i always imagined i would feel different
that i would feel a connection
something irrevocable
i thought i would feel something
but that's not how things turned out
while i felt comfortable
while i laughed
while i talked and made no sense
while i left early
so as to save my grace
i didn't feel different
in the end
i'm still me

I'm too young to feel so tired
so jaded
my eyes shouldn't strain to stay open
and I shouldn't already be addicted to caffeine.
I'm the age of sleepless nights
of staying out late
of having nights blend into mornings
into afternoons
into sunsets.
I'm too young to feel so old.

Silence is a noise and it's deafening when you weren't alone before.

i still listen to your mixes, the ones you made and sent to me from across the globe. the ones you made when we still made each other smile. it's been over a year now and the thought of you only brings the corners of my lips up just a little bit now. you came back, you're not on the other side of the world, but still, all i have left are old songs that you hand-picked because they reminded you of me: "it's a beautiful world," "you really got a hold on me," "dark come soon." dark came soon. dark flitted away. they're just songs to me now.

like a guardian angel
who tries to catch the falling
but is thin as air
they fall through the mist
an unwanted angel
can't catch the fallen
who don't want to be caught

everyone can be saved
not everyone wants to be
sometimes peace is found at the end
at the bottom
when it's over
to some, the hardest part
is what everyone else considers
everday
what everyone else thinks of as
typical

guardians can only protect
those who want to be guarded
otherwise, every map to safety
is colored over
and every save haven
is thwarted
guardian angels hold out their hands
but sometimes
some people
just don't want to reach out

the most important point in my life was when i realized there was no point. i didn't see an overarching goal for life, no end-all, be-all moment to work towards; but what i did see was that life was made up of a bunch of little moments strung together. one moment, one glorious moment, followed by another. and another, and another, until you hit a moment that makes you sick. a moment so rock bottom, you feel physically ill and never want to get out of bed. you just dream dreams of never stepping foot on solid ground again. you dream of just wasting away the rest of your days under the covers because you can't see a point. you live, you work, you die. the golden years passed you by when you weren't noticing and now all you see is a downward spiral. all your fun has been had, all the good has been exhausted. just to lay in bed forever would be better than going outside, better than getting old and forgetting everyone while you slowly fall apart. but to stay in bed forever is to never see another glorious moment.

the most important moment in my life was when i realized i had it all wrong, that i'm not trying to work towards one moment that will magically manifest itself years down the road. the end will come and i will be gone and what i should be working for is making sure i've smiled before then.

what happens when you look down, and your hands aren't your hands? look nothing like you remember they used to? is it an issue with my eyes? can they not see like they used to? so used to dilated pupils searching in the dark. or are my hands changing, my skin darkening without the sun. when i look down, i don't recognize myself. these hands i use everyday for everything, they're foreign. in a lineup, i wouldn't be able to pick them out, save the nail lacquer.

i don't want to write about it
because i don't want to remember it.
the red eyes and stuffy nose,
the excruciating thoughts
of ending it all
having you cry
you make me cry so much
i'm sure you never imagined it would turn out this way
that i would turn out this way
but i did and it's not your fault
i don't blame you for the things i've done
the things that have happened
but i blame you for making me feel pathetic
and worthless
because of it all
that you do have control over
that is your fault
i don't want to write about it.

sore arms
four arms
bruised legs
headaches
hugging toilets
embarrassed
too drunk
to feel
embarrassed
four days
alcohol abuse
short skirts
sidelong glances
busy bars
thank God
the past
repeats
the past
same as always
long visit
last visit
embarrassed
too drunk
to realize
no one realized
everyone was too drunk
i blended in
the photographs
never show
the entire picture

i wear sweaters in summer
because the warmth passes through me
as if i'm a ghost
taking up no space.
perpetually chilled
i huddle into myself
and place myself into the sun's rays
to no avail.
to no raise in my temperature.
ghosts feel nothing
touch nothing
leave nothing
behind.
i am not a ghost
but i can't get warm.
i feel warmth
but can't retain it.
i wear sweaters
so i don't freeze
in the depth of summer.

