Perpetuating a Good Thing

Stillness and a long stretch of road. Time has finally passed. I still think of you, only it's different now. Where you were once an overwhelming scream in my head you are now a whisper felt in breezes and moonlight. 

[And occasionally I still have conversations with you in my mind]

Peace and a blue and white marble sky. I carry pain differently now. Like a caged bird I sing into heaven. I cannot fly to you but maybe you'll hear my song. It's a hope I never knew I needed.

Pomp and Circumstance

Okay. Enough of this poetic tragedy that I have all over this blog. I don't know why I even started that. Honestly i don't even really know how to blog. Like, how am I suppose to make my page all cute and stuff? Or how do I add pictures? These are all things I need to figure out. But. I have decided to start actually adding things here to update the three of you who read this. (hi aunts!) Good time to start too, I just graduated with my freaking degree. I think that's pretty cool but we'll see what the big-bad-"real"-adult-[world] has to say about that.

I can't wait, however, for people to ask me what year I graduated. Usually people mean high school but they never specify, so I will respond with the answer of "2009" instead of my old "2004" high school answer and they will assume I mean high school.
"Oh, I"m sorry, I thought you meant college. Yeah. I graduated that."
 I can't blame them though.   I mean, come on, I look more like I'm 18 than 24.

Which is fine.

I wish I could of graduated college when I was 18 though -so that I could still go save the world AND get married. Now I have choose between the two. Because. Apparently my ovaries are aging.

I open the door. It creaks. The wood smells of history and I can see dust strolling in the strands of sunlight that is coming through thick glass windows. It's warm. The small isolated house is empty. Except one room. Upstairs. It's filled with sunlight and the view from the window reveals the endless fields and trees. On the floor of the room is one lone mattress. A big one- frosted with old pillows and blankets. It's here that I decide to lay down. In my white sun dress I sprawl out, trying to cover any empty spot.
I fail.
I've been here many times before. To the place where we began but never finished. No matter how many times I go back it's still the same:
I'm too late.
But I keep going because when I'm here I cannot locate time- not a single decade, year, month, day, hour- not even a minute. Which is where I lost you.

I keep hoping you'll be here.
Lost.
With me.
But no.
I'm too late.

As always, the sun begins to set. The crickets begin to call. I leave that room and find myself sitting on the haunted planks of the deserted porch.

Staring down the stars.
Jealous of the moon.

A silent breeze caresses me. For a second I swear I can feel you.
But no.
It's empty.
Because I know where you are. You're thousands of miles away from this place. In a home.

Complete.
With furniture.
With her.

And me?
I'm here
               except.
I'm too late.

It never lasts long. They taunt as they fall. I believed in their colors; the light they reflected. I thought it was real. Alive. Green.

But it never lasts long.

Never as long as the dullness, the absence, the cold. Everything undressed and exposed as it really is. Dead. Grey.

It always lasts long.
Always

Perhaps

Perhaps I’ve already met you,
Perhaps you know my name.
Suppose we’ve been acquainted
An importance without fame

What if forever started
Back on some unwritten day?
Neither of us knowing of
The fact that you would stay

Maybe now I’m looking
Directly at your face.
Maybe we’re both praying
For each other’s saving grace.

Perhaps then there’s a reason
For the handshakes and “hellos”
To one day never say “good bye”
For the one day when we know.

Let's Run To

Let’s run to

Because we’re not running away
From anything.
We are running to something.
We are not leaving
we’re going
Coming
Arriving
In route anyways.

Let’s not run away.
Bring the past with us
Let’s throw it into the open future
and
run to it.

I’ll bring mine
And you bring yours
Wasn’t that the point?

Let’s stop speaking of it
Sacrifice.
We get more
That is
Than we give.

So let’s run to.

Because we can.
and because we should
for no other reason in the world
other than ours.
Lets run to it.

Throw open the doors
Don’t leave a note

Run
Skip
Swim
FLY
Anything
Together
Someway
We’ll run to.


Forever.
Into colored suns
And silver stars
We don’t leave the world
Simply
We create it

Ready when you are

Let’s run to.

Everything will be alright

october 2006

It’s raining. In my rage I look up at the empty dark sky. The night stars are falling and they land on my face. I feel angry. Why is it that everyone has gone, everything has changed, yet here I am, stuck? I feel an irritation towards the sky. I want to rip every star from it’s nook and place it in a new constellation that seems to fit the amount of change that has happened. It is fair or safe that there is something so constant as the stars? It’s false hope. When was there ever actual stability in a wish hosted by a shooting star? Yet night after night I continue to look up. There’s the big dipper, Orion’s belt, the seven sisters. Still, holy, and real. But I feel lied to, slightly bewitched. But then, always, the whisper that follows the light, “Everything will be alright.” And somehow, it always is.