Lang Leav Memories
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Transcript of Lang Leav Memories
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AlsobyLangLeav
Love&MisadventureLullabies
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MEMORIEScopyright©2015byLangLeav.Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybeusedorreproducedinanymannerwhatsoeverwithoutwrittenpermissionexceptinthecaseofreprintsinthecontextofreviews.
AndrewsMcMeelPublishingadivisionofAndrewsMcMeelUniversal1130WalnutStreet,KansasCity,Missouri64106
www.andrewsmcmeel.com
ISBN:978-1-4494-7487-4
LibraryofCongressControlNumber:2015939470
TheFellTypesaredigitallyreproducedbyIginoMarini.www.iginomarini.com
ATTENTION:SCHOOLSANDBUSINESSESAndrewsMcMeelbooksareavailableatquantitydiscountswithbulkpurchaseforeducational,business,orsalespromotionaluse.Forinformation,pleasee-mailtheAndrewsMcMeelPublishingSpecialSalesDepartment:[email protected].
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ForMichael
Readingyouhasmademeabetterwriter.
Lovingyouhasmademeabetterperson.
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Forgethertatteredmemories,orthepagesotherstook;
youarehereverafter—theheroofherbook.
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ContentsINTRODUCTION
Part1
Here&Now
Part2
RememberWhen
Acknowledgments
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Introduction
Iamhopelesslyinlovewithamemory.Anechofromanothertime,anotherplace.
—MichaelFaudet
Memories is a collection of poetry and prose, hand selected frommy two previous books,Love &MisadventureandLullabies.ItalsofeaturessomenewwritingIhavecompletedoverthelastyear.
Myintentionwastocreateabookthatisenduring,onethatcouldbekeptasakeepsakeorgiventosomeonespecialinyourlife.
Ihavealwaysthoughtofmemoriesasfragments,likecoloredglassshardsinakaleidoscope.Itisthesourceofgreatbeautyinourlives,yetthecauseofsuchheartache.Itremainsthebridgebetweenour
pastandpresent—itgivesweightanddimensiontoourveryexistence.
IhopeyouenjoyMemories asmuch as I enjoyedputting it together. Iknow there aremanygreatmomentsthatareyettotranspireforyou.Ihopeintime,youwillfindechoesoftheminthisbook.
Muchlove,Lang
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PARTONE
HereandNow
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TheRose
Haveyoueverlovedarose,andwatchedherslowlybloom;andasherpetalswouldunfold,yougrewdrunkonherperfume.
Haveyoueverseenherdance,herleavesallwetwithdew;
andquiveredwithanewromance—thewind,helovedhertoo.
Haveyoueverlongedforher,onnightsthatgoonandon;fornow,herfaceisallablur,likeamemorykepttoolong.
Haveyoueverlovedarose,andbledagainstherthorns;andsweareachnighttolethergo,thenlovehermorebydawn.
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Stowaway
I love the way he looks at me. Shy and half-cocked as though he is caught off guard, like he isretracinghisstepstorememberallthewaystomakemesmile.HebringsmeflowerseverySundayandtellsmestoriesaboutmermaidsandsirenswiththeirsharpclawsandbeguilinglips.HesaysIremindhimoftheseaandattachesmetoametaphorI’veneverheardbefore,whenIthoughtImusthaveheard themall. I think someonebrokehis heartonce andnowhe can’t bear tobe apart from theocean.Hesaidit’sstrangehowthesmallestthingscanwreckaship.Likearock,orawave,orahairlinecrackinthehull.Hecallsmehislittlestowawayandhesaysitsadly,tenderly,asthoughIcansinkhim.
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Birthdays
Itisaceremony,theblowingofcandles,thecuttingofacake—themessofcreamandspongeinyourmouth.Thetasteissweetandfamiliar,likeanewlyformedwish,fashionedfromalltheonesyou’vemadebefore.
Youdon’tremembertheminsequence—thethingsyouaskfor.Youonlyrecallthoseyouwantedthemost.Likethepairofneonpinkrollerskatesyousawintheshopwindowwhenyouweretwelve.Howdeeplyyoufelttheirabsencewhenyousatamongthelitteroftornwrappingpaperandemptynewpossessions.
Ortheyearyouturnedsixteen;whenyourbestfriend’smothergotreallysick,andallyouwantedwasforhertobeokayagain.Itwastheyearyoulearnedthatshootingstarswereeitherablessingoracurse,dependingonwhatyouwantedtobelieve.
Thentherewasthatyearyoufellinlove.Theonewherethereweren’tanycandles—justyouwalkinglateatnight throughthecity streetswithyourheart inpieces,wantingtogiveyourself to thefirststrangerwhocalledyoubeautiful.
Sincethenit’sbeenthesameeveryyear.Assoonasthefirstmatchisstruck,thesmellofburningtakesyou backward through yourmemory. It stops you right at thatmoment on thatwarm, Septembernight,asyouwatchedthefirsttrickleofmeltingwaxhittheicing,andyoucouldn’tthinkofasingle
damnthingyouwanted—becausehewasstandingthere,intheflickeringlight,askingyoutomakeawish.
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Poetry
Iknowyouhaveseenthingsyouwishyouhadn’t.Youhavedonethingsyouwishyoucouldtakeback.
Andyouwonderwhyyouwerethrownintothethickofitall—whyyouhadtosufferthewayyoudid.And as you are sitting there alone and hurting, Iwish I could put a pen in your hand andgentlyremindyouhowtheworldhasgivenyoupoetryandnowyoumustgiveitback.
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Numbers
Nothingfeltlikemineanymore,notafteryou.Allthoselittlethingsthatdefinedme;smallsentimentaltrinkets,carkeys,pincodes,andpasswords.Theyallfeltlikeyou.Andmorethananythingelse,my
number—theone youboldly asked for that night, amidst a seaofpeople, under a skyof talkingsatellitesandglowingstars.
Yousaidnomatterhowmanytimesyouerasedmefromyourphone,youwouldstillrecognizethatnumberwhenitflashedonyourscreen.Theseriesofsixesandnines,likethedipofmywaisttothecurveofmyhips,yourhandspressedintothesmallofmyback.Ninesandsixesthatwerereminiscentoftwocontentedcats,curledtogetherlikeapairofspeechmarks.Yousaidifyoucouldneverholdmeorkissmeagain,youcouldlivewiththat.Butyoucouldn’tbearthethoughtofusnotspeakingandasked,attheveryleast,couldIjustallowyouthatonething?
I wonder what went through your mind the day you dialed my number to find it had beendisconnected.IfyourimaginationhadracedwiththoughtsofwhatnewcityIhadruntoandwhowassharingmybed. Isn’t it strangehowmuchofour lives are interchangeable,how little is trulyours.Someoneelse’s ring tone, someoneelse’s song, someoneelse’swords, someoneelse’sbrokenheart.Thesearethethingsweinheritbychoiceorbychance.
Anditwasn’tmychoicetoloveyoubutitwasminetoleave.Idon’tthinkthemoonevermeanttobeasatellite,keptinlovingorbit,lockedinhopelessinertia,destinedtorepeatthesamepatternoverand
over—tomeetineclipsewiththesun—onlywhenthenumbersallowed.
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AWriter’sMuse
Onedayhewillfindyou.Hewilltouchyouandyouwillfeelalifetimeofindifference—ofapathymeltaway ina singlemoment.Andyouwill ache forhim.Youwill lovehim, in thewayyouwalka
tightrope—inthewaypeoplelearntofallasleepinawarzone.Youwillbleedforhimuntilthedayhe
isgone.Youwillbleedforhimeverydayafterthat.Thetimewillpassandyouwillfeelrobbed—andyouwillgrowbitter.Youwillaskwhy,butyouwon’tgetananswer.Andthatiswhenthewordswillcome.
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TheStranger
Doesitmakeyoucrazy?Tothinkhesawyou—hiseyespassedoveryouandifonlytherehadbeen
somesmallmishap in thatpivotalmoment.Aspilleddrink,a stumble throughthedoor—his handreachingouttosteadyyouanditwouldhavehappened.Awholenewworldwouldhaveopeneduplikeavortextoswallowyoubothintoblissfuldelirium.Butyouturnedaway,outofshynessorindecisionandbythetimeyouturnedback,hewasgone.
Howdoyouexplainitwithoutsoundingunsound?Thatclickyoufeltwhenyoureyesmethis,liketheswitchofatraintrack,transportingyouforonemiraculousmoment,towhatmighthavebeen.
Thenrealityintervenesandwithashakeofyourhead,youtellyourselftostopchasingshadows.ButI
can tell younow—whatyou feltwas real—and youmust always listen to that click.For it is thesoundofyourfatebeckoning.Itisthevoiceofyourdestinycalling.Sometimesitonlycallsonce.
