I've Been Missing.

your face in a photo,
a memory in time, a moment,
passed. missing from the future,
we've drifted, time is cruel,
parted.

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the emotion still fresh,
the time still passed,
the memory now fading,
the date still passed,
the moment, now, so new.

October 7: A Situation.

It started,
innocent enough,
It expanded,
quietly enough,
It immersed,
completely enough.

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A situation,
A moment,
A circumstance.
An emotion,
A feeling,
A happiness.

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Control is limited,
Acceptance is controlled,
Happiness is accepted,
The moment is happy.

July 13: It's Time.

What if it's me?
What if it's you?
What if it's us?
What if it's time?
What if it isn't?

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The shot across the bow,
A dose of reality,
A hint of honesty.
The scent of fear,
A whiff of desperation,
An air of elusiveness.

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This time it was you, last time was it me? Next time, is it us? What if it isn't any of that, but just an alternate reality? One without an us, one where our paths didn't cross, where that contact wasn't made. What if it was better this way, with this chasm of silence, with the leap apart?
It might platonic, but it's still adrift amid an angry sea. Is this what we need, is this what is best? Or is the inevitable crash onto shore one that involves separate islands?

June 15: Our Little Secret.

It isn't mine,
It isn't yours,
It isn't ours,
It's theirs,
It's there,
Out in the open.

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Not just you,
Not just him,
Not just us,
But just him,
But just you,
But just us,
Together.

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Is life passing me by? Have I chosen the wrong exit? These streets, while foreign, haven't seemed uninviting. I feel safe, but what lies around the next turn?
I'm content, but am I happy? I've found solace, but is it mine, or am I borrowing it? Am I refusing to admit I'm lost, or am I subconsciously following the correct path? I am plagued by these questions, yet confidently driving on. Indeed, I've driven all night, just to get to *here*, to be somewhere I feel I belong. While not conventional, while not explainable, while it may be our little secret, I'll cherish these moments. Even if I turn around tomorrow, seek out a different oasis along this highway, I know that my path, while foreign, has been a welcome exit.

May 25: Tired and Raw.

I said no,
I turned away,
I closed the door,
Left the key behind.
I was tired,
I was selfish,
I needed my space,
Stopped by a locked door.

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A cup of coffee,
Another page written,
A dab of hair gel,
Another day molded,
A stab in the dark,
Another chance wounded.

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It isn't one, it isn't two, it isn't me, it isn't you.

May 12: What If.

what if I said,
I love you,
I miss you,
I need you.
what if I said,
it isn't right,
it isn't time,
it isn't you.
what if it was me?

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closed, isn't open,
opportunity, isn't advantage,
mutuality, isn't plurality.
dimensions, unregulated,
opportunities, unknown.

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life is mine,
this moment now,
my circle defined,
the actors cast,
the curtain rises,
the audience, invited.

May 2: Challenges.

the predictable swoon,
the unknown dance,
the chance at something,
the opportunity that's new,
the feelings so old.

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one, two, three, four,
dimensions unexplored,
definitions unknown,
boundaries undefined.
a couple, or two,
a loose definition,
a boundary blurred.

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Love is meant to be challenged. It isn't tangible, it isn't valued until it's challenged. Sure one can analyze, one can question, but only a true challenge can yield answers. Only by not just accepting but by letting another in, letting another have that chance, is love found. From friends to lovers to partners, the truth remains.
A challenge must exist, or love remains blind.

February 14: Just A Day.

just one day,
nothing special,
nothing different.
inflated by society,
infiltrated by consumerism,
tainted by expectations,
caught on a chance,
hung on hope.

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it's just a day,
a date on the calendar,
forgotten it hurts,
the pain,
superficial in nature,
heart breaking in reality.

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a warm beverage,
a good meal,
a hearty conversation.
a day passes outside,
minutes are shared inside.

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parting, bittersweet,
anticipation, expectation,
unknown, intoxicating,
caution looms,
I laugh, and dream.

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A birthday, another year of life, or something resembling it. A day of chances, of opportunities. Returns unknown, expectations wild. A full, yet happy day. A day that should be a birthday. One of hope, of friends, of food, of fellowship. A day of chance, and meetings, and new paths for life's journey. No one knows what will be yielded, or what may be lost. It feels good though, and the sun shines, despite the wet evening. A warmth guides the weary as they dream, sleep yielding comfort and closure.

February 5: It's Late.

it's late,
it's tired,
it's awake,
can't sleep,
can't think,
just can't.

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A message, or fifty,
A moment, or twenty,
A smile, or fifteen,
A life, or nine,
A day, or five,
A chance, or none.