stay awake at night and watch the stars. they ebb and flow like our oceans only we can barely notice that with our eyes. we barely notice a lot of things where those stars are concerned. by the time we see them, they've exploded and died. what we see is the memory of them. in memoriam in the sky.
the skies tell a story we only ever pay attention to during the day. we watch the clouds form pictures and we watch planes with wistful eyes - daytime's shooting star. the sun blazes and we take notice, but the moon glows and we rest.
maybe the moon is okay with simply guiding our dreams, casting soft glows as we slumber, but i want to do it justice. it lights up the nights, we should at least explore the world in its shades of grey. at least delve around inside what night has to offer before leaving. can life even be a life if time's never spent outside in the dark? dancing on sidewalks under the black summer sky, feeling night's breeze - different from day's - dance on your skin. stay awake at night because life wasn't meant to be spent asleep half the time.

if pangaea never broke,
we'd never be too far from one another.
the shortest distance
between two people
would be whichever streets
they chose to walk.
instead of datelines
we'd cross timelines
our points intersecting,
merging and melding.
planes would be unnecessary,
for the country could be
would be
criss-crossed with train tracks
and highways.
if pangaea never broke
there'd be no water separating us anymore.
my land would be your land.
our languages would only be
a few dialects apart
meaning our native tongues
would make sense to one another.
we'd make sense to one another.
there's something nonsensical
about the way we are,
feeling as though a body of water
is enough to separate us all.
is enough to make us believe
that our wants and desires aren't the same.

if pangaea never broke
we'd see ourselves as the solitary race
we are.
we wouldn't think of it as
us and them.
but us. just us.
we'd never be too far from each other,
so we'd see the effects of our actions sooner.
like a wave across the continent.
if our countries were connected
our people would be connected
and even though we're all connected
right now
anyway
no one sees it that way
but they would
if pangaea never broke.

love me, because it's not simple and you don't want someone who is. love me, because it's hard and you want, you relish, the challenge.
i'm in one day and want out another. i can be close, then distant. i constantly fight the dichotomy inside, i struggle. i am two opposing forces at once. who can love someone like that?
i don't open easily, but rather, use sarcasm as a weapon, as a fence. fences are dangerous. more so than what they try to keep out sometimes. sometimes it's more of what the fence is trying to rein in. to protect the public from. don't trespass for your own good. it's you who suffers after you were properly warned to stay back.
my love, though, is endless and knows no bounds. i give freely and don't always expect a return, though one would be nice. part of me gives and gives with reckless abandon while the rest of me knows better, equips me with a quick wit, starts building fences. my love is water. it can save, it can take away. there are two sides to my story. to every story.
love me, though it hasn't existed for me yet and i'd like to feel it one day. love me, though it hasn't existed for me yet because i've tried everything that has. love me, though it hasn't existed for me yet so that it will.
love me.

betray me
speechless
when i need your voice the most
empty-minded
hollow like a cave
save for the slumbering bear
i need to arise
winter's dead
and now it's gone
spring has sprung
yet you leave me
speechless
when i need your voice the most

dreary cold has dissipated
and warmth
and bright
should fill the orifices of your cave
should tickle the bear
so it roars to life
roar to life
shatter the walls
break through the confines
speak
don't betray me

it's difficult sometimes to look back
for some reason, all you see
is the last thing you want to remember.
like the time i made a fool out of myself
and was the only one laughing at the end.
when i look back,
i don't want to see that first off
it sours me to my past
which i only ever think of as sweet.
it's made me who i am
where i am
it's all based on where i've been
metaphorically and geographically
but i don't immediately remember those stories,
the origins of me include them all,
even the stories that make me cringe.
the bad things always stick
even years down the road
but thankfully they aren't the only things
that leave an impression.
the bad things always stick
but they're strung together
along with the good.
they're the yards of rope that will save
you when you've fallen over the precipice
and need a way back up.
it's difficult to look back
but if it gets too hard
you can always face forward.

some people pass through your life fleetingly, but manage to leave a stronger imprint than those who dwell for longer. sometimes all it takes is one perfectly crafted sentence, one question that comes through the alcoholic haze to truly wake you up. some moments are supposed to initially scare you, leave you clutching your valuables while sweet-talking the fear.
sometimes one moment with one stranger can be the moment you've been waiting for. unknowingly, they bring to you the question you've been asking yourself, but not recognizing. sometimes it takes that one person to make you realize what it's all about, what you learned and what you hope to learn. some people pass through your life- and they ask the most important questions.