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AftertheStorm
Therearestormsthatchangetheskyline,thatleavepatchesofbluewherebrancheshadoncespreadtheirbrittlefingers.Andintheaftermath,aneeriecalmsettlesovertheforest,asshell-shockedbirdssing warily in the sunlight. The nervous flutter of their injured wings, barely audible above thehammeringofahummingbird’sheart.
Youoncetoldmethewindissilent.Howhissoundcanonlybeheardthroughcollision.Lastnight,hecried with a violent yearning while he tore through the trees. As he brought down their twistedbranches,Ithoughtofthefirsttimeyousaidmyname.
Youwerethestormthatchangedtheskyline.Afterthedamageandthedeluge,Icouldseethingssomuchclearer.Therehasn’tbeenanotherlikeyousince.
In1953,webegannaminghurricanessowecouldrememberthembeyondthewreckage.Sowecouldtrytomakesenseofthedestruction.ThisisthewayIrememberyou.
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Memories
Haveyoueverfeltit?Thatsplitsecondbeforethefeelingcatchesthememory—thatsmallhavenofneutrality,beforetheheadlongcrashintorecognition.Yourmindpullshimtotheforegroundlikeasnappedrubberband.Andyouthinkofthelinehedrewinthesand,theoneyoucan’tseemtoputafootpast.Likeatripwire,you’reafraidofthedamagebutyouknowyoucan’tkeepstandingstill.Andtheworldfallsawayandyou’reexactlywhereyouwereonthelastnightyousawhim,whenhehadhishandsinyourhairandhismouthonyourneckandheneversaidawordaboutleaving.
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NowandThen
Iwasalwaysmeantforyou.Withmytennisshoesandwildhair,draggingacasewithacellohiddenbetweenitsvelvetwalls.Eventhen.
Iwasalwaysmeantforyou.Inmyblackwoolendressandsapphirestuds.Betweenhotelroomsandstandingovations.Evennow.
Iwasnevermeantforroadsignswithforeignnames,orloverswhospokeinexotictongues.FormapsthatwerecomposedinalanguageIcouldnotreadandprintedinadialectIcouldnotwrite.
YousaidIwaslikeabirdofprey,cagedbymycaptorsandmadetosinglovesongstothesky.Yousaidmysadnesswaslikethesun,beautifulfromadistancebutithurtyoutoomuchtocomecloser.
Iwas nevermeant for poetry.Forwords carved into history, like ancient runes that told the sametragic taleoverandover. Ifanyhistorianwere todecipher the symbolshammered into stone, theywouldsayIwasmeantforyou.Evenbeforethefirstmallethadstruckiron,evenafterallcivilization
hascrumbledintodustandtheskyissetalightwithathousandexplodingstars—eventhen.
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ALoveStory
Beyondtheshoresofmelancholy,therewasatimeIheldyourhand.Myheartnowbearsanuntoldstory,likeashipatsea,thatlongsforland.
Agreatuntruth,mylipshaveborrowed,aboundlesstreasuretolinemychest;
thewealthofwordsareintheirsorrow—andwordsareallIcanbequest.
Wewillremainunwrittenthroughhistory,noXwillmarkusonthemap;butinbooksofproseandpoetry,youlovedmeonce,inaparagraph.
Andyourlovehasleftme,onthisisland,ithasfilledmycupuptothebrink;
yetIgrowthirstyinthissilence—thereisnotadropformetodrink.
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VirtualLove
Wefellinlovethroughscreens,throughsatellitesthatcarriedourwordsacrosstheachingvoid.Nightafternight,wespokeabouthandsonbodiesandlipsonskin.Afterthesilence,Iwouldthinkofallthegirlsmadeoffleshandbonewithinyourarm’sreach.
Aswintergavewaytosummer,thedustmotesdancinginthesunlightblurredintopixels,andIgavemyhearttoaphotograph.IwonderedhowIcouldbesoafraidoflosingsomethingthatwasn’tmine.
Thencamethecrossedwires,thesignal jam.Thestaticthatgrewbetweenus—itsdull,murmuringprotest.AndIwouldquestioniftherewereothersjustlikeme,whohadfoundthemselvescaughtin
yourorbit.WhetherIwasjustanothercelestialbody,sentupfromtheground;whenthemoon—the
originalsatellite—istheonlyoneyouseefromwhereyou’restanding.
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AWriter’sPlea
TakemesomeplacewhereIcanfeelsomething—Iwanttogiveawaymyheart.TellmehisnamesoIcanknowlovewhenitspeakstome.GivemesomeoneIcanwriteabout.
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IntheEnd
Iwasreadytogiveitallup—everything.Iwashalfoutofmymindwithlove.AndIdidn’tthinktwice
aboutwhatIwasthrowingintothefire,aslongasIcouldkeepitburningforjustanotherminute—ifonlyIwasallowedtositawhilelongerbesideitspaleglow.
ThatwashowI lovedyou intheend.Withmybodycoldandshuddering.Withemptyhandsoversmolderingash,countingouttheminutes.
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PiecesofYou
HeknowsIcan’ttellajokewithoutlaughing.AndhowI’malwaystalkingaboutsecondchances.HeknowsIsleepalldayandwakeuptired.AndIcouldnevergiveanyoneastraightanswer.
IcriedthefirsttimeItoldhimaboutyou.IsaidIwassorryasheheldmesoclose.Hesaidhenowknewwhymyeyeswerelikesearchlights.Howtheylookedattheskywithsuchlonging.AndwhyIreadmystarsinthepapereachmorning.
HeleftmeoneSundaywithhiscuphalfempty.Ipaddeddownstairsandsawthewritingonthewall.Outsidetherainwasalreadyfalling.Andtherewerestillpiecesofyoubehindeverydoor.
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She
Shewas the soundofglass shattering—the sharp ringing inyourears.Theperpetualmotionof aspinningballerinatrappedinsideamusicbox.Thesad,tinnytuneofLaVieenRose.
Shewasthezigzaginyourstraightline.Theabsenceinyourdirection.Shewaseveryturnyoutookwhenracingthroughahedgemaze,againstthesettingsun.
Shewasthetidethatcameinandout,likethebreathofthewounded.Shewasthebloodthatflowedbetweenheartandhead.
Shewas thebook thatwasnotwritten.The sentence thatwasnot scripted. Shewas thewordyouwishedyoucouldhavesaid.
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ReachingOut
Ihavegivensomuchtothingsthatweren’tworthmytime.Whenallalong,it’sthepeopleIlovethatIshouldhavecarried.It’stheonesIcaredforwhomIshouldhavebeenresponsible.
ButmaybeI’mtoolate.BecauseIdon’tknowhowtotalktoyou.Idon’tknowhowtoaskyouifyou’reokay.Idon’tknowhowtotellyouIamsoafraidoflosingyou.Howmuchlightwouldleavemylifeifyouwerenolongerpartofit.
Ijusthopeyourealizehowmuchyoumeantome.IjustwishIcouldremindyouofhowbeautifulyouare.I’msorryIhaven’ttoldyouinsolong.Butpleasedon’tthinkIhavegivenuponyou.Iwillnevergiveuponyou.Myarmsarewideopen.Thereisalwaysaplaceforyouhere.
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Faith
Iwhisperyournamelikeaprayer—withallthehopeofheaven.
Itracethelinesofyourpalmanddrawamaptosalvation.
IheartheknockofyourheartandIansweritlikemycalling.
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Home
Doyouthinkofmeonairplanes?Withyourheadphonessnugaroundyourearsandthecloudsbelow?
Do you think ofmy hands as you are exploring new territory—the freedom, the thrill, the rush?Whenyoutravelagainsttheturnofourplanet,doesittakeyoubackintothepast?
Ithinkofyouonjetplanes.Inthoughtsthatgoamillionmilesanhour.Overtoytownsandtowersmadeoftin.Nothingfeelsrealwithoutyou.
Doyouthinkofwhatcouldhavebeen?Intheearlymorninglightwhenyouwakeupnexttosomestranger,wonderingwhyyoudon’tfeelathing.Ineverybarroomandbedroomwhereyou’reforced
intoconversationorgivingawaypartsofyourself—doyoumissme?
Doyouthinkofmeincars?Wheneveryturnyoutakeisdrivingusfurtherapart.Doeseveryroadsignpleadingyoutotakecare,remindyouofhowmuchIwantyou,howdeeplyyouareloved?
Ithinkofyouonroadsthatstretchintothehorizon.OnroundaboutsandsignsthatkeeptellingmeIamgoinginthewrongdirection.IhopeyouthinkofmeasmuchasIthinkofyou.Ihopethateverystep will bring you closer, that every dead end is a messenger, willing you to turn back around,remindingyouit’stimetocomehome.
