Soft tapping of the early December snow echoes in the
bedroom left empty of her presence.
Warmth seems ever fleeting in a bed now shared by no
Life radiated from her like a supernova affecting everything
and everyone around her in such a way that her absence left the world
Now dark seems darker.
Cold seems colder.
Emptiness. The emptiness of my heart is filling my eyes with
tears and my mind with searing regret – I want it to burn away the memory of
her smile, her kiss, our last goodbye.
Who You Are
I am at a loss when it comes to describing you.
Someone like you, a woman of beauty and grace, is unworthy
of a simple word with a definition standard and fixed.
How do you describe a moment where bliss is merely a warm up
for what comes next?
What causes a hand to tremble after knocking on her door,
waiting for her to answer on the very first date.
What do you call the moment before climax when time stands
There is no word for these things, none equal to the
That’s you. That’s who you are to me.
Those who walk the hard path are worthy of the prize. Those
who know how to survive the coldest winters are revered. The scars of the
oldest warriors carry more authority than rank or commission.
Strength is not equated in times of plenty.
The measure of a person is not taken in times of peace. Our
suffering reveals our strength. Our sorrow, a longing for the Love we once
When shouldering the weight of the world, there are only two
choices: fall in surrender or fight to move forward. Death promises peace in
exchange for laying down arms. Life promises pain and hardship with only the
possibility of victory.
I choose to fight.
Love is hard
It’s easy to love when things are new and nice and easy.
Love is hard when it’s in its ugly phase. I chose to fight for you and us. I
chose to argue and talk and work. I chose to survive when I am in the coldness
so far away from your love. I wear the scars from our relationship as badges of
honor. When it gets heavy and hard and scary and I feel the weight of the world
on my shoulders.
I chose to move forward.
Love is not just sometimes.
I want to think of you
I want to think of you … All day and all night until the
longing of my wasted heart burns me away from the inside, leaving me hollow and
empty … full of ash from my faded memories.
Things will never be perfect.
Things will not always be right or good.
But I’m willing to work on it for the rest of our lives
because I love you.
Lost in love
I can’t remember every kiss, but I can remember every time I
wished I could kiss you.
Occasionally, I catch a faint scent that reminds me of you.
I’m haunted by memories of times when I held you close in my arms and talked
about everything and nothing.
The wind bends and twists in such a way, I swear I hear your
voice, and just for a few seconds my heart fills with joy to the point of
bursting, before it deflates with disappointment.
The problem with an artist is that the pendulum swings both
ways. When you love with ruthless passion and abandon, you can reach incredible
But eventually it swings back to a dark place.
You can’t have one without the other.
I love you. Not in the way the movies and fairy tales told
I love you in the simple ways.
I love you without condition. I love you without measure or
limit. I love you beyond the definition of the word or its description by poets; in sonnet or song.
I love you.
You make me forget about my past. You make me want my future – to be my right now
My heart is at peace.
My mind is at rest.
The miles that separate us were instrumented by a higher
I choose to be grateful for what I have, not for what I
I am grateful for you.
The Day is Long
I love you as the day is long and the night is dark.
I love you with gestures grand and verbose and with acts
simple and so subtle no one else would notice.
I love you through the dark times when it’s hard and in the
moments and memories left to be made.
I have fallen for you – and I hope to never stop.
The weight of the day is heavy on my eyelids.
The call of sleep is so loud it’s blinding.
But I resist, rest and I hang on to her.
The scent of her hair, the feel of her skin under my
fingertips, the whispery tones of her sleepy voice all fly me to the heavens
while I’m falling into exhaustion.
If I surrender to sleep then the night will be over too soon.
If I give up, then goodnight becomes goodbye.
I wish I could reach up pull the moon back from the horizon
or delay the beauty of the sunrise for just a few moments more.
Another chance for one last touch, one last embrace, one
In the end, I will lose.
I will only have memories, tarnished by a foggy mind as I
sleepwalk through the day wondering what was real and what was a dream.
But right now, I have her, until morning comes to take her
Lost in Mystery
Your eyes hold mystery for me no longer.
I’ve seen your soul.
I’ve tasted your lips.
I’ve whispered the word to unlock your deepest
But I still get lost in your gaze – and I never want to be
No matter how many times my heart gets broken, I will never
stop picking up the pieces. I keep them in a little box by the side of my bed
waiting for the day I find someone to help me put them back together again.
I face my foe on the field of battle with no regret my heart
and no longing in my soul, and therefore I am without fear.
And if your lips are the last thing I taste on this earth,
then heaven holds no mystery for me. For I have already experienced pure bliss
I miss you
It’s not so much that we miss someone.
It’s how we missed
someone. (SUGGEST THAT YOU ITALICIZE ‘how’.)
The longing we have can be felt in our hearts, our minds,
Memories drip slowly from our mouths like warm honey with
Regret haunts every missed opportunity.
For just one more touch.
For just one more kiss.
For just one more memory made before that last goodbye.
It’s Has Always Been There:
Laying under the night sky under millions of stars is awe
inspiring. But to see them, you have to drive out away from the city lights,
away from busy streets, away to a place where phones don’t work and you are
more likely to encounter a deer before a person.
The thing is, the stars are always there. City lights hide
most of them at night; the sun hides all of them during the day. But they never
The sky we stare at with wonder is always there. The
distractions of the world just keep us from realizing the beauty of what is
right in front of us.
An artist’s life
It’s a tortured life being an artist. To create regardless
of feeling or emptiness of heart and soul. The sacrifice of self, because the
instinct to follow the call of “the work” above food, above drink,
above love and above sleep is deafening. It’s the responsibility of the artist
to pour love into the universe for not only themselves, but for all of humanity
… Regardless of the cost.
There is a scar on my hand from a cut I got while setting up
my new bed, in my new apartment, starting a new life.
It has healed, but it’s still there.
It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it won’t ever fade away.
It’s different in tone and texture from the rest of my skin,
but it is still part of my hand.
I can’t imagine what my heart looks like. I am afraid no one
will ever want it again.
I am sleepy from behind my eyes and from the depth of my
I am hungry in a way that cannot be satisfied by food and
thirsty in a way that cannot be satisfied by drink.
My shield is heavy in victory, but I envy the rest and
eternal sleep of my fallen foes.
Their souls are now light and free of the weight of the
world and the limitations of mortality.
Hope is all we have.
Hope conquers worry.
Hope is what get us through the dark until the sun chases
away the night.
Hope is always worth it.
And when we die, let us die with hope still warm on our last