slower

There is something almost magical to the slower pace of life. The ability to get lost, steal away and find peace. A chance to swoop in and pick up a friend, challenge a lifelong idea or get lost in the midnight sky. There is something mystical to sitting around a fire, getting lost in a good book and stealing away another piece of homemade pie. There is something supernatural about getting lost on the open road, stealing away into boredom or into ourselves, and finding the time to encourage beauty. Life is made up of these moments, not the world online, not a video game of predetermined outcomes, not celebrity drama, but it is made of seconds lost in someone's eyes, minutes looking at the sunset, years of laughter and a lifetime of these perfect, little moments. 

didn't know better

When we are young and dumb and innocent we feel things so much stronger, we believe in things so much more. Yet as time goes on we get hardened to this world we live in, hardened to see what life has in store for us and so many others. And with that hardness, we lose the sense of shock, the sense of intense grief, we lose a sense of who we were... when we didn't know better.

more alive

"Brinnggg" her phone went off and it was the moment everything changed. She had just pulled up to the Starbucks, feeling triumphant at finishing yet another class and completing yet another masterpiece. But this phone call slammed her into reality. "Her sister... a car crash... dead upon arrival." What had meant to be a celebration turned into a melancholy trance. Where she walked in, ordered and stared at the hustle and bustle around her, like ants in a hill, running around each other, minding their own business, men and women on a mission. It was like their lives hadn't disintegrated in front of their eyes. The constant hum of commotion has her breath caught in her own chest because somehow each one of these people were alive... she was alive... and surely, if they were, if she was, so was her sister. If she just stayed in this shop and if the ants kept doing their running, then the truth may escape her and for a moment, she could feel more alive. 

treasures

"Dink" goes the quiet ping of the door chime as she walked in as if floating through time. Her eyes danced around the shelves filled of pages that were, in turn, penetrated with treasures. She looked for a book calling her closer, as a few always do, begging to be opened and for the story to be explored. She traveled through eras forgotten and stories not so often told. As her nose smelled the sweet, earthy scent of history and poetry, murder and suspense. She recognized that she may never be able to read them all, but some will call to her, reach out to her soul and as she touches their covers she will inhale their identity and need for nothing more. 

at the corner of alone and lonliness

She sat there, on the edge of opportunity, lost in the moment of other people's greatness. Watching as one took to outlasting another in a game of wit and cynicism. Another, battling for the spot of significance as he took to the grounds with any who dare oppose him. She was there watching the heated crackle of a conversations where her own opinions were unknown and worthless for being so. Yet, being a part of the party, she was nestled in her own quiet corner, listening to someone new, and exploring the unexplored. For sometimes, you want the thrill of being there, without the pressure of having to be. 

drowned dance

We were walking down the marble path,
on a bright and cloudless day
Whispering stories of past lives,
remembering and giggling at simple words like acorn
How lovely to feel so at ease,
around another.
Until the sky darkened, tones hushed,
and the smell of rain was in the air.
Our steps became wobbled and our laugher
caught in our throats.
Sometimes you continue on dancing in the rain,
and other times you drown in a moment. 

You are there.

I see you in this musty diner,
sitting across from me on the weathered and
worn-in earthy booth. You sit there
staring at the menu, trying to pick a dish,
when we both know you won't venture
away from your favorite, your "go-to",
your security in a world of not's.
Your subtle smirk tells me, I am right.

I feel you there next to me,
as we get lost in conversations about lasting impressions,
string theory and who's on first.
I see the spark on your tongue as the words
bellow from your gut.
I can feel your breath on my cheek
as you dust your lips on mine.
and your pearlescent blue eyes
are absorbing my whole essence
in this moment.

I watch you go to the jukebox,
like a kid in a candy store,
its hard for you to just pick one.
As you grab my hand for a pre-dinner dance
I can smell blackberry and vanilla, your scent,
waft through the air. Your entire being
dances with laughter and ignites my own
giggles of pure ecstasy.

For, as much as I feel you,
you have never been here.
They don't even serve your "go-to" dish.
I can't really see you because
your body is caressed by the Earth and
hugging the tombstone, we laid you under.
And all I smell is pie, when I am really
wishing it was you again.
Wishing I had more than a
glimpse of what might have been.

Yet, here, you are not.
I only wish you could be here on a
Tuesday evening with me.
Wishing that that car didn't
dive into yours, that you didn't
careen with the tree,
Wishing the doctors were wrong.
Wishing you could just be here with me.