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Waiting
Itrytothinkofawordthatisclosesttoloveandtheonlythingthatcomestomindisyourname.ItrytoimaginewhatIwouldsayifourpathsevercrossedagainbutIkeepdrawingablank.
I’veforgottenwhatitwasliketofeelthesunonmyskinwithoutworryingthatitcouldhurtme.I’vestoppedthrowingmyselffromcliffs,withmyarmsintheair,waitingforthesplashbelow.
Everyday,IlookinthemirrorandIseemoreandmoreofmymother’sfacestaringbackatme.EverydayImeasuretheweightofmypastagainstthepresentandfeelthedragofwhatcouldhavebeen.
I find a photograph of you and wonder when I’ll stop hoping. I stare at the clock, with its slowmethodicalhandsanddreadthedaywhenI’llknowit’stoolate.
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DearLove
Love,hehasabandonedme,dowithmeasyouwill.
Love,heleft—unceremoniously,whymustIlovehimstill?
ThebestofmeIgavetohim—theyears,thedays,thehours.Preciouslittle,inturnhe’dgiven,likedewtoawiltingflower.
Love,heshearedawaytenderly,mybeauty,mystrength,mymind,
thegiftsthatwerebestowedtome—wereswallowedinhispride.
Love,hasheforgottenme?Pleasetellmewhatyou’veheard,
Iguardhismemoryjealously—withhimI’dplacedmyworth.
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Revelation
Hereistheplacewhereyoufoundme.Underthehalf-moonanditshalf-light.Yousaid,ifonlyIhadmetyoutherethatnight.Perhapswecouldhavefoundourway.I learnedsomethingaboutsadnessafterthatday.
Youshowedmeinsanity,asyoupromisedyouwould.Likeanopenwindow,sevenstoreyshigh.AnditwasjustasterribleandasbeautifulasyouandI.
Andyou said ecstasywas a storm cloud, just before the rainwouldburst into thenight sky, like a
thousand aquatic stars—and not one singlemoment before. And you were right. You were rightaboutitall.
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Language
Irememberlearningthealphabet.Howthosestrangemarkings,alienandincoherent,grewmoreandmorefamiliar,likethenameofsomeoneyoulove.
Themomentwordsfoundme,theyburrowedthemselvesintomybones,theysettledlikedustinmylungsuntilIfeltthemeverytimeIbreathedinandout.Iwouldplacethemsidebysidelikefractals,inamyriadofverse.
Irememberlearningyourname,thestrangejumbleoflettersthatdancedundermytongue,thatleaptfrommyhungrymouth.Thosefoursyllablesthatbitdeepintomysoullikepoetry.IrememberhowIwhisperedthemagainstyourlips.
Andyouwouldsay,thisishowIamwithyou,withyou.
ItwaswordsthatIfellfor.Intheend,itwaswordsthatbrokemyheart.
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APoem
Iwroteapoemaboutagirlwholovesyou.Isaidasoliloquythatwasspokeninherhonor.
Ifelteverywordthatburstfromherlips,likeshootingstars,intotheairaroundus.Ifitwerepossibletoholdloveinyourhand,itwasherhandthattrembledasIheldit.
I could taste her tears that ran like rain onwindshields.The kind that searchedwith longing, forlonelydropafterdrop,toformapoolofforlornbelonging.
Iwrotethispoemforthegirlwholovesyou—forshelovesyoumorethanIloveyou.BecausesheissorryandsoamI.
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InLove
You’venotyethadyourheartinhalves,
solittledoyouknowoflove—totellmeIwillsoonforget,therewillbeotherstoregret.
Nowalltheyearshaveprovedyouwrong,myloveforhimburnsbrightandstrong;
youcan’tdividethestarsfromnight—fromlovetherecanbenorespite.
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SundayBest
Do you remember that night I turned up on your doorstep? I was wearingmy Sunday best. Youwatchedthemascaraasitrandownlikefaultlines,andyouknewIhadbloodonmylips.
I’mtiredofrunning,Isaid—
andtheearthshookalittle.
SoamI,youreplied
asitshookalittlemore.
Idon’twantanyoneelse,Iwhispered.
AndIfeltmyselfcrumble.
You held out your arms and Iwas cracked porcelain.We looked at each other aswe stood at theprecipice.AndIknewonceIfell,I’dneverstopfalling.Andeverythingbeforeyouwouldbetimetokill.Yousaidyouwerescaredbutyoucouldn’tignoreit.
Andthatwasthemomentwhenwebecamereal.
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Hope
Onedayyouwalkintoacafeandthereheis.It’sassimpleasthat.Aseasyasthat.Thenforeverafter,youspendyourlife,walkingintocafes,hopinghe’llmagicallyappear.Likehedidthefirsttime.Ortherewouldbesomeoneelse,justlikehim,sitting,withhisheadburiedinabook.Hewouldturntolookatyouanditwouldallbeginagain.
Whenlovefindsyou,itdoesn’tcomewithcrashingwavesorthunderbolts.Itappearsasasongonthe
radiooraparticularblueinthesky.Itdawnsonyouslowly,likeawarmwintersunrise—wherethepromiseofsummershinesoutfromwithin.
Wenumberourdaysanddivideourseasons.Weendlesslydefinewhatitistobeinlove.Whenintruth,springblursintosummerandalwayshas,longbeforethatlinewaseverdrawn.Yourloveforhimisthe
same—itrunswildandfree.Liketheairaroundyou,itstretchesallacrosstheworld,itdoesnotleaveasinglethinguntouched.Youcarrythatlovewithyou,likeabrightandblazingbeacon,astraightlinefromyourhearttohis.Anditkeepsalivethataching,throbbinghope,thatsomewhereintheworld,thereisacafeandwithinthosewalls,heisthere,hopingjustasmuchasyou.
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Stardust
IfyoucametomewithafaceIhavenotseen,withavoiceIhaveneverheard,Iwouldstillknowyou.Evenifcenturiesseparatedus,Iwouldstillfeelyou.Somewherebetweenthesandandthestardust,througheverycollapseandcreation,thereisapulsethatechoesofyouandI.
Whenweleavethisworld,wegiveupallourpossessionsandourmemories.Loveistheonlythingwetakewithus.Itisallwecarryfromonelifetothenext.
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NewLight
Whengoodbyewassaid,thereitbegan
thecarefultread—theonesyouchosetoloveinstead.
Yetinsideyouglowsacandlelitthoseyearsagoandbrighterstillitburnsforhimasearingflametostavethedarkyouholdwithin.
Thehonorthepromise
youoncemade—whenyouandhewereskintoskin,andthebrighteststar
hadceaseditsreign—toheraldnewlight,borninhisname.
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Happiness
I knowmy being happy is an anomaly.No one knowsme better than you.But I can saywithoutavoiding your gaze, without crossingmy fingers behindmy back; or the other things I do when
speakinguntruthfully—Iamhappy.Iknowtheraindoesnotdiscriminatebetweendayornightand
eitherwillholditsownlightanddark—butnow,atthisverymoment,IfeellikeIamthesun.AndI
knowinmyheart,Iwillalwayslookuponthistime—notwithoutasenseofmelancholy—thatitwasthehappiestinmylife.
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TheSaddestThing
Therewas someoneIknew,a longtimeago.Iwas so in lovewithhimIcouldn’t see straight.Thesaddestthingis,hefeltthesamewayaboutme.
Itwaseasyinthebeginning.Allwehadtodowaslaughatthesamethingsandlovetookoveranddidtherest.Ihadneverfeltsoconnectedtoanotherperson.
HewouldalwayssayitfeltasthoughIwasmadeforhim.Howgladhewastohavemetme.Weweresosureofwhatwefelt.Weshouldhaveheldtight,ontothatcertainty.
There is never one particular reason why two people are torn apart. All these years later, I havestoppedlookingforanswers.Iknowbetternow,thatloveisneveraguarantee.Notwhenyouhavetherestoftheworldtocontendwith.
Sometimesyouhave to stepback and look at these things fromaphilosophical standpoint.AndIknowlovinghimhastaughtmesomethingaboutmyself, ithasbroadenedmyunderstandingoftheworld.Andifithasdonethesameforhim,thenitwasn’tallinvain.
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TheNight
It’sbeenawhilesincewordshavefoundme,
thetimebetween—you’llcomeandgo;I’dgrowntolovethesunaroundme,I’vebeenastrangertomywoe.
It’sbeensolongsincetherewassilence,allaroundme,yourvoicehadrung;likeabirdwhosingstogreetthemorning,totellyouthatthedayhascome.
