Love & Misadventure

It happens like this. "One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else--closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel--one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them--even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering--the reason for their presence will become clear in due time." Though here is a word of warning--you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more. ------------------------------------------------- It's so dark right now, I can't see any light around me. That's because the light is coming from you. You can't see it but everyone else can.

It was a question I had worn on my lips for days - like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn't resist pulling - despite knowing it could all unravel around me. "Do you love me?" I ask. In your hesitation I found my answer.

What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude. It was like being exhumed, I answered, and brought to life in a flash of brilliance. What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy. It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence. What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow. There was a long pause before I responded: It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me—said all at once.

You were you, and I was I; we were two before our time. I was yours before I knew, and you have always been mine too.

In her eyes, the sadness sings—of one who was destined, for better things.

We had no ending, no said goodbye. For all my life, I'll wonder why.

Before I fell in love with words, with setting skies and singing birds— it was you I fell in love with first.

When words run dry, he does not try, nor do I. We are on par. He just is, I just am and we just are

I had my first dream about you last night. Really? She smiles. What was it about? I don't remember exactly but the whole time I was dreaming, I knew you were mine.

Do you remember the song that was playing the night we met? No, but I remember every song I have heard since you left.

We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock in unison.

Just Friends I know that I don't own you, and perhaps I never will, so anger when you're with her, I have no right to feel I know that you don't owe me, and I should ask for more; I shouldn't feel so let down, all the times when you don't call What I feel—I should show you, so when you're around I won't; I knwo I've no right to feel it but it doesn't mean I don't.

Do you know what it is like, to lie in bed awake; with thoughts to haunt you every night, of all your past mistakes. Knowing sleep will set it right - if you were not to wake.

But it was now time for her to go away—to find someone who could show her what happiness was.

As a kid, I would count backwards from ten and imagine at one, there would be an explosion–perhaps caused by a rogue planet crashing into Earth or some other major catastrophe. When nothing happened, I'd feel relieved and at the same time, a little disappointed. I think of you at ten; the first time I saw you. Your smile at nine and how it lit up something inside me I had thought long dead. Your lips at eight pressed against mine and at seven, your warm breath in my ear and your hands everywhere. You tell me you love me at six and at five we have our first real fight. At four we have our second and three, our third. At two you tell me you can't go on any longer and then at one, you ask me to stay. And I am relieved, so relieved–and a little disappointed.

In time she will learn, not to miss them.

I thought you were a keeper, I wish I could have kept you.

What was it like to lose him?" Asked Sorrow. There was a long pause before I responded: It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me—said all at once.

Beauty's Curse Her bow is drawn to worlds of dark, where arrows spring and miss their mark— she'll turn their heads but not their hearts.

Like time suspended, a wound unmended-- you and I. We had no ending, no said goodbye; For all my life, I'll wonder why.

For the past has taught to not be caught, in what is not worth pursuing—

A marker drawn to show our end, is etched into its line. The briefest moment shared with you—the longest on my mind.

The Wanderer What is she like? I was told— she is a melancholy soul. She is like the sun to the night; a momentary gold. A star when dimmed by dawning light; the flicker of a candle blown. A lonely kite lost in flight— someone once had flown.

A Stranger There is a love I reminisce, Like a seed I've never sown. Or lips that im yet to kiss, and eyes not met my own. Hands that wrap around my wrists, and arms that feel like home. I wonder how it is I miss, these things I've never known.

I don't think all writers are sad, she said. I think it's the other way around— all sad people write.

But it's perplexingly sweet, and quite sexy too— to be ignored, ignored by you.

Shrinking in a corner, pressed into the wall; do they know I'm present, am I here at all? Is there a written rule book, that tells you how to be— all the right things to talk about— that everyone has but me? Slowly I am withering— a flowered deprived of sun; longing to belong to— somewhere or someone.

The briefest moment shared with you— the longest on my mind.

Before the tears that tore us, when our history was before us.