We are born looking, but love is not found.

It is cultivated.

Love germinates when physical attraction is past,

yet one is even more drawn.

Love sprouts in soil enriched with decomposing lusts and infatuations.

Love takes root when nothing unshared matters,

when you make her laugh

because you must see her smile,

and when those tender affections bear fruit that resemble her,

and you… improved.

Love comes when two discover a common goal, and dream.

When they strive toward that goal together, as a team.

When that dream is right there, finally within their grasp!

When nothing short of death can keep it from being achieved together…

and even death can only postpone the inevitable.

Here we have sifted through the hourglass sands to find love.

And it was time well spent.

It sat on a small table by the window. To catch the sun's rays, Granny always said.

Lily was never allowed to touch it. It holds all our secrets, love. Better they stay in there. Lily knew she didn't want Granny to know it was she who had eaten the last cookie, or who had crushed Granny's herbal plants chasing butterflies...so she kept her distance.

But she would spend long sunmer hours lost in the stained glass swirls that seemed to slide across the wall on beams of sunlight. Laying on the elderwood oak floor, she would hold her hands up and marvel at the way the colors created patterns of slithering snakes or burgeoning butterflies or, once, a phoenix rising. She would entertain herself with stories about the fairies caught inside whose effervescent wings created the colorful designs that so delighted her. And whose magic kept their secrets safe.

Sometimes Granny would listen to Lily's stories. She even made her crowns of flowers and wings of leaves so she could be the princess fairy of her dreams as she danced in the light of the jar. Some days she'd tell her own. As they pulled weeds or Granny baked, she would enthrall Lily with tales of beautiful little creatures in the woods that granted wishes to the foolish, stole pretty little girls for their own, whose wings could sing as they flitted amongst the flowers, sipping the colors, absorbing the light. Who lived forever. Lily hung on every word.

Until she didn't.

As she got older, she visited Granny less, until she stopped going at all. She forgot about those forays into a world of light and magic. And secrets.

Until her mom called to let her know Granny had passed and asked could she come for the funeral. You were always her favorite, darling.

After the funeral, they all went back to Granny's house at the edge of the woods to eat and grieve. As Lily sat in the living room, mourning the years she had let slip by without visiting, she felt her eyes drawn to the table by the window. Her eyes widened as a surfeit of memories overwhelmed her. Someone's young daughter was reaching out to touch the jar. The jar. She was across the room before she could think, picking up the curious child.

Mustn't touch the jar, love, she whispered. It holds all our secrets. Best to leave them there. Okay?

Looking down at the little girl, Lily froze at the kaleidoscope of colors swirling in her eyes.

Too late, the child replied in a singsong voice not her own.

Lily slid to the floor. Before she lost consciousness, she heard Granny's voice, tinged with sadness. I had always hoped it would be you....

Some say I'm the friendliest girl they've ever met.

The sweetest person in the world.

I love to spread kindness in person and online.

I'm always surrounded by so many people who know me or know of me.

I know people or know of them, too, but, do I truly have a friend?

For 24 years, 11 months, and 2 days, I've been a friendly person, but my only true friends are my parents, my siblings, and God. I tell myself that I don't need anyone else, but deep down, there's a longing.

Two has always been my favorite number. Perhaps, it's the whisper of a forgotten fantasy.

My fantasy doesn't have to be romantic at all (though I'm not opposed to that type of friendship possibly manifesting eventually). At the moment, I simply desire true friends. I know I may be considered 'popular', but that's not what I mean. There are people who like my posts and follow me on social media. There are folks in several online communities who frequently converse with me. I have acquaintances and individuals around town I see on the regular basis. Like neighbors, we nod and bid each other 'good day'. They tell me how it's a joy to see me, how I'm always so nice and pleasant. Still, there is a distance. A strange distance that makes me feel like I'm a friendly friendless.

You may wonder how it's possible for someone who is so friendly not to actually, you know, have friends. I wonder this myself. I call myself a friend to all, but then don't many say 'a friend to all is a friend to none'? How can this be helped?

My fantasy is for a like-minded someone to reciprocate what I've projected. Someone to chat with about fun things and even deeper subjects. Someone to connect souls with, to pour my heart into and let pour into me. Someone to laugh with and cry with and play with and love. It doesn't have to be every single day. Just someone somewhere who reaches a hand out every now and again...

...or takes hold of the one that's been held out into the void for 24 years, 11 months, and 2 days.

“It’s cold.

I think I needed you here.”

\ Message sent \

I tucked my cell phone back in my pocket and folded my legs enough to lift them up a little higher to make them rest on the bus seat and clutched my right arm around the head rest which was partly cotton flesh and partly cold callous steel, a bare reminder to make me miss his absence more. I carried black hot latte in my left hand but it barely made any difference.