It’sbeensometimesinceI’vefeltlonely,likeabookthatisnolongerread;thedarknesslingersonwithoutyou,itfillsmyemptyheartwithdread.
Itseemsanageago,sinceyouhaveleftme,timehasfilledme,withwordsunsaid;asthesadnessseepsintomeslowly,andIamlefttofacethenightahead.
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Her
There is somuchhistory in thewayhe looks at her. In thewayhe says her name.When they aretogether,thereisacurrentthatrunsbetweenthem;likeanelectricchargeonthevergeoferuptingintoaperfectstorm.
Idon’tloveheranymore,hesays.
Anditisinthewayhesaysthewordher—thattellsmeotherwise.
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Love
Idon’tknowwhatitisliketolovesomeonewhotheworldtellsmeIamnotsupposedtolove.Ican’timaginehowharditmustbetolovesomeoneIamafraidtokissonthestreet.
ButIdoknowwhatitisliketolovesomeonewhoIcannotbewith.Iknowhowitfeelstohavemybraintellmeonething,andmyheartanother.Iknowhowharditistohavetolovesomeoneinsecret.Tolivewiththeknowledgethatifcircumstanceshadbeendifferent,IwouldbewiththeoneIlove.
Idoknowthereareallkindsofbarrierstolove.Idobelievetheworldneedslessofthem.
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Collision
DoyouthinkIhaveslippedintoatimewarp?
Itwasyouropeningline.Ididn’tknowitthen,butmypast,present,andfutureweresettocollide.
At the time, the collision felt like agentlewake-up call.Like a lazySundaymorning spentgently
partingwayswithsleep.ButnowwhenIlookback,Iseeitforwhatitwas—alarmbellsblaringatfivea.m.andaplaneIcouldn’tmiss.
Igotlostinthedaytoday.Ipassedbyprophetsonthecitystreetswiththeirsigns,warningmeabouttheapocalypse.Ineverimagineditwaswalkingrightbesideme,holdingmyhand.Nightafternight,Ilookedintoyoureyesbutneveroncedidtheyoffermeapreludetothedestruction.
Lifewentonwithoutyou.Ofcourse,itdid.Ofcourse,itdoes.Itwasjustanending,theytellme,nottheend.
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PARTTWO
RememberWhen
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AToast!
Tonewbeginnings,infearandfaithandallittinges.
Toloveisadare,whenhopeanddespair,aregatesuponithinges.
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ThreeQuestions
Whatwasitliketolovehim?askedGratitude.Itwaslikebeingexhumed,Ianswered.Andbroughttolifeinaflashofbrilliance.
Whatwasitliketobelovedinreturn?askedJoy.Itwaslikebeingseenafteraperpetualdarkness,Ireplied.Tobeheardafteralifetimeofsilence.
Whatwasitliketolosehim?askedSorrow.TherewasalongpausebeforeIresponded:
Itwaslikehearingeverygood-byeeversaidtome—saidallatonce.
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MyHeart
PerhapsIneverlovedenough,IfonlyI’dlovedmuchmore;Iwouldnotnearlyhadsomuch,leftwaiting,foryouinstore.
IfIhadgivenawaymyheart—tothosewhocamebefore;
itwouldbesaferleftinparts—butnowyouhaveitall.
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LoveLost
Thereisonewhoyoubelongto,
whoselove—thereisnosongfor.Andthoughyouknowit’swrongful,thereissomeoneelseyoulongfor.
Yourheartwasonceavessel,itwasfilleduptothebrim;untilthedayheleftyou,noweverythingsingsofhim.
Ofthetwowhocametoloveyou,toone,yourheartyougave.
Helivesinstarsaboveyou—inthelovewhocameandstayed.
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AfterYou
IfIwroteitinabook,couldIshelveit?
IfItoldofwhatyoutook,wouldthathelpit?
IfIwillit,canIun-feelit,nowI’vefeltit?
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RoguePlanets
As a kid, I would count backwards from ten and imagine at one, therewould be an explosion—perhapscausedbyarogueplanetcrashingintoEarthorsomeothermajorcatastrophe.Whennothinghappened,I’dfeelrelievedandatthesametime,alittledisappointed.
Ithinkofyouatten;thefirsttimeIsawyou.YoursmileatnineandhowitlitupsomethinginsidemeIhadthoughtlongdead.Yourlipsateightpressedagainstmineandatseven,yourwarmbreathinmyearandyourhandseverywhere.Youtellmeyoulovemeatsixandatfivewehaveourfirstrealfight.Atfourwehaveoursecondandthree,ourthird.Attwoyoutellmeyoucan’tgoonanylongerandthenatone,youaskmetostay.
AndIamrelieved,sorelieved—andalittledisappointed.
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Pretext
Ourlove—adeadstar
totheworlditburnsbrightly—Butitdiedlongago.
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Souls
When two souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the yearning to be close to the other. Thepresencethatisfeltthroughahandheld,avoiceheard,orasmileseen.
Soulsdonothavecalendarsorclocks,nordotheyunderstandthenotionoftimeordistance.Theyonlyknowitfeelsrighttobewithoneanother.
Thisisthereasonwhyyoumisssomeonesomuchwhentheyarenotthere—eveniftheyareonlyin
theverynextroom.Yoursoulonlyfeelstheirabsence—itdoesn’trealizetheseparationistemporary.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
CanIaskyousomething?Anything.Whyisiteverytimewesaygoodnight,itfeelslikegood-bye?
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SomeTimeOut
Thetimemaynotbeprimeforus,thoughyouareaspecialperson.
Wemaybejusttwodifferentclocks,thatdonottock,inunison.
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TheWanderer
Whatisshelike?
Iwastold—sheisamelancholysoul.
Sheislikethesuntonight;amomentarygold.
Astarwhendimmedbydawninglight;theflickerofacandleblown.
Alonelykite
lostinflight—someoneoncehadflown.
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SadThings
Whydoyouwritesadthings?heasked.WhenIamhere,whenIloveyou.
Becausesomeday,inonewayoranother,youwillbetakenfrommeorIyou.Itisinevitable.Butpleaseunderstand; from themoment Imet you, I stoppedwriting for thepast. I no longerwrite for thepresent.WhenIwritesadthings,Iamwritingforthefuture.
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SeaofStrangers
Inaseaofstrangers,you’velongedtoknowme.Yourlifespentsailingtomyshores.
Thearmsthatyearntosomedayholdme,willachebeneaththeheavyoars.
Pleasetakeyourtimeandtakeitslowly;asallyoudowillrunitscourse.
Andnothingelse
cantakewhatonly—wasalwaysmeantassolelyyours.
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BrokenHearts
Iknowyou’velostsomeoneandithurts.Youmayhavelostthemsuddenly,unexpectedly.Orperhapsyoubeganlosingpiecesofthemuntiloneday,therewasnothingleft.Youmayhaveknownthemall
yourlifeoryoumayhavebarelyknownthematall.Eitherway,itisirrelevant—youcannotcontrolthedepthofawoundanotherinflictsuponyou.
WhichiswhyIamnotheretotellyoutomorrowwillbeanewday.Thatthesunwillgoonshining.Orthereareplentyoffishinthesea.WhatIwilltellyouisthis;it’sokaytobehurtingasmuchasyouare.
Whatyouarefeelingisnotonlycompletelyvalidbutnecessary—becauseitmakesyousomuchmore
human.And though I can’t promise it will get better any time soon, I can tell you that it will—eventually.Fornow,allyoucandoistakeyourtime.Takeallthetimeyouneed.
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AnArtistinLove
Idrewhiminmyworld;Iwritehiminmylines,Iwanttobehisgirl,hewasnevermeantasmine.
Idrewhiminmyworld;heisalwaysonmymind;Idrawhiseveryline.Ithurtswhenhe’sunkind.
Idrewhiminmyworld;Idrawhimallthetime,butIdon’tknowwheretodrawtheline.
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TheSeventhSea
Theanswerisyes,alwaysyes.Icannotdenyyouanythingyouask.Iwillnotletyoubeartheagonyofnotknowing.
YesIloveyou,Iswearit.Oneverygrainofsaltintheocean—onallmytears.IfoundyouwhenIreachedtheseventhsea,justasIhadstoppedlooking.
ItseemsalifetimeagothatIbegansearchingforyou.
Alifetimeofpainandsorrow.Ofdisappointmentandmissedopportunities.
AllIhadhopedfor.AllthethingsIcannevergetback.
WhenIamwithyou,Iwantfornothing.
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InTwoParts
Youcomeandgosoeasily,
yourlifeisasyouknew—whilemineissplitintwo.
HowIenvysothehalfofme,wholivedbeforelove’sdue,whowasyettoknowofyou.
