And if  I were being honest with myself,
I'd say how much I miss him,
Draw his fingers on my notebook.

If I were feeling brave enough,
I'd tell you about the colour of his bare skin,
tell you how beautiful he was when the light poured in.

If I could bear to think about it,
I'd crawl through the spaces in my head, where love leaked in,
And stay a while.

If I were being honest with myself,
I'd admit how
I was actually on the brink
of giving him my love

or


that i did.

I'd paint his picture,
late at night in my room
he sitting in the sunlight facing me like god.

But --

I'm working a lot these days, trying to save for a car,
and there's no time for this sadness,
or so i tell myself.


and I'm filling my nights with grey smoke
and big groups of people,

or quiet reading.

And if i were being honest with myself,
beyond the layers of love,
I'd tell you about how underneath,
there is a tired heart,
and how it's little rivers of gold

are slowly fading.

We are growing together an album of stars,
of countries, and oceans and freckles and scars,
of songs in new tongues and new airs that we've breathed,
mountains carved with rivers and divergent trees.

There's nowhere we're going and everywhere to be,
We spend days chasing lookouts or swimming in seas,
We learn from the people we meet in the streets,
We fade out our clothes and wear out our feet.

And every time my toes meet new earth,
and I discover a new corner of the universe,
I glance back behind me and your eyes see it too:
Nowhere is everywhere when I'm with you.

Some people have
Only heard of the ocean

I stood there imagining being
Brought under, the feeling of
Panic for those few short
Moments as you are tossed around
With no way to tell which way is
Up, wishing to be brought back
To the safer depths of the ocean, but
You are spit back up
To the beach, as both the sand and the
Wave that just carried your
Panicked body slowly recede back
To the ocean where you are no longer wanted

Some people have
Only heard of love

But I don't think it is much different

I could not afford
your love -
it came with anxiety
and,
feeling small.

And even though
it came with the promise of
(shooting stars)
It was
not enough
compared to the love
I was yet to give myself

and for it
I had to be

Free.

waking up today,
remembering my great loss
I go back to sleep.

The sunflowers I bought you
sat backlit by the window.
Their long stems
reflected into our small kitchen;
Every fallen petal played out
like a slow, sorrowful production
on how beautiful things often die.

I remember that last week and how
we had mapped out routes to avoid each other.
Our bodies that once pointed towards
one another like home,
now recalculated every way to avoid contact.

When our eyes involuntarily did meet
I would quickly begin to count
the dry, mustard yellow
blades on our kitchen table
until you were gone.

Till this day, every time I think of you,
I think of petals, and begin to count
until I can no longer feel the
enormous weight of your absence.