Windows showed no signs of empathy; I could relive my old bus school days drawing lousy

shapes only if my gloves could have allowed. Soon after I realized that my sitting position

resembled a pyramid of cashmere designating that my eyes were on bait with this bizarre

weather.

I could feel the warmth leave the bus like someone’s last letter to his lover from the last

droplets of his ink as soon as people started to take their leave. I surveyed a little through

the atmosphere and could plumb the only scent of humans which reeked of fatigue and

stuffed fabric. I counted the totality of 14 including myself.

“5 more stops to go”, a familiar voice whispered and my subconscious confirmed. I looked

behind but my eyes went foggy. HOW COULD HE POSSIBLY NARRATE MY EXACT

HALT? HOW COULD I MISS TO COUNT ONE MORE HUMAN EXACT BEHIND MY

BACK? My skin follicles stirred up into needles and pins. That voice seemed neither

unfamiliar nor welcomed.

‘Did you check your notification, Valeria?’

THAT VOICE AGAIN! THE VOICE!!! ADAM? BUT HE DIED LAST YEAR.

“It’s cold. I think I needed you here.’

“NO STOP!!!! WHO ARE YOU?” Why did the weather go so hefty I can’t see...? ADAM? You

can’t be? My hands bowled over to unmask his cloudy face.

“I’m here, Vale. Right in front of you“

My entire body froze like an effigy of cadaver. The crisp of the steel could no longer be felt.

He sure was Adam.

ATTIC LAKE HOUSE, AREA 76. The beep buzzed. So my eyes did win the bait. I looked

back once again before departing the bus and smiled. Adam was here.

I’m waiting for my liver to finally fucking die

I’ll have an excuse, but they’ll still ask why

why did she do it

she couldn’t get through it

i thought that she loved me

but i guess i was wrong

no you weren’t wrong

my heart bled for you

you have no idea what your mother went through

knowing that I’m hurting you

and don’t know what to do

except drink my pain away

and i know you’re gonna say

THAT’S A SHITTY THING TO DO

AND I AGREE WITH YOU

but yeah i did it anyway

and now I’m dead

and i know you got these questions

and answers you are seeking

so these poems are for my children

when the grave is whose speaking

Stop.

Look around.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Open your eyes.

No, actually open your eyes.

…Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken.

What you’re seeing right now

Is the back of your eyelids.

The burning intensity,

Overwhelmingly painful darkness

And infinite nothingness

Of the back of your eyelids.

…Oh, really? Are you sure?

Because if your eyes were already open,

I would think that by now

You would’ve noticed

The soft clover underneath you

Splashed with violets;

The arm around your shoulder

Warming your shaking body as you cry.

You would have seen the sun

Rising through your window this morning

As you struggled to revive your tired mind,

And you’d have watched fiery light bounce off the sleek fur

Of your loyal fluff-armored protector guarding your pillow,

Ever-dozing, but always with one eye open.

You would have caught a glimpse

Of the prisms of color

That danced between the sparkling droplets

Last night when it rained.

You’d have been entranced

By the rippling reflections they left on the concrete

That mirrored the sky, swirling with the stars of van Gogh.

Open your eyes, little one.

Witness the beauty of the little moments

That dot every second of your existence.

So. Whenever you’re ready…

I agree with the elite that the Earth beneath has become replete with 7 billion humans who are more bitter than sweet.

What an amazing feat how we continue to repeat lessons not yet learned which cause us defeat.

Many with no home save a box on a street...some square of concrete....confused and disarmed by the child inside whose parents did mistreat....

An equal number of people having a whole different spreadsheet...one with a family and mortgage and debt and a marriage complete with an affair they believe is discreet.

Then, you add in all this extra heat. Here in the south winter is obsolete.

Having said that I would love to meet the policy makers who hold an upper seat and get to play god naming us chaff while they think themselves wheat.

Why do they get to decide who should live and who should die? Who should be sterilized and robbed of the dream of creating new life?

Is it because they own the world's money which can afford them this lie? Afford them the ability to turn a blind, evil eye?

I sigh.

I don't cry.

And there is no fucking point in asking them why because this is truth it is no lie, they do have a name for you and I.

Useless Eaters.

“When you hold my hand, I understand

The magic that you do

You're my dream come true

My one and only you, only you”

I’m so glad to be with you always

For I cherish every time we held hands

Those sweet kisses we exchange

You’re the one that I love!

Thank you for staying here with me

But I know that this is not all sweet

We can face our problems together

And live out with love for the rest of our days.

“When you hold my hand, I understand

The magic that you do

You're my dream come true

My one and only you, only you”