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AQuestion
ItwasaquestionIhadwornonmylipsfordays—likealoosethreadonmyfavoritesweaterI
couldn’tresistpulling—despiteknowingitcouldallunravelaroundme.“Doyouloveme?”Iask.
InyourhesitationIfoundmyanswer.
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ADedication
Shelendsherpen,tothoughtsofhim,thatflowfromit,inhersolitary.
Forsheishispoet,Andheisherpoetry.
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ADream
AstheEarthbeganspinningfasterandfaster,wefloatedupwards,handslockedtightlytogether,eyessad andbewildered.Wewatchedasour facesgrewyounger and realized theEarthwas spinning inreverse,movingusbackwardsintime.
ThenwereachedapointwhereInolongerknewwhoyouwereandIwasgraspingthehandsofastranger.ButIdidn’tletgo.Andneitherdidyou.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Ihadmyfirstdreamaboutyoulastnight.Really?Shesmiles.Whatwasitabout?Idon’trememberexactly,butthewholetimeIwasdreaming,Iknewyouweremine.
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FadingPolaroid
Myeyeswerethefirsttoforget.ThefaceIoncecradledbetweenmyhands,nowablur.Andyourvoiceisslowlydriftingfrommymemory,likeafadingpolaroid.ButthewayIfeltisstillcrystalclear.Likeitwasyesterday.
TherearePhilosopherswhoclaimthepast,present,andfutureallexistattheonetime.AndthewayI
havefelt,thewayIfeel—thatbittersweetachebetweenwantingandhaving—isevidenceoftheirtheory.
IfeltyoubeforeIknewyouandIstillfeelyounow.Andinthatbriefmomentbetween—wrappedin
yourarmsthinking,howluckyIam,howluckyIam,howluckyIam—
HowluckyIwas.
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OdetoSorrow
Hereyes,aclosedbook,herheart,alockeddoor;shewritesmelancholylikeshe’sliveditbefore.
Sheoncelovedinaway,youcouldnotunderstand;heleftherinpiecesandapeninherhand.
Theodetohersorrow
inthelifeshehasled—herscratchesonpaper,thewordstheyhavebled.
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TheProfessor
Astreakof lightflashesacrossthesky.Thickheavyraindropspoundtheunevendirtfloor, littered
with dried leaves and twigs. She follows closely behind him, clutching an odd contraption—arectangular device attached with a long, squiggly, antenna. “You were right about the storm,Professor!” she yells over the howling wind. “Yes, my assistant!” he cries, voice charged withexcitement,asheholdsup the long,metal conductor.She stumblesovera logashe reachesout tocatchher.
Theytumbleonthedrygrasslaughing.Hetossesasidethebent,silvercoathanger,wrappinghisarmsaroundherwaist.Thelittletransistorradiofallsfromherhands.
Thesunpeeksthroughthetreetops.
Shethinksoftheirfirstconversation.“Ilivebyaforest,”hesaid,describingitinsuchawaythatwhenshecametoscalethosecrooked,windingstairs,itwaslikeshehadseenitathousandtimesbefore.Asifit had always been there, waiting to welcome her. Like the pretty, sunlit room that remainedunfurnished,sittingemptyinhishouse,nowfilledwithherpaintsandbrushes.
ShewouldfondlycallhimherFrankenstein,thismanwhowasapatchworkofallthethingsshehad
everlongedfor.Hegavehersuchgifts—notthekindthatwereputinboxes,butthesortthatfilledher with imagination, breathing indescribable happiness into her life. One day, he built her agreenhouse.“Soyoucancreateyourlittlemonstrousplants,”heexplained.
Heshowedherhowtocatchthestraybutterfliesthatflutteredfromtheirelusiveneighbors,whowererumoredtofarmthemforcosmeticuse.Shewouldlisteninmorbidfascinationashedescribedhowthehelplessinsectswerecruellydismembered,beforetheirfragilewingswerecrushedandgroundintoafinepowder.“Yourlipswouldlookbeautiful,paintedwithbutterflywings,”hewouldteaseher.
“Never!”she’dcry,alarmed.
Theyspentmuchoftheirdaysalone,intheirpeacefulsanctuary,apartfromthelittlevisitorwhocameonweekends.Whentheweatherwasgood,thethreeofthemwouldventureout,pastthewornjettyandpicnic on their little beach.Hewouldwatch themproudly,marveling at the startling contrastbetween the two thingshe lovedmost in theworld.His sonwithhair of spungold, playing at hisfavoriterockpoolandchatteringanimatedlyinhissingsongvoice.She,withasmall,amusedsmileonhertinylips,ravenhairtousledbytheseawind.Shewasdifferentfromanythinghehadeverknown.
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TheKeeper
Youwerelikeadream,IwishIhadn’tsleptthrough.
WithinitIfelldeeper,thanyourheartwouldcaretoletyou.
Ithoughtyouwereakeeper,IwishIcouldhavekeptyou.
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You
TherearepeopleIwillneverknowandtheirliveswillstillensue;thosethatcouldhavelovedmesoandI’llneverwonderwho.
Ofallthethingstocomeandgo,thereisnooneelselikeyou.
ThethingsIneverthinkabout—andtheonlythingIdo.
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Us
Ilovehimandhelovesme.
Wespendeverymomenttogether.Whensleeppartsus,weoftenmeetinourdreams.
Iliketotakenapsthroughouttheday.Likeacat,hesays.Heisacatperson.
Hethinksmyeyesarebeautifulandstrange.Hehasneverseeneyeslikemineupclosebefore.
Hesaystheylookathimwithdaggerswhenhehasdonesomethingwrong.Likewhenheforgetstoorderolivesonmyhalfofthepizza.
HethinksIamespeciallycutewhenangry.
WeargueoverwhoseturnitistoputtheDVDintheplayer.SometimesnoonewinsandweendupwatchingbadTV.Whichisneverreallyabadthing.
Heneverimaginedhewouldbewithsomeonelikeme.
Now,hesays,hecan’timaginehimselfwithanyoneelse.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We’rekids,aren’twe?Yes,kidswithgrown-uppowers.
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SwanSong
Herheartisplayedlikewell-wornstrings;inhereyes,
thesadnesssings—ofonewhowasdestinedforbetterthings.
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DeadPoets
Herpoetryiswrittenontheghostoftrees,whisperedonthelipsoflovers.
Asalittlegirl,shewoulddriftinandoutoflibrariesfilledwithdeadpoetsandtheirmuskyscent.She
heldtheminherhandsandbreathedthemin—wantingsomuchtobepartoftheirworld.
Itwasn’t longbeforeEmilybeganspeakingtoher, thenSylviaandKatherine; theirvoices rang inunison,hauntingandbeautiful.Theytoldheronedayherpoetrywouldbewrittenontheghostoftreesandwhisperedonthelipsoflovers.
Butitwouldcomeataprice.
Thereisn’tathingIwouldnotgladlygive,shethought,tojoinmyidolsonthosedustyshelves.Tobeimmortal.
As if reading hermind, the voices of the dead poets cried out in alarm andwarned her about the
greatestheartacheofall—howeverystrokeofpenthereafterwouldopenthesamewoundoverandoveragain.
Whatisthecauseofsuchgreatheartache?Sheasked.Theyheardthekeenanticipationinhervoiceandweresorryforher.
Thegreatestheartachecomesfromlovinganothersoul,theysaid,beyondreason,beyonddoubt,withnohopeofsalvation.
Itwasonhersixteenthbirthdaythatshefirstfellinlove.Withaboywhobroughtherredrosesandwhitelies.Whenhebrokeherheart,shecriedfordays.
Thenhopeful,shesatwithapeninherhand,poisedovertheblankwhitesheet,butitrefusedtodrawblood.
Manybirthdayscameandwent.
Onebyone,shelovedthemandjustaseasily,theywerelosttoher.Somewhereamidstthecarnations
andforget-me-nots,betweenthelilacsandmistletoe—sheslowlylearnedaboutlove.Littlebylittle,herheartbloomedintoabouquetofhopeandecstasy,oftendernessandbetrayal.
Thenshemetyou,andyoubroughtherdandelionseachday,soshewouldneverwantforwishes.She
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lookeddeepintoyoureyesandsawtheverybestofherselfreflectedback.
Andshelovedyou,beyondreason,beyonddoubt,andwithnohopeofsalvation.
Whenshefeltyourloveslippingawayfromher,shekneltatthealtar,beforeallthegreatpoets—andshebegged.Shenolongercaredforpoetryorimmortality,sheonlywantedyou.
But all the dead poets could dowas look on, helpless and resignedwhile everything she had everwishedforcametrueinthecruelestpossibleway.
