Worse than missing you

There are plenty of bad things in the world.  Horrible things that dwarf any kind of silly, minuscule problem that most people deal with on a daily basis, but sometimes that doesn’t matter.  Sometimes there is only the problem in front of you and the feelings inside of you that you’re experiencing.  So, right now, deep inside of me, the worst thing in the world I can think of is living the rest of my life and never knowing what it feels like to kiss your lips.

I guess not

When you were here you were everything.  You were all that mattered.  My only focus and the only thing I wanted to know.  Everything I did was because of you and everything I wanted to do was as well.

Then, when you were gone, it intensified.

You were all that mattered and all I thought about.  Imagining what could have been.  Imagining what still might be.  I was living in a dream world on two different plains, and then you came back.


You came back.  You were here and I was there and we were perfect.


I was you and you were me.  Well, not exactly but we worked so well together and we were all we needed.  You were all I needed and I was everything you wanted, at least for a short while.  I thought we were going to last a while.  It seemed like we would last a while.  Years.  But, I guess not.

A failed poem

I didn’t think about you tonight,

at least until now.
Does thinking about how I’m not thinking about you count as not thinking about you?

I didn’t write about you either.

I have recently but not yesterday,
nor the day before that.
That’s weird, right?

You weren’t in my dreams.

Although I often didn’t dream about you.
Why dream when the real thing was better?

Your lips didn’t race my heart,

or my hands up your thigh in a heated kiss on a cold, cold night.

I’m starting to think that maybe your spell has lifted.

That the magic is gone,
or merely has waned to the point of non-existence.

Our story didn’t didn’t last.

I failed at writing this poem.
You never liked poetry anyway.

Not so fast

I thought I forgot you for a minute there.  You hid behind the random existence of every day life.  You hid behind the small part of me that gets obsessive-compulsive in certain situations.  That just-out-of-view blind spot that I have.  You hid there and I thought I had forgotten about you.

And then I catch a reminder and smirk to myself.

“No way,” I tell myself.

You’ve seeped too deep into my skin for me to just forget about you like that.  That would be too easy and we’ve never been easy.

Good enough was never good enough

You were a piece of something special in a lumberjack shirt hiding the most lust worthy bust I had ever seen, and I threw it away because I’m really quite the idiot.

I got scared.  That’s the part I told you.  It’s not like it was a lie, it was the truth.  Someone barked and my head couldn’t keep focus.  The gun shot threw me off, which is stupid because things like that never throw me off.

What really did us in was me being unsure.  This may be the undercurrent in every fucked over relationship I’ve ever had.  I never know if I want to deal with another person all the time, every time.  If I commit to one person and I’m stuck with them will it all turn out the same anyway.

And I know where this is coming from.  Even if I never could put my finger on it before, you were the best example of it.  That relationship to end all relationships fucked me up.  I hate being the poster boy for commitment issues because it always seemed like bullshit to me, but here I am.  I’ve got commitment issues because when I was fully committed I felt like I was physically committed.  You suffered for that.  All of you did.

Now I only have our words and their bittersweet smiles.  You were always so fucking good to me and even when it was unequivocally one sided I never knew whether you were for me or against me because of my own bullshit.  You were always with me though.  Always on my side, no matter what.

But it’s been two years now since we last talked.  I don’t know where you are or how to get a hold of you.  I guess you’re as good as gone.  I’ll hope not but it’s not promising.  I’d at least hope to get to say thank you.  A chance to rectify a goodbye that shouldn’t have been.


Hey, you

Hey, I miss you.

I know I’ve said it many times in many different ways but that doesn’t take away from the feeling I have every time I think it.  It doesn’t take away from the way I feel when I want to hear your voice or remember the touch of your lips against mine.  I keep coming back to it, more and more lately.  I don’t know if that’s because I’ve been writing more and you are what I write, or if it’s because I’ve been reading what I wrote for you.  Either way it hurts.  Either way I want to tell you.  Either way I know I can’t.

Hey, I’m confused.

I don’t know if I’m just lonely or if you meant that much to me.  It sounds shitty to say but in reality nobody really knows.  Loneliness is missing the person that meant the most to you.  We don’t know if we’re lonely because we don’t have someone or if not having someone is making us lonely.  We can be alone in a crowd but not often alone with one other person.  I always thought you were my one other person.  Maybe that was my fault.

Hey, come back.

It’ll all happen again, I know that.  I don’t care.  I want you back.  I want you here.  I want the excitement of knowing you’re out there.  I want to have something to look forward to at the end of my days.  I want your responses and all of your words.  Even if we’re doomed to repeat this a thousand times I’ll gladly fall on my sword for each ending if it means we get to go another round.

The piano’s playing a lonely key.  The silence in between the music sounds louder this time.  There are no strings, only the piano key.  I keep waiting for the next press to never come.  I’m waiting.  Hey, I’m waiting.

Against my better judgement

There are times we must say goodnight to things that once made us happy but have lost the ability to do so.  We often don’t want to, but moving on is the only way to keep the pleasant memories as they are.

If we linger they spoil.

Sometimes a smile is all we have left.

Dear Pablo

Dear Pablo,

I envy the pain that’s ached your life and has carved such beautiful scars.

I wish I could hurt as bad as you have.

To know the ripping contrast of emptiness and burning need

To be haunted by soft lips

To hear the echo of your name in her voice

Frozen at the smell of her perfume.

Dear Pablo,

I wish I could have loved as you have loved

and etched memories in my depths and in my soul.

To know the anger of being forgotten and to tell her I have forgotten her too.

To tell her I don’t feel the pain she caused anymore because

I can’t remember the way we kissed or how it killed me every time.

Dear Pablo,

I will never sing any language as eloquent as you

I can never hope to love a woman with your passion and vigor

All I can dream is that the pains I feel are deep

All I can ask is that when she leaves I’ll know a part of what you suffered.