you cannot bear the moon.
You said the shadows followed you home one night,
but I never asked if they stayed.
I think I took something irreversible from you—
something soft
I find the outlines of you
in the quiet I cannot escape,
I carry you like a wound;
stabbing me with every breath I take.
Tag: love
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~[Dreaming & Wanting & Wishing & Yearning & Longing & Imagining & Hoping]
I dream of a little hobbit life sprinkled with big grand adventures– I dream of the finest foods- artisan crackers, vintage aged cheddar and crimson Pepperjack. I dream of my belly being sore from uncontrollable joy. I dream of reading my silly little books, spines cracked & margins scribbled, in my own silly little library. I dream of drinking coffee every-morning with the love of my life. I dream of leaving letters in strangers mailboxes, unsigned. I dream of slowing down and not allowing a shred of guilt to nip me. But those grand adventures watch me with curiosity. They demand…
exploring and diving and breath-TAKING as well as breathtaking. Pause on the breath-taking. That’s what I want. The hitch in breath. The little flips in my chest. That fluttering, dancing shiver of pure undulated excitement. I want a warm little smile plastered on my face because I know the secret origins of a stupid grin. I want scars to tattoo my body; stories of close-calls. I want stacks of photographs to be my poetry, when I eventually run out of words. When my weathered and withered hands can no longer pick up a pen. I will remember. And I…
hope that it will be enough. I hope that it will be enough for me to say that I did live a life. I hope that my soul will no longer flinch at the start of something new. I can do nothing but dream of this glued-together ceramic world. I fear the cost of yearning for something so grand. The pieces of me it must take in exchange. I am a coward. I do not need to have a story of my own- but I fear not having one all the same. So I am learning how to explore, and dive and hold my breath. And gods do I hope that I feel the fall. I will master straddling the realm between the living and living. It is all I can…
wish for.
That Girl Books 