Shelearnedtoolatethatpoetsareamongthedamned,cursedtocommiserateovertheirloss,toreach
withoutstretchedhands—handsthatwillneverknowtheweightofwhattheyseek.
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LostandFound
Asunkenchest,ontheoceanground,toneverbefoundwaswherehefoundme.
Therehestirred,myeverythought,myeveryword,sogently,soprofoundly.
NowIamkept,fromdreamsIdreamt,whenonceIslept,sosoundly.
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Entwined
Thereisaline
I’myettosever—itgoesfrommetoyou.
Therewasatimeyousworeforever,andIamcaptivetoitspull.
Ifyouwerekind,
you’dcutthetether—butImustaskyoutobecruel.
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SoulMates
Idon’tknowhowyouaresofamiliartome—orwhyitfeelslesslikeIamgettingtoknowyouandmoreasthoughIamrememberingwhoyouare.Howeverysmile,everywhisperbringsmeclosertothe
impossibleconclusionthatIhaveknownyoubefore,Ihave lovedyoubefore—in another time, a
differentplace—someotherexistence.
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TheMost
Youmaynotknowthereasonwhy,foratimeIwasn’tI.
Therewasamanwhocameandwent,onhimeverybreathwasspent.
I’msorryIforgot
allelse—itwasthemostIeverfelt.
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SundayswithMichael
Iholdmybreathandcounttoten,Istandandsit,thenstandagain.Icrossandthenuncrossmylegs,theplanesareflyingoverhead.
Thedialturnswitheverytwist,aroundthewatch,aroundhiswrist.Restingtherewithpeninhand,whocouldeverunderstand?
ThewayhewritesofallIdream,thingskindyetcruelandin-between,whereunderneaththosetwistedtrees,aprettygirlfallentoherknees.
Whocouldknowtheworldwe’vespun?Ishrugmyshouldersandholdmytongue.Iholdmybreathandcounttoten,Istandandsit,thenstandagain.
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ForYou
HerearethethingsIwantforyou.
Iwantyoutobehappy.Iwantsomeoneelsetoknowthewarmthofyoursmile,tofeelthewayIdidwhenIwasinyourpresence.
Iwantyoutoknowhowhappyyouoncemademeandthoughyoureallydidhurtme,intheend,Iwasbetterforit.Idon’tknowifwhatwehadwaslove,butifitwasn’t,Ihopenevertofallinlove.Becauseofyou,IknowIamtoofragiletobearit.
Iwant you to remembermy lips beneath your fingers andhowyou toldme things younever toldanothersoul.IwantyoutoknowthatIhavekeptsacred,everythingyouhadentrustedinmeandIalwayswill.
Finally,IwantyoutoknowhowsorryIamforpushingyouawaywhenIhadonlymeanttobringyoucloser.AndifIeverfeltlikehometoyou,itwasbecauseyouweresafewithme.Iwantyoutoknowthatmostofall.
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Amends
Iwonderiftherewillbeamorningwhenyou’llwakeupmissingme.Thatsomeincidentinyourlifewouldhavefinallytaughtyouthevalueofmyworth.Andyouwillfeelasurgeoflonging,whenyourememberhowIwasgoodtoyou.
WhenthisdaycomesIhopeyouwilllookforme.IhopeyouwilllookwiththekindofconvictionI’d
alwayshopedfor,butneverhadfromyou.BecauseIwanttobefound.AndIhopeitwillbeyou—whofindsme.
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AWayOut
Doyouknowwhatitislike,tolieinbedawake;withthoughtstohauntyoueverynight,ofallyourpastmistakes.
Knowingsleepwillsetitright—ifyouwerenottowake.
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DeadButterflies
Isometimesthinkaboutthefragilityofglass—ofbrokenshardstearingagainstsoftskin.Whenintruth, it is the transparency thatkillsyou.Thepainof seeing throughto somethingyoucanneverquitetouch.
ForyearsI’vekeptyouinsecret,behindaglassscreen.I’vewatchedhelplesslyasdayafterday,yournewgirlfriendbecomesyourwifeandthenlater,themotherofyourchildren.Thenrealizingtheirony
inthinkingyouweretheoneunderglasswheninfactithasbeenme—apinnedbutterfly—staticandunmoving,watchingwhileyourotherlifeunfolds.
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Lullabies
Ibarelyknowyou,shesays,voiceheavywithsleep.Idon’tknowyourfavoritecolororhowyoulikeyourcoffee.Whatkeepsyouupatnightorthelullabiesthatsingyoutosleep.Idon’tknowathingaboutthefirstgirlyouloved,whyyoustoppedlovingherorwhyyoustilldo.
Idon’tknowhowmanymillionsofcellsyouaremadeofandiftheyhaveanyideatheyarepartofsomethingsobeautifulandunimaginablyperfect.
Imaynothaveaclueaboutanyofthesethings,butthis—sheplacesherhandonhischest—thisIknow.
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AllThereWas
Mygreatestlessonlearnt,youweremineuntilyouweren’t.
Itwasyouwhotaughtmeso,thegraceinlettinggo.
Thetimewehadwasall—therewasnotamomentmore.
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Nostalgia
Doyourememberourfirstday?Thefogliftedandallaroundusweretreeslinkinghands,likechildrenplaying.
Ourfirstnight,whenyoustoodbythedoor,conflicted,asIsattherewithmykneestuckedundermychin,andsmiling.
ThenrainbowsarchingoverandthemostbeautifulsunsetsIhaveeverseen.
Howthewindhowlsastheseawhispers,Imissyou.
Comebacktome.
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BeforeThereWasYou
WhenIusedtolookabove,allIsawwassky;andeverysongthatIwouldsing,Isungnotknowingwhy.
AllIthoughtandallIfelt,wasonlyjustbecause,
neverwasiteveryou—untilitwasalltherewas.
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ThatDay
Irememberourhighsinhues,likethecolorofhiseyesasthesunwassetting;thepaleofhishandsinmine,andtheblueofhissmile.
Irememberoursorrowsinshades,likethegrayoftheshadows,whichloomedthatday,andthewhiteinhisliewhenhepromisedtostay.
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LettingHimGo
There is a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater thanyourself.Atendersacrifice.
Likethepainedsilencefeltinthelostsongofamermaid;orthebentandbrokenfeetofadancingballerina.ItisineveryconsideredstepIamtakingintheoppositedirectionofyou.
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ForgetMeNot
Thechoicewasonceyourchoosing,beforelosingbecamemyloss.Iwastherein
yourforgetting—untilIwasforgot.
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ThePoet
Whydoyouwrite?heasked.
SoIcantakemyloveforyouandgiveittotheworld,Ireply.
Becauseyouwon’ttakeitfromme.
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Always
Youwereyou,andIwasI;weweretwobeforeourtime.
IwasyoursbeforeIknew,andyouhavealwaysbeenminetoo.
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ABadDay
Whenthoughtsofallbutone,arethoseIamkeeping.
Whensorethoughthereisnone,forwhomIamweeping.
Acurtaindrawnbeforethesun,andIwishtogoonsleeping.
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Reasons
IwishIknewwhyheleft.Whathisreasonswere.Whyhechangedhismind.
Foralltheseyears,Ihaveturneditoverinmyhead—allthepossibilities—yetnoneofthemmakeanysense.
AndthenIthink,perhapsitwasbecauseheneverlovedme.Butthatmakestheleastsenseofall.
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Thoughts
Dawnturnstoday,asstarsaredispersed;whereverIlay,Ithinkofyoufirst.
Thesunhasarisen,thesky,asadblue.
Iquietlylisten—thewindsingsofyou.
Thethoughtsweeachkeep,thatareclosesttoheart,
wethinkaswesleep—andyou’realwaysmylast.
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Jealousy
Itwasthewayyouspokeabouther.
Withanimosity,regret,disdain
andunderneathitall—justahintofpride.
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SadSongs
Oncetherewasaboywhocouldn’tspeakbutownedamusicboxthatheldeverysonginalltheworld.Onedayhemetagirlwhohadneverheardasinglemelodyinherentirelifeandsoheplayedherhisfavoritesong.Hewatchedwhileherfacelitupwithwonderasthemusicfilledtheskyandthepoetryoflyricsmovedherinawayshehadneverfeltbefore.
Hewouldplayhissongsforherdayafterdayandshewouldsitbyhimquietly—neverseemingtomindthathecouldonlyspeaktoherthroughsong.Shelovedeverythingheplayedforher,butofthemall—shelovedthesadsongsbest.Sohebegantoplaythemmoreandmoreuntileventually,sadsongswereallshewouldhear.
