Time is just a funny
A blessing & a curse.
Why is it
that there are days where life feels incredibly
There are days where the alarm goes off
and you lay in bed
wrestling with emotions,
battling between responsibility and exhaustion.
There are days that before you even start it, you want nothing in the world
more than for it to be over.
And suddenly life feels too long.
How is it
that there are days when life feels too short?
You wake up
you roll over,
close your eyes,
and just breathe for once.
There are moments
days that should never end.
Time spent in the company of your favorite people,
laughing, loving, living.
Time spent lost in a crowd of strangers,
losing control, losing stress, losing it.
Time spent in the arms of someone you love more than anything,
time spent admiring the things you miss when you get older,
time spent living instead of just mindlessly existing,
pushing through the same bullshit every day.
That’s the time I want to live in,
that’s the time that makes me feel like life is too short.
And that’s what I will get myself to look forward to
when the mornings are bitter,
when the alarm makes me want to scream,
when the day hurts,
when breathing in itself seem unnatural and forced,
It’s harder than you think.
I feel like I’m always out of time
or running out of it.
There’s never a day with an hour
a minute, a second
Everything is repetition.
Open your eyes.
Go through the day
with a numbing pain
that makes time stand still;
yet it still feels like everything
is just rushing by.
Open your eyes.
The day is over.
The week, the month, the year.
Close your eyes.
The fire scares me,
yet the burn,
the heat, is so familiar
it is so concrete
My eyes can’t take it anymore
they burn with anger for me,
they burn with sadness for me.
In the chaos of noise I find a deafening silence.
In the loneliness of the crowded room, I find sudden solitude within myself.
And it is so goddamn desolate.
I met a girl;
she was hardly ever without a smile.
the envy seeped out of my pores,
what was her secret?
I thought she was perfect;
I know a girl;
she sees the stars for what they really are.
When others see
she sees souls. She sees lost loved ones,
the flames of the people we’ve lost.
I’ve loved a girl;
every day has been an adventure.
sometimes she retreats to the past
but with so much hope for the future,
all I can do is
watch and learn.
I’ve often thought I’d found the most beautiful things in the world,
I thought I had found things I could stare at for the rest of my life.
Things like the sunrise & sunset,
The ocean kissing the shore,
Snow falling on the quiet ground,
The smallness of the world from an airplane window,
And the world of clouds when your miles up.
But taking off in an airplane,
On a saturday afternoon,
I try to indulge myself in one of these things,
Only to turn and find that I was wrong
For watching a smile grow across your face,
The way your lips curl,
Your eyes lighten
Is certainly the most perfect thing
And I could spend my whole life looking.
I don’t know.
I guess there isn’t always an explanation, is there?
Sometimes you have to wing it,
and assume that what you’re doing is right.
I’ve heard many people say,
sometimes doing the right thing isn’t doing the right thing.
I don’t know.
I guess that’s why you have friends and family,
to show you, by example, what is right and what is wrong.
But you have to make mistakes, otherwise their failures are their failures;
not your own. You don’t always need a reason to wake up in the morning.
I don’t know.
I guess it helps, though, to have a reason for being.
Most days are usually spent doing what you must do.
Not doing what you want to do, what you feel is necessary
for your own sanity.
But you have to ask yourself, what is sanity?
I don’t know.
I guess we’ll find out.
Sometimes I wonder why
these words will never leave
My chest heaves with the intensity
of the need to release
I know you can’t handle
the thought of.
The sight of.
The sound of.
Sometimes when I’m alone,
I wonder if you are too.
I wonder if you’re thinking
what I’m thinking.
Sometimes I can taste your lips
on my tongue.
I can feel your touch
on my skin.
Sometimes when I see photographs,
and think about the times we’ve had,
I wonder if you remember them
the same way that I do.
Sometimes I think about when
we used to argue.
Why did we?
Sometimes I regret
being who I was
I find such absolute comfort in the numbness that accompanies winter.
When the lack of feeling that spreads across the shell matches what is buried inside.
I love the howling winds, the way people stay inside.
I find comfort in the sweet silence of the cold.
The numbness of your face, your fingertips, your lungs.
I find comfort in the look of visible breath.
I enjoy the silence. The uninterrupted quiet of the mind in unison with the world.
There is no dissonance.
I love the way people begin to be grateful for the warmth of the sun on their cheeks, the warmth of another soul, another body.
The silence of winter is never congruent with peace.
It’s a reflection. A quiet mouth is a chaotic mind.
The howling wind, the screaming thoughts.
The way coldness takes your chin into its hands, makes you look up and endure his ice with a silent smirk or an endless scream. Makes you pay attention.
Coldness grabs the mind, it silences the mouth.
It creates focus.
It kisses your lips before you are reunited with warmth, and yet for the next half an hour you’re still fruitlessly attempting to shake the feeling.
It presses the sun away, welcomes in the darkness. Welcomes people’s fears, people’s thoughts, their longings.
You will always be there
One hand on my heart
Fingers wrapped delicately around its strings.
You know just when to
As a cautious reminder
That you will always be there
In the back of my mind
The corners of my heart
The crevices of my soul.