You grabbed my hand on that New Years Eve as I was walking through the hill. Just briefly, in passing, like so much of life.
I was in my big coat, ballin’ out to whatever song, on the tallest mountain I had summited in awhile.

The world felt it, you could feel it, I was magnetic.

I’ve never thought much about how I want others to remember me, but I think I would like it to be that I loved.
And loved and loved and loved.
That, or as the guy who brought the party blowers.

It seemed so big.
From my place under the covers uncertainty coursed through me.
I was owned by what ifs and buts.
But when the clothes finally came off, so sloughed off the worry.
And in the middle of that big stone quarry, the water was cold and I was free.

She told me the moon was balsamic, that it was time to let go. Funny how knowing is one thing and doing is another, how tightly our hearts can hold, how relaxing our grip is the most difficult part. I would rather wait until next week, but then again, the moon is balsamic.

Dear Weak Will,
Trust me, you'll know.

Sincerely,
Strong Will

All most people want is someone to remind them how beautiful they are. I forget sometimes that all of the awe held in my heart for you needs to be spoken. I forget that you don't know the millions of times you’ve danced through my mind for each time I've said the words.

I don't wish I could read minds, I think that would destroy me, but sometimes I wish you could read mine. When it's flush with love and filled with the towering wonder that I know you to be.

To be the Wind; for the Sail it is hard to imagine. A life as the free flowing force of nature he has spent years collecting. But what joy it would be to fly, to blow in every direction at once and fill every crevice you find. The Sail dreams of that some days, but especially on those when the sky is still and he lays slack.

This week I am mostly lost, held adrift by my responsibilities, pushed forward and pulled in. My bones are weary and I forget again what I am searching for, but that is the way of the some times. Just keep moving, then time must too.

Even the Sun has days where it rises slowly, spans where it buries its face in the back of the clouds. Knowing what it means to be a Sun, and too tired to shine like that today.

There is much of life in the slow moments, the waiting and the rain. Just outside the door as you pull all your breath in so you have something to hold. Full and steaming, onward you go.

You think I've forgotten, that you have slipped my mind piece by piece over the months, because that's just how people let the past drift as they move on.

But I still know every part of you. I can feel your moods, your angles, your timing. I remember your mom, your neon art, and your too hard pillows. And I will never forget the way the room shines when you enter.

They told me life was all about flavor per second. That we are built to bite the Popsicle for an instant of glory and forsake the minutes of peace that would come from licking it.

They said we should absorb every bit of beauty as quickly as possible and then rush onward to find more, that a good life is filled with flames and flashes, that the slow burn is overrated. Well I became a bonfire for you, I let it consume me for the first time in years, flavor per second, and now I am ashes in the wind and these tasteless hours have never been longer.

I haven't wanted to punch things in awhile, but today everything looks like a target. I've been told coffee can make you feel that way, like scribbles, with so much to let out and every direction calling.

Right now I am a million colors in a thousand directions let loose across the page, but one by one I will arrange these scribbles into neat orderly lines so I can present you with the beautiful picture I work so hard to be.

I am where the lost things go. In a couch crevice daydream sidewalk journey, out of the sunlight and grasping for home. A sock behind the hamper tossed with abandon, a long forgotten note crumpled and creased from the years. Here I am, stuck in time and place, while the rest of the world goes on.

I'd forgotten how long a day can be, how dark the night, how quiet a house. It's as if the universe was built to have me in this moment the longest. In this place I've found myself, it's as if the bottom was always meant to be endless.

That little sigh, the last exhale of hope. The admission of a reality your brain would not accept, the one you walled your heart from. That little sigh carries so much more than just the air it's made of, hopes and sunshine and all the important bits that make life worth living. All released back into the world for you to start collecting again.

You hold it in lightly in your hands, afraid to poke and prod, unsure of all its newness and how it might react to any given touch. So beautiful and complicated, each and every piece. But you will learn, slowly, slowly.

Their rasping breaths pushed in an out,
The atheists, the blind devouts.
Their fevers peaked a high degree,
A baby boy, a retiree.
Machines were all that kept them here,
In every eye a look of fear.
Their faces plastered with regrets,
It won't be, can't be, over yet.
And in this horror, in these halls,
She took it in, met every call.
Her feet they dragged and her heart reeled,
But with each step her mind she steeled.
"I will be here, I will love you."
As she pushed them to the ICU.

On the edge of dreams I can see it as you see it. She comes to me then, glowing and particular in all the ways she is. You are all in my mind like that, deep in the layers of my brain. Archived and kept, only to be seen when my sleeping self wishes. So I will wait and sleep and hope, and I will see you when I see you.

I've never had plants, never cared for them each day or watered them every other. Yet when you leave it comes to me as instinct, as if I am pouring my love out of that can. My heart cannot forget you no matter the distance.