from my mind to yours

Here lies all my words.

The Open Space in the Kitchen

I woke up this morning

and everyone was gone

Out to their jobs of

Phone calls and teeth cleanings

and I’m suddenly very aware

Of the empty space around me

The smell of stale coffee hung

In the air like the question I asked you last night

Do you love me?

Goodbye, Love

Goodbye love,

will you miss me?

 

When you go to the beach

will you hear my name

crash beneath the waves?

 

Goodbye love,

I see you everywhere

can you see me?

 

Do you remember

my touch?

or the red blanket on the bed?

 

Goodbye love,

how’s the music going?

 

Do you smell coffee in the morning

and picture my lips

pressing against your mug?

 

Do you think of the way

I cared,

love?

 

I hope you are well,

best wishes,

sending my regards,

say hello to your mom.

And there’s nothing left but

Goodbye, love.

A Love Within Leaves

I wish it could be you and me,

Forever

Underneath the trees.

 

The perfect stage.

 

And as the leaves fall,

I watch as you scrawl

Your love across my page.

The Story of the Drummer and the Poet

This is the story about the poet who fell in love with the drummer. She knew she loved him when she noticed his laugh, and the color of his eyes. She knew she loved him when she first watched him play the drums; and saw the purest bliss radiate from his body like sunlight. He loved her too, but not in the same way that she loved him. He just wanted to see her smile, but she wanted to see their future. And she spent forever trying to understand him, trying to accept that he was this way and probably always will be.

Alone.

And even though she fought hard, they lost touch; mutual love was unattainable. But she keeps their connection alive with her words, as she still writes about him everyday.

The only advice she could ever give a drummer now is to never love a poet, because even after all this time your name is still scrawled across her page forever, and the song you once played for her only lasted for a minute.

Recovery

Don’t waste your love

dear,

On someone who’s not

here.

 

You are exhausted and alone

and no one else is home.

 

But you are a light that shines

just as bright

 

As the moon

at night.

 

And he has drifted,

a small being in the distance.

 

With no one left

to miss him.

Thursday, December 21st

Above all else, you will miss him. When you see his name pop-up on your screen late at night as you scroll through your Twitter feed, your stomach will feel like an anvil, forever dropping. When you drive past the same exit you used to take to get to his house you’ll think of him and the countless nights you spent in his bed. And you’ll fly past that exit with amazing speed because you can’t bear the thought of using it for anything else. You will try desperately to think of how his voice sounds when he laughs, but as days go by the dissonance grows and you start to forget what it sounds like. You’ll only think of the good parts, and not of the frost that grew between you when he acted cold. Not of the exhaustion you felt as you tried and tried again with virtually nothing given in return. And then you’ll think of the next girl. How she will reach for his hoodie when she gets cold, the same one you reached for the night his heater broke. It will be her in the audience at his shows instead of you. Instead of you, she will be the one rubbing his back after a long day of work. I hope that she will love him. Even if I wish it was me.

You will miss him. And that is not unhealthy, it is human. But don’t shy away from life just because of him.

-S

Overthinking

I wonder if you think of me

Out on the road.

Do you ever miss me?

And wish for something old?

The thought of not knowing

Has eaten me cold.

12:38 am

12:38 am: focus on the things that made you happy before he existed.

4 o-clock sunsets

the blue Christmas lights above your bed

your favorite black converse

your best friend

coffee

the smell of books

Santa Cruz at night

your cat

poetry

redwood trees

rain

sun

the moon

the space heater by the bed

9 o-clock sunsets

sleeping in

waking up early

movies

San Francisco in the morning

your tattoos

your eyes

yourself

Unrequited

She loved him fiercely,

With no regret.

But now all she wanted

Was to forget.

Monday December 19th, 11:19 pm

His garage was filled to the brim. Tools hung from the wall like trophies and boxes of childhood memories lined each wall in a cluttered fashion. Separating it all was a large wooden table in the middle of the space, where old spray paint lie half-dried upon its surface. He grabbed the miniature green lighter from the table. I watched him intently; his face furrowing down at the small stick of white paper held between two fingers. The flame illuminated his dark features as he took a deep breath, clear and routine. He sat next to me on the bean bag chair that I had lay claim to and placed his arm around me tightly.

“Love you”, he said.

“I love you too”.

I woke up in that moment. Still half asleep I checked my phone, the screen nearly blinding me. It was four o-clock in the morning. And officially three weeks since we broke up.