Buried Love

I was slipping through the writers on WordPress and found a poem at bittersweet diary and the first few lines of her poem were marvelous.  Instantly I got an idea for a very short story and ran it through my head a while before trying to start it.  I have no idea where this is going but I thought the premise was neat.

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On The Spot

You are the bringer of of things I didn’t know I had
and the taker of things I never wanted to lose
When you do let loose a smile it’s like the moon
it doesn’t get appreciated enough
When you just stare its like the sun
It’ll burn right through you if it wants
You have it all
I’m without any
But the only thing I wish is
that you’re happy
because you deserve it

Another Dream

I had a dream about you last night.  It was like nothing ever happened, we were even out on a date together.  You looked amazing by the way, but you always did.  Your red lips were so full and deep I could have gone diving in them.  It felt so real I woke up and didn’t realize right away that it never happened, then feverishly tried to relive every moment so it wouldn’t be lost to nothing.

Everything ended up kind of hazy.  It was quick the way it all dissipated.  The one thing that remained clear though was that it was you.  It was you and me.  It was so real that it made me want to reach out to you.  I quickly realized that would be a terrible idea and even laughed at myself at how dumb it would be.

But my god it was so real.  Enough to make me think that it wasn’t a dream but a projection of a possible reality.  Something that never happened but could have if an unnumbered amount of dominoes had all fallen a certain way.

Why am I still dreaming about you?  How deep did you go?  Why are you still there?

So I had a dream about you.  We were on a date.  Like nothing ever happened and we had continued on like normal people in normal lives.  How funny that would have been.

Writing to ghosts

I’ve spent years of my life reliving my deaths.

A seance to speak of relationships long buried and cold.

now home to wild grass and dandelions

tombstone littered with words spilled too late.

At least you all have company.

Misery never did like eating alone.

Now you haunt the spaces of my mind where I don’t go

A shadow where there is no light

A figure with no shape

A floating specter bathed in a rose hue

You’re not there and I know that,

no matter how much I want to believe you are

You’ve been gone a long time now

some longer than others

some deeper

Some believe ghosts are stuck in purgatory,

to pay for their sins before rising to heaven.

What better way for your taste to linger on my tongue

then to have our sins prick at my mind

never letting me forget how good we were.

But now we are dead

and what we were is fading away

I don’t believe in ghosts

but I believed in us.

A love letter

Hello Love,

I know you hate it when I call you that.  Not the kind of hate you have towards mosquito bites or impolite people but a cute, hyperbolic kind of hate.  Similar to when you tell me you hate the way you can’t walk by a Sephora without spending money or when I won’t stop staring at you while you’re reading.

Right now I’m imagining you saying, “I hate it when you call me that.”

To which I’ll give you the answer I always give you, “I know.  Stop being so perfect and I’ll stop calling you that.”

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I might be broken, it might be your fault

Did you break me?

I can’t seem to find who I was before when I wrote all those words of love,

when you were on the tip of my tongue

whether it was at your lips or against your hips.

You never saw them, nobody did,

but I could write them as if the words were howling to be born.

The thoughts rushed through me and fought to be first spilled,

each wanted to echo the passion you stirred in me.

I’m unable to love that way now.

I’ve tried.

There have been chances.

Even now with a girl lovely and sweet.

She’s like a daisy.  She’s so pretty and her mind is so innocent.

I want to pick her and save her for only me.

I think I did already,

although I’m not sure I’m good for her.

I think I might be broken and it might be your fault.

I wonder if my heart has a gash down its side and everything in it that allowed me to love so deeply has been slowly drained.

I don’t love her like I love you.

Loved you?  Love you.

How can something be fixed when the piece that held it together will never come back?

There are no perfect metaphors though,

I’m just broken; my heart, my mind and my will.


I miss you

What I miss most isn’t anything in particular about you, that isn’t the say I don’t miss each and every part of you.  I miss the way you looked at me with your sad eyes and lost smile.  I thought I could help you find your smile again and was determined to never give up until we found it.  You gave purpose to every ounce of my passion and it breathed for you.

I miss your concise ways.  Rarely did you waste a movement or phrase.  Everything you did and said had been dialed down to necessity and highlighted your allure.  You we’re complex in your simplicity.  A light shining behind your eyes but never bright enough for anyone else to see.

I miss nearly everything about you but the thing I miss the most isn’t about you, it’s about the way you made me feel.  My words meant something when I said them to you.  My smile’s were brighter when you were around.  My words sung.  You were the muse to my everything and I miss the way you made me better.