January 31: XXXI.

it's been a month,
maybe two,
maybe none,
maybe us,
maybe you,
maybe none.

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clear, honest, direct.
understood, without a manual.
questions, not needed.
answers, freely provided.
definition, still lacking.
faith, still waning.

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It isn't any specific one,
It isn't any specific thing.
It isn't you, me, them, us.
It's now, the present, the moment.
Specifically.

January 25: Word Count.

four-lettered words bandied about
five-lettered words reach out
definition is fluid,
honesty is sobering.

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There is no paths, just pedestrians. No destination, just rest stops, a journey spent wandering.

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one week,
seven days,
twenty-four hours,
sixty minutes,
second helpings.

January 24: Fireflies and Rain.

A warm summer night - the heat,
Long blades of grass - the field,
Fireflies dance in the sky - the code,
Their message encrypted - is it Morse?
Their pattern mesmerizing - the tone,
A show viewed, a show enjoyed - the one.

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Quiet drops of rain,
Cool rays of sun,
Dark clouds of gray,
Dreary colors of day,
Solitary escape of time,
Momentarily loss of hope.

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A fragile psyche, a love, boundless. A target, unknown, a destination, undiscovered.

January 22: Mine.

Without,
I healed, I struggled,
Ours, became mine.
Time stitched,
faces forgotten,
A flash, a smile,
A flood begins,
Mine, not just mine,
With, it's ours.

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The name,
almost forgotten,
The pain,
always remembered.
Good, bad, ugly, pretty.
No longer there, here.
Now.

January 19: Word Vomit.

The clock sheds seconds,
the ball put into play,
the handoff, fumbled,
the play, ruined,
the night, a loss.

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My heart, on the sidewalk,
My words, falling from my lips,
My bile coating both,
As a I vomit a string of emotion.

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a beer, or three,
a shot, or two,
a word, or seventeen lines,
clarity, understanding,
agreement, tenuous,
timing, off.

----------

The bull in the china shop can't distinguish the Ming Vase from the cheap porcelain. He's reactionary, feeling cornered, his rampage unable to distinguish what is easily replaceable from that which is priceless. His aim is escape, his intent a clear path, and yet, all he ends up with fragments, once valuable, left from a careless rampage.

January 18: Sidewalk Talk.

It's not what your saying,
It's what you're implying,
The explicit, sounds sweet,
The implicit, demeaning,
The sum isn't equal,
The parts don't fit,
The lie is spun,
A heart isn't won,
Confidence lost.

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A square of pavement,
A snippet of talk,
A call for honesty,
An admission of guilt.

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Check down, admit defeat,
stopped. at the start.
Step up, accept risk,
finish. at the end.
Under stress, invite pain,
winning. in the middle.

January 17: Somber Sunday.

Melancholy, beaten
- barren.
Thoughtful, intent
- numb.
Exposure, explicit
- done.

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A sea of faces,
A wave of familiarity,
A tone of comfort,
A touch of solace,
A room of nobodies.

----------

What's the extreme? What's the passion? Where is the drawing down of the barriers going to lead? If the I open the flood gates during a dry spell, what happens if it rains? Can I handle the deluge, can I be passionate, can I be pained, can I love, without being loved?

January 14: Faded.

the pain, the rush,
the urge, the hope.
faded, jeans,
spent, bills.

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a smile,
a laugh,
a moment.
a drink,
an evening,
a lifetime.

----------

It's like never living, being thirty and so awkward. My emotion, my reactions, never were polished, never were honed. That laughable teen, fumbling blindly, never quite comfortable, still present. Chances pass me like cars on the street, oblivious and intent. Their destination one I'll never know.

January 5: Not. Today.

An evening, largely uneventful. A morning, largely uneventful. A step onto the bus, largely uneventful. A gray and wet sky, largely unspectacular. A footstep, a rotation of the bus tire, a crack in my sanity. The flood wall breaking, the moment too much, the day overwhelming. The pieces don't fit, the events jumble, the emotions cloud. My life, reduced to a pillow, a blanket, and the comforting darkness of sleep. All I can handle, all I can bear, the responsibility of life, the daily decisions, abandoned. Left outside as I lock the door and forget the world.

January 3: Objects in Time.

Playing with Missouri as we chat,
Calling the Doctor as we relax,
Being intoxicated by Lavender as we drink.
A white hair transferred,
An artist discovered,
An object in time,
A moment, reflected,
A comfort, taken.

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A date changes,
A decade forgets,
A month is shed,
An hourglass is flipped.
Stepping stones, like memories,
lead into the future,
the path clear, yet slippery,
the stones smooth,
the rough edges not yet in our memory.