it's not going to change your life if you're looking for it to be life-changing
those things happen when
you least expect it
or you actively seek change.
passively hoping you've found it, that it'll do the work
doesn't work.
you can't just sit around and wait for your life to change.
it'll just pass you by instead.

drenched in sunlight, but still your pale, milky white
your cold initially bites but is soon followed by warmth
cool our blood, comfort our covered skin
blanket our earth for as long as you can
soon you'll no longer surround our knees
but gliding in light waves, approach our ankles
cutting a path through blades of yellowed grass
first you trickle, then gain speed
first you move alone, then en masse
start as a stream, slowly become a river
gush through our yards and down our neighborhood streets
turn our homes into islands and the surrounding sidewalk into beach
blue skies overhead, grey water at our feet
i'll lay my bones by your icy shore
so you can wash them clean

defining moments don't present themselves as such until after the moment is gone. big decisions only seem big in the light of a new day. reliving a defining moment is easy: just think back to a time where everything changed. a time when you no longer were the person you once were. think back and remember a time that, at one time, seemed like nothing special. the big times come and go with a whimper, we only attribute the bang when we look back. foolishly, we live life moment to moment, only looking back when we catch ourselves in the mirror. through the looking glass you see age lines and wisdom. you see that you are no longer the person you once were. so you look back, stare through the mirror, into your past, pinpointing the decision that changed you. reliving a defining moment in your history is something you do when you're in the future. we pretend and present ourselves with these moments as explanations. the truth is there are no defining moments, but a lifetime of definitions.

restful sleep regardless

the rocking of the train leads me to dreams. soundtracked by calming signer songwriters, sometimes i open my sleepy eyes to catch glimpses of the belgian countryside. covered in snow, the view is pristine and i pull my coat closer, as if i could feel the wind's chill through the plate glass windows. sleep on a fast train is different than that in bed. sitting, your head against the window, you can almost feel every nook in the tracks. every leaf, every bit of snow that found itself under the wheels. falling asleep on a fast train, your dreams are invaded by every sound, every conversation. all of a sudden, you dream in italian, then japanese. you translate your dreams subconsciously. you translate your dreams however you want to. the rocking of the trains puts me to sleep, and as much as i want to watch the landscape pass me by, i give in. all you need are those sleepy glances out the window amid dreams anyway.

with each departure, the next one feels easier. instead of dissipating, my wanderlust increases with the addition of a new stamp in my passport. twenty-three years, and i'm finally beginning my own journey. my goal of hitting every corner of the earth is underway. south in summer? north in winter? flock to where the wind takes me. two weeks away, soaking up a culture completely alien to me. time at home to process. put everything in order and realize completely just how much i loved what i did. in the moment, everything compares to everything else. looking back and i see everything as it truly was.

with each departure, i need a homecoming. i can't do months away - hit every corner in one jumble of a trip. this aspect of my life i'll do in pieces. break up the world tour so i'm not overwhelmed, or worse, comparing everything to the first city.

my wanderlust will never dry up, i'll never be a static character in my own story. two weeks away, growth and new insights. i have to come home to share it, i can't keep it bottled up. i'm a door waiting to be opened, a secret waiting to be shared.

we grew up worlds apart

my first language

is your fourth

you've seen more of the world

up close

all the countries i fly over

you walk through

we're from different worlds

comparable to different planets

rotating around a common sun

two nights

all we had

all we'll ever have

worlds apart

and i don't know a lick of your

first language

but you tell me it's okay

some of our words

are the same

in the depths of winter, my soul reaches farther than the oldest cellar. your wide-eyed stares take in my cold interior, darkened by the lack of sun and cooled by the wind that regularly rushes through. catch your breath, it's visible when you exhale. numb noses and chapped lips. int he depths of winter, you can reach the depths of me. climb farther down, my warm air sinks. closer to the core, where my heart radiates from, climb down. warmer, getting warmer. in the stark, bare, center of winter, you can find heat if you dig a little deeper. if you play in my foundations, discover my secrets. in the depths of winter, i leave my doors open.