Oneday,henoticedithadbeenaverylongtimesinceherlastsmile.Whenheaskedherwhy,shetookbothhishandsinhersandkissedthemwarmly.Shethankedhimforhisgiftofmusicandpoetrybutaboveallelse—forshowinghersadnessbecauseshehadknownneitherofthesethingsbeforehim.Butitwasnowtimeforhertogoaway—tofindsomeonewhocouldshowherwhathappinesswas.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Doyourememberthesongthatwasplayingthenightwemet?No,butIremembereverysongIhaveheardsinceyouleft.
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Acceptance
TherearethingsImissthatIshouldn’t,andthoseIdon’tthatIshould.
Sometimeswewant
whatwecouldn’t—sometimeswelovewhowecould.
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Wallflower
Shrinkinginacorner,pressedintothewall;dotheyknowI’mpresent,amIhereatall?
Isthereawrittenrulebook,
thattellsyouhowtobe—alltherightthingstotalkabout—thateveryonehasbutme?
SlowlyIamwithering—aflowerdeprivedofsun;
longingtobelongto—somewhereorsomeone.
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ATimeline
YouandIagainstarule,setforusbytime.
Amarkerdrawntoshowourend,etchedintoitsline.
Thebriefestmoment
sharedwithyou—thelongestonmymind.
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Angels
It happens like this.One day youmeet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feelmore
connected to this stranger than anyone else—closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps
becausethispersoncarriesanangelwithinthem—onesenttoyouforsomehigherpurpose,toteachyouanimportantlessonortokeepyousafeduringaperiloustime.Whatyoumustdoistrustinthem
—eveniftheycomehandinhandwithpainorsuffering—thereasonfortheirpresencewillbecomeclearinduetime.
Thoughhere isawordofwarning—youmaygrowto lovethispersonbutremembertheyarenotyourstokeep.Theirpurposeisn’ttosaveyoubuttoshowyouhowtosaveyourself.Andoncethisisfulfilled, the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life.Theywill be astrangertoyouoncemore.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It’ssodarkrightnow,Ican’tseeanylightaroundme.That’sbecausethelightiscomingfromyou.Youcan’tseeitbuteveryoneelsecan.
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HeandI
Whenwordsrundry,hedoesnottry,nordoI.
Weareonpar.
Hejustis,Ijustam,andwejustare.
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LosingYou
IusedtothinkIcouldn’tgoadaywithoutyoursmile.Withouttellingyouthingsandhearingyourvoiceback.
Then,thatdayarrivedanditwassodamnhardbutthenextwasharder.Iknewwithasinkingfeelingitwasgoingtogetworse,andIwasn’tgoingtobeokayforaverylongtime.
Becauselosingsomeoneisn’tanoccasionoranevent.Itdoesn’t justhappenonce.Ithappensoverandoveragain.IloseyoueverytimeIpickupyourfavoritecoffeemug;wheneverthatonesongplaysontheradio,orwhenIdiscoveryouroldt-shirtatthebottomofmylaundrypile.
IloseyoueverytimeIthinkofkissingyou,holdingyou,orwantingyou.Igotobedatnightandloseyou,whenIwishIcouldtellyouaboutmyday.Andinthemorning,whenIwakeandreachfortheemptyspaceacrossthesheets,Ibegintoloseyoualloveragain.
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TheThingsWeHide
Andso,Ihaveputawaythephotographs,everytraceofyouIknow.
Thethingsthatseemtomatterless,aretheonesweputonshow.
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Tsunamis
Becarefulaboutgivingyourhearttooquickly,Iwastold.Boysonlyhaveonethingontheirminds,theycautioned.
Idon’tknowifhetrulylovesme—howcanIbesure?Ican’tsaywithanyconvictionthathewon’t
breakmyheart—buthowcouldIhavestoppedhimfromtakingwhatwasalreadyhis?
Hesweptinlikeatsunami,waveafterwave,andIdidn’tstandachance.Allthosewarnings,allthe
thingstheytriedtopreparemefor—lostinaninstant—totheenormityofwhatIfelt.
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AlwayswithMe
YourloveIoncesurrendered,hasneverleftmymind.
Myheartisjustastender,asthedayIcalledyoumine.
Ididnottakeyouwithme,butyouwereneverleftbehind.
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MorethanLove
Lovewascruel,asIstoodproud;heshowedmeyouandIwasbowed.
Hedeftlydealt
hisswiftestblow—Ifellfurtherthan,Iwasmeanttogo.
Andheashamed,ofwhathe’dcaused,knewfromthen,thatIwasyours.
Thathe,anecho
andyou,thesound—Ilovedyoumorethanloveallowed.
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FirstLove
BeforeIfellinlovewithwords,withsettingskies
andsingingbirds—itwasyouIfellinlovewithfirst.
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ThatNight
It was one of those nights that you are not altogether sure really did happen. There are nophotographs,noreceipts,noscrawledjournalentries.
Just the memory sitting in my mind, like a half-blown dandelion, waiting to be fractured,dismembered.Waitingtodisintegrateintonothing.
AsIclosemyeyes, thepicturesplay likeablurrymontage.Icanseeusdrivingforhours,until the
streetsignsgrewlessfamiliar—theflickeringlamplightsgivingawaytostars.Thensittingacrossfromyouinthatquiet,littleItalianplace.Yourhandspushingtheplatesaside,reachingacrossformine.
Theconversationswehadabouteverythingandnothing.Andkissingyou.HowIrememberthat.
Itwasoneofthosenightsthatmymindstillcan’tbesureof.ThatwondersifIwaseverthereatall.Yetinmyheart,itisasthoughI’veneverleft.
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DéjàVu
Isawitonce,Ihavenodoubt;butnowcan’tplaceitswhereabouts.
Itrytothinkit,timeandtime;butwhatitis,won’tcometomind.
Aword,ascent—afeeling,past.Itwillnotshow,thoughmuchI’veasked.
Andwhenitcomes,
Isoonforget—thisishowitfelt,whenwefirstmet.
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AStranger
ThereisaloveIreminisce,likeaseedI’veneversown.
OflipsthatIamyettokiss,andeyesnotmetmyown.
Handsthatwraparoundmywrists,andarmsthatfeellikehome.
IwonderhowitisImiss,thesethingsI’veneverknown.
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Signposts
Whatifcertainpeopleweresignpostsinyourlife?Representationsofgoodorbad.Likeanoldfriendyou see across a crowded street,oneyouwavehello to,beforehurryingon.The last timeyou sawthem,thingstookaturnfortheworseand,assadasitmayseem,theyhaveunwittinglybecomean
omen—aprecursorofbadluck.
Orthatonepersonwhomyourarelyspeakwith,whocanalwaysbefoundrightwhereyouleftthem.
Youcarrytheirsmilewithyoulikeatalisman—forwhateverreason,theirpresence inyour lifewillalwaysbringthepromiseofbetterdays.
Thenthereistheboyyoucanneverstopthinkingabout.Wheneveryouseehisname,ittripsyouup.Evenifit’sonethatbelongstomanyothers,evenifhebelongstosomeoneelse.
Youknowheisasymbolofyourweakness,yourKryptonite.Howherushesinlikewildfireandburnsthrougheverythingyouworkedsohardtobuildsincehelastleftyouinashes.
Soyoudotheonlythingyouknowhow—youputasmanymilesasyoucanbetweenhim.Asmanyroadblocksand traffic lights asyoucangather.Thenyoubuildabold red stop sign rightonyour
doorstep,knowingallthestopsignsintheworldcouldneverholdhim—theycanonlyaskhimtostayawhile.
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Clocks
Hereintime,youaremine;myhearthasnotsunglouder.
Idonotknow
whyIloveyouso—theclockknowsnotitshour.
Yetitisclear,toallthat’shere,thattimeistoldbyseeing.
Eventhoughclocksdonotknow,itisthereasonfortheirbeing.
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NoOther
ThereissomeoneIkeepinmyheart—Ilovehimandnooneelse.Itisalovethatwillonlydiewithme.
Youmay ask,death could be some time away—what if from now to then, you lovesomeonenew?
WellIcantellyou,thereisonlyonelove.Ifanypersonclaimstohavelovedtwiceinalltheirlife—theyhavenotlovedatall.
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WishfulThinking
Yousaythatyouareoverme,
myheart—itskips,itsinks.
Iseeyounowwithsomeonenew,Istare,Istare,Iblink.
SomedayI’llbeoveryou,Iknow,
Iknow—Ithink.
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Soundtracks
Heoncetoldmeabouthisloveforlyrics.Howthewordsspoketohimlikepoetry.
Iwouldoftenwonder abouthis playlist and theghostswho lived there.The faces he saw and thevoicesheheard.Thesoundtracktoathousandtragicendings,realorimagined.
