The outline of your face
in the dark,
your voice,
your throaty laugh.

Walking into your classroom
first thing in the morning,
hearing you were in the hospital,
hearing that you had died on Thanksgiving night.

Getting lost in the city,
lost in my head,
lost in my thoughts.

Caving in to everything
I didn’t want to do,
feeling ashamed of it.

Summer nights,
having my window open,
letting fresh air in and
stale air out.

Your face
in the light,
my hands running through
your hair.

In the gentle moonlight, she dances
along the walls and through my memories.
She spins around like a lady in a music box,
humming merrily,
so beautiful and lovely.
I lay awake in bed,
watching as she glides through the open spaces
and into eternity,
and I think of how happy she must be.
Will I ever be as happy as her?
Is she my after,
and I, her before?
What is it that lies ahead for me
at the end of this moment,
this space in time?
For I know it will not last.
There will be more, I’m sure
as she dances to life,
all hope is not lost.

This is it. Labels or no labels. The latter preferred, since I never did like generalizing anything. Questions are fuming at the gates of my mind, as always. Where do we go from here? Stop saying we. Where am I going? That’s what matters, right? Since when do I need you with me? I need you with me? I need you with me. This is just crazy talk; ranting. I rant, yes I do. I want to rant some more too. Can you blame me? I can’t say these things to you. I just can’t. I’m done sharing. I shared too much. Look where it lead me. I won’t share anymore. I just won’t. Things get too complicated. I won’t keep it all to myself. I’ll tell these people. Strangers. I’ll tell these strangers everything I can’t tell you. Who knows, maybe someday I won’t have to tell strangers. Strangers are beautiful, though. I could really give myself to you. That’s scary. Why would you give yourself to someone? I could and maybe I will. If we fit the way I think we do and not the way I think we should. Should is the hardest knowledge to bear. I’m wondering. A lot of wondering. Is it me or the thought of me? It’s a cliche question, I know. I can’t help but think it. And also, is it you or the thought of you? Another good question. Still questions. Beckoning questions with endless strings that lead to more questions. All these fucking questions. When does it end? It doesn’t end. I don’t really want to stop questioning, but I want to stop asking certain questions. That’s longing for an answer. Scared you’ll never get it. That’s scary. Not horror movie scary or even psychological thriller scary. That’s lose your mind and your sleep, agonizing over a lost cause kind of scary. Chills. I’m thinking now, I never had control. I never lost it, because I never had it. I was never steering. I never had my foot on the gas, only the break. Sometimes reverse. Sometimes neutral. Never Drive. I think you know that. You know a lot of things that surprise me. Come here. I have something to show you.

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question ‘Whither?’

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

Robert Frost

Have we met?
I think we have.
If not, we shall.
With passing,
like the weights shifting,
we move towards
each other’s pull like
gravity holds us here
like prisoners. 
I long to be near you,
whoever you are.
Please long to be
near me
too.

I’m sitting here waiting,
fingertips dripping with desire and longing.
I still am, and I still breath.

Wherever you are,
you’re always pulling me with you, somehow,
with some power unyielding; unknown.
But I am still, I still breath.

My heart is an echo,
that beats for you,
that beats with you. 
Do you feel it too?
We are still.
I am still.
You are still.
We are still.
We still breath. 

Twenty years and seven months
Can you believe what I have done?
Peeled away the different skins
finding new ones.