sometimes all it takes is one snowy night with a view overlooking the city. that's all it takes - and you're in love. with a city, a night, a life, a love. one night climbing a snowy, slippery hill to realize how slippery everything is - and there need to be more nights, and days, like this. more cups of coffee overflowing into sliding down a carless street with people who do nothing but smile crooked smiles. the language of night is universal, and crosses time zones. cross more time zones. learn how to say "kiss" in more tongues. sometimes all it takes is one snowy night to make you fall in love with snow. to fall and laugh at the bottom. one breathtaking nighttime view of a city is all you need. everyone should be so lucky.

no one deserves a tragedy. surrounded by bloodshed and tears is not somewhere anyone should be. broken bones and ripped muscles are better as metaphors. tragedy isn't understandable, it happens without cause or reason. i can talk myself into believing most things, but physical hurt and destruction escape me. escape my words. i can't talk it away. no one can. no one should have to.

a beautiful setting and a gorgeous man do not a good story make. together, alone, they are a skeleton. the bones of life minus the meat. a beautiful setting, a backdrop of greens and blues is aesthetically pleasing but emotionless. passion does not lie solely in architecture, in swatches of nature. alone, it provides the outline to your story. and the gorgeous man is but only a single player. interesting for only so long. interesting until he's not.

good stories are comprised of more. dialogue, complex characters, motive, emotion, passion. extreme love, lust, desire, hate, disgust. a story worthy of your time runs the gamut. making you sad, so you appreciate happiness. causing heartache to highlight the heartsmiles.

a beautiful setting and a gorgeous man are but two parts to a greater whole. two bones in the skeleton. a colorful backdrop plus one character can only take you so far. not far. not far enough. one man can only provide you with so much. one facet of everything your good story, your great and complete story, needs. life can not be lived like a static character. unmoving, unchanging.

a good story deserves beautiful settings and a gorgeously good to you, good for you, cast. you were born to live in settings too beautiful for words with people who take your breath away.

don't waste that breath on just anything.

warm colors

ringing bells filtering through windows

dinner's soundtrack.

lulled to sleep

the hum of cars driving by

the sound of horns and late night passersby

punctuating dreams

making them seem more real.

late night

cold enough to be wrapped up

warm enough to only use sheets

warm colors everywhere

sounds all over, all the time

comforting

enveloping

filtering

lulling

dreaming.

warm air blowing through windows

warm air blowing in my dreams.

don't be sad for me.

i know i haven't found your happiness

but i am happy.

don't wish the best for me

out of pity

i have the best for me

in spite

of the sideways glances

and the reassuring embraces.

i haven't found what you have

but our maps were different.

mine led me to endless horizons,

of chasing the sun over the dateline.

i want to fall asleep and wake up

on the other side of the world.

wish that for me.

wish for safe travels and many departures.

don't be sad for me

i found my version of your happiness.

for now.

my map is still changing

i'm still chasing the endless horizon

and one day i'll close my eyes

fall asleep

and maybe my dream will have aligned with yours

you won't have to be sad for me any longer.

my veins will be your map, guiding you to my center. every ounce of blood in me runs through my heart at some point. follow the flow, find the source. my veins will be your guide.

i bleed and my heart beats faster, trying to stem the flow. rush blood to where i need it most, don't let me bleed out. don't let me bleed dry. my heart knows when i'm torn and works harder to stem the flow.

my body, like myself, is not perfect. i break. i ache. i pull myself together, sometimes i let it all go. my body is not perfect. i break. i am broken.

my body is resilient. i am broken, there are ways to fix me. sew me. repair me. i'm never beyond repair. not until i'm not. my body will eventually jump back. it is resilient.

my veins will be your lamppost, illuminating your path. a sea of red. the color of the flame to guide you on your way. deeper. further. down to my very core. my veins will be your lamppost. offer stability, offer light.

every ounce of blood in me circulates. it sees everything, goes everywhere. follow the flow and you'll see all of me. follow the flow, find the source.

my heart. surrounded by a moat of blood, an armor of bones. find my center, find my heart. drenched in my blood, embrace me. my veins were your guide, they never steered you wrong. in my heart, in my center, do right by your guide. do right by me. do right.