ThefirsttimeIsawhim,Inoticedhowhauntedhiseyeswere.AndIwasdrawntohim,inthewayamelodydrawsacrowdtothedancefloor.Pulledbyinvisiblestrings.
NowIwonderifIamoneofthoseghosts—ifIamsomewhere,driftingbetweenthosenotes.IhopeIam.Ihopewhenevermysongplays,Iamthere,whisperinginhisear.
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TheEnd
“Idon’tknowwhattosay,”hesaid.
“It’sokay,”shereplied,“Iknowwhatweare—andIknowwhatwe’renot.”
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BeachBall
Doyouknowthatfeeling?Whenit’slikeyou’velostsomethingbutcan’trememberwhatitwas.It’sasthoughyou’re trying sodesperately to thinkof awordbut itwon’t come to you.You’ve said it a
thousandtimesbeforeanditwasalwaysthere—rightwhereyouleftit.Butnowyoucan’trecall it.Youtryandtrytomakeitappearanditalmostdoes,butitneverdoes.
TherearetimeswhenIthinkitcouldsurface—whenIsenseitatthetipofmytongue.WhenIfeelitstrugglingtoburstfrommychestlikeabeachballthatcanonlybeheldbeneaththewaterforsolong.
Icanfeelitstirringeachtimesomeonehurtsme.WhenIsmileatastrangerandtheydon’tsmileback.WhenItrustsomeonewithasecretandtheybetrayme.WhensomeoneIadmiretellsmeIamnotgoodenough.
Idon’tknowwhat it isorwhatIhave lost.ButIknow itwas important, Iknow itoncemademehappy.
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AfraidtoLove
Iturnaway
andclosemyheart—tothepromiseoflovethatisluring.
Forthepasthastaughttonotbecaught,inwhatisnot
worthpursuing—
ToneverdothethingsI’vedonethatoncehadledtomyundoing.
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Time
YouweretheoneIwantedmosttostay.
Buttimecouldnotbekeptatbay.
Themoreitgoes,
themoreit’sgone—themoreittakesaway.
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Wounded
Abruiseistenderbutdoesnotlast,itleavesmeasIalwayswas.
ButawoundItakemuchmoretoheart,forascarwillalwaysleaveitsmark.
Andifyoushouldaskwhichoneyouare,
myansweris—youareascar.
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LostThings
Doyouknowwhenyou’ve lostsomething—likeyourfavoritet-shirtorasetofkeys—andwhilelookingforit,youcomeacrosssomethingelseyouoncemissedbuthavelongsinceforgotten?Wellwhateveritwas,therewasapointwhereyoudecidedtostopsearching,maybebecauseitwasnolonger
requiredoranewreplacementwasfound.Itisalmostasifitneverexistedinthefirstplace—untilthatmomentofrediscovery,aflashofrecognition.
Everyonehasone—aninventoryoflostthingswaitingtobefound.Yearningtobeacknowledgedfortheworththeyonceheldinyourlife.
IthinkthisiswhereIbelong—amongallyourotherlostthings.Acrumplednoteatthebottomofadraweroranoldphotographpressedbetweenthepagesofabook.IhopesomedayyouwillfindmeandrememberwhatIoncemeanttoyou.
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TheGirlHeLoves
TherewasamanwhoIonceknew,formetherewasnoother.Theclosertolovingmehegrew,themorehewouldgrowfurther.
Itriedtolovehimashisfriend,thentolovehimashislover;
butheneverlovedmeintheend—hisheartwasforanother.
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Patience
PatienceandLoveagreedtomeetatasettimeandplace;beneaththetwenty-thirdtreeintheoliveorchard.Patiencearrivedpromptlyandwaited.Shecheckedherwatcheverysooftenbutstill,therewasnosignofLove.
Wasitthetwenty-thirdtreeorthefifty-sixth?Shewonderedanddecidedtocheck,justincase.Asshemadeherwayovertothefifty-sixthtree,Lovearrivedattwenty-three,wherePatiencewasnoticeablyabsent.
Lovewaitedandwaitedbeforedecidinghemusthavethewrongtreeandperhapsitwasanotherwheretheyweresupposedtomeet.
Meanwhile,Patiencehadarrivedatthefifty-sixthtree,whereLovewasstillnowheretobeseen.
Bothbegintodriftaimlesslyaroundtheoliveorchard,almostmeetingbutneverdo.
Finally,Patience,whowasfeeling lostandresigned,foundherselfbeneaththesametreewhereshebegan.Shestoodthereforbarelyaminutewhentherewasataponhershoulder.
ItwasLove.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“Whereareyou?”sheasked.“Ihavebeensearchingallmylife.”“Stoplookingforme,”Lovereplied,“andIwillfindyou.”
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SecondChances
Thepathfromyouextending,Icouldnotseeitscourse—ortheclosertoyouIwasgetting,thefurtherfromyouI’dwalked.
ForIwasmovinginacircle,
notalineasIhadthought—thestepsItookawayfromyou,weretakingmetowards.
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Dyslexia
There were letters I wrote you that I gave up sending, long before I stopped writing. I don’tremembertheircontents,butIcanrecallwithabsoluteclarity,yournamescrawledacrossthepages.Icouldneverquitecontainyoutothosemessysheetsofblueink.Icouldnotstopyoufromovertakingeverythingelse.
Iwroteyournameoverandover—onscrapsofpaper,inbooksandonthebackofmywrists.Icarveditlikesacredmarkingsintotreesandthetopsofmythighs.Yearswentbyandthescarshavevanished,but the sting has not leftme. Sometimes when I read a book, parts will lift from the pages in ananagramofyourname.Likeacodetoremindmeit’snotover.Likedyslexiainreverse.
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AllorNothing
Ifyoulovemeforwhatyousee,onlyyoureyeswouldbeinlovewithme.
Ifyoulovemeforwhatyou’veheard,thenyouwouldlovemeformywords.
Ifyoulovemyheartandmind,thenyouwouldloveme,forallthatI’m.
Butifyoudon’tlovemyeveryflaw,
thenyoumustn’tloveme—notatall.
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Metamorphosis
Iamsomebodyelse’sstory.Thegirlwhoservedtheirdrink,thepersontheypushedpastonacrowded
street,theonewhobroketheirheart.Ihavehappenedinsomanyplaces,tosomanypeople—theessenceofmelivesoninthesenuances,thesemoments.
Yet never have I been bolder or brighter than I am with you.Not once have I ever felt so alive.Whatevervesselwepourourselvesinto,mineisnowoverflowing,brimmingwithlife.Itistranscendingintosomethingnew.
Hands areno longerhands.They are caresses.Mouths areno longermouths.They arekisses.My
nameisnolongeraname,itisacall.Andloveisnolongerlove—loveisyou.
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HerWords
Loveagirlwhowritesandlivehermanylives;youhaveyettofindher,beneathherwordsofguise.
Kissherblue-inkedfingers,forgivethepenstheymarked.
Thestainofyourlipsuponher—theoneshecan’tdiscard.
Forgethertatteredmemories,orthepagesotherstook;
youarehereverafter—theheroofherbook.
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Closure
Liketimesuspended,
awoundunmended—youandI.
Wehadnoending,nosaidgood-bye.
Forallmylife,I’llwonderwhy.
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Acknowledgments
ThankyoutoAlZuckermanandWritersHouseforyourongoingguidanceandsupport.
ToKirstyandherteamatAndrewsMcMeelforyourpassionanddedication.
ToOllieFaudet,thelittleoracle.
Tomyfamilyandfriendswithallmylove.
Tomyreaders,wordscannotexpresshowmuchyoursupportmeanstome.
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AbouttheAuthor
TheworkofpoetandartistLangLeavswingsbetweenthewhimsicalandwoeful,expressingacomplexitybeneathitschildlikefacade.
LangisarecipientoftheQantasSpiritofYouthAwardandaprestigiousChurchillFellowship.
Her artwork is exhibited internationally and she was selected to take part in the landmarkPlayboyReduxshowcuratedbytheAndyWarholMuseum.
Shecurrentlyliveswithherpartnerandcollaborator,Michael,inalittlehousebythesea.
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IndexPartI-HereandNowAftertheStormALoveStoryAPoemAWriter’sMuseAWriter’sPleaBirthdaysCollisionDearLoveFaithHappinessHerHomeHopeInLoveIntheEndLanguageLoveMemoriesNewLightNowandThenNumbersPiecesofYouPoetryReachingOutRevelationSheStardustStowawaySundayBestTheNightTheRoseTheSaddestThingTheStrangerVirtualLoveWaiting
PartII-RememberWhenABadDayAbouttheAuthorAcceptanceAcknowledgmentsADedicationADreamAfraidtoLoveAfterYouAllorNothingAllThereWasAlwaysAlwayswithMeAmendsAnArtