I’m still counting stars
I think the saddest word in the english language is
We have so many words for sadness
You can count them like stars until you fall asleep,
But almost is
Almost is what could have been.
What almost happened.
So close, and yet so far.
a missed throw
A flat note
a candle blown out before you could pick up any more matches.
She almost lived her dream.
He almost didn’t break the lamp.
They almost had fun today.
He almost missed the train that crashed.
She almost got to the hospital in time.
I almost loved you.
I wonder if you will ever read this?
I wonder if you will ever read this?
You don’t know who you are,
But I do. And you don’t know
Who I am either. Well,
You know what I’ve told you. You know
What you’ve pieced together from my stories
Like a jigsaw puzzle. But if I really told you,
If I ever got up the courage. You would like me
You don’t know what I’m thinking right now. As much
As that would make it easier. As much as I want you to.
You know my name. That’s true,
But really, what else could I say.
If you knew, would you have wanted me to tell you?
I’m not sure.
You don’t know about the you that I do. The
You that holds my hand and walks on the beach with me and
Makes really good cookies. And if you did,
Well I’m not sure what I’d want you to think.
You see, when I write to you, about you, around you,
I really do want you to read it. But I’m afraid that you wouldn’t know it’s you.
I’m even more afraid that you would.
If you ever did read this, you would probably want to know
That it’s about you. You’d probably want me to write out your name.
An action so simple that all it would take would be a few keys. And
Maybe, I should. But
Well I like you.
And I’m never going to tell you that.
I want to be cold
So cold that you could not warm me up even if you had
Twelve patterned blankets
Three pillows (yellow, not the red ones because those are too thin)
Two pairs of fluffy winter socks
One old fraying quilt with the stitches falling out (even though you’ve gone over them with new thread)
Two blue sweatshirts
One broken heating pad
And all of the cut up sweatpants in the world
But I’m not cold
And it’s summer
And much to my dismay,
I will probably not be cold for a long time
I am the
Orange that you left on your windowsill
Three weeks ago
Planning to eat me for lunch
But then you got dinner with a friend at that new cafe
Through the screen of your cracked window
The one with the
Cup beside it
A warm green tinted with red
Like the tile on your kitchen floor
You’re thinking about changing them to blue
And there’s that splotch of brown
The spill from
Yellow coffee cup
The one you forgot to wash and left above the microwave
The one you use
To catch rain
From that pipe in your sink
But you don’t quite have the energy to fix it
Quite have the energy to throw me out
Come with me
take my hand and curl
your fingers around mine.
The road may be dark
but I'll lead the way.
You need not worry,
I have done this many times before-
You know me
all too well.
I will care for you
down this dark and winding path,
lit with broken down street lamps and
lined with cold clouded puddles.
Why do you frown?
I will help you. You need not be afraid.
I will make you better, my friend.
It is alright to ask for help,
I will always be here.
You have a disease,
but that's alright.
I will help you get better.
You are in chaos, my friend,
But I will create order.
I will help you make meticulous rules
So that you never have to worry.
Simply follow the rules,
And you will be fixed.
Getting better will take time,
It’s okay for it to hurt
If it will make you better.
Order is key,
Soon, you will be perfect.
Just listen to me.
Your hollow cheeks will shine
With dedication and a smile
As we walk this path together.
You will be everything you have ever dreamed of;
All you need is my order.
Write it down if you need to,
On every piece of paper you can.
You need me.
I will make you better.
No, don’t pull away,
You know what will happen the moment you stop listening.
You remember the last time, don’t you?
When you stopped listening to me?
It didn’t go well, did it?
Don’t even try to pretend you felt alright.
It may hurt to listen to me, but that was worse.
You need me,
And that’s okay, I won’t judge.
I will be with you
Till the end.
They are standing together
Close enough to hear each others breathing.
Their hands are clasped.
Like the branches of loondi trees that have grown too close together
and need to be seperated.
Their bare feet warm the grass.
Soft toes float like pebbles in a stream
Tied down not by anchored plants
But by heat floating off of their bodies.
The warm starlight gleams yellow across their faces
Echoed by the rivers of constellations in their eyes.
They look far out
Eyes scanning the mountains below
With their flitting purple birds diving low above the deep red grass
To smell tall yellow flowers growing blue in the late season.
Sounds ring out all around them
From the gentle burble of streams
and the tender bending of gleaming leaves to the gentle breeze.
Their masks soft whirr humming like the wings of the smallest insects
The ones that are barely larger thair their palms.
They turn to each other now, smiling from ear to ear,
And a tinkling sound fills the air like a sound long forgotten.
They are so alone here
The only things to have walked upright on these mountains
For a long while.
It has been a long time
since everyone left.
All of us.
Why is it that we can never say it?
The word that hangs over us like a dark cloud
Lightning crackling within its breast.
It stabs at our thoughts,
Repeating over and over again until its
Echoes have left imprints upon our eyelids.
The word spells itself out in our favorite places
Places made of light and dreams and twisting hair in the wind
Wanting to wrap us up within itself and never open its loving arms.
It is the word we see in the alphabet soup
We will most likely never eat.
But we will hold our hands to the sides of the bowl
Letting the warmth sink into our frigid skin.
It is the word etched into some our our arms
Drawn into some of our notebooks
Twisted into some of our ropes.
It is a word made of gargantuan waves
Towering over us on the open water of the sea.
Crashing down upon us and enveloping us within its soft and warm embrace.
It is that word which sends people scrambling for answers
When they even suspect us of acting in it’s torrid love affair.
The word rains down upon us when we feel alone
Showering us in its devoted affections
Drying our tears.
It is the word that kisses our foreheads at midnight
Gently holding out its hand for us to take.
It is the word upon all of our lips
Dripping from our bloodstained hands
Swaying gently in ropes over chairs that have been knocked over
Rolling in our broken and jagged bones
Calling our names from empty bottles upon bathroom cabinets
Fondly running its hands through our waterlogged hair
Soothing us with flames licking at our flesh
Crying our names over the roar of the sea
We are lost lovers destined to meet.
It loves us with everything it has and ever will be
And we love it more.
If I could go anywhere
I’d go to the highest cliff
above the sea.
Covered with spiny bushes
sandy jagged rocks
and rays of sunlight
from the setting sun.
The wind from the sea
swirling sand above
And I’d jump.
Advice for when I live to see tomorrow.
Wrap your warms arms around me
Watch the sunrise with me
Let the colors wash over us.
Listen to the birds chirp in
The new light.
Look up in the middle of the day
And see the moon within the clouds.
Walk on the beach with me
Sand between our toes.
And count the stars with me
Untill I fall asleep
And live to see tomorrow.
Butterflies flit through my heart
And shimmering and
Black and blue and spotted and
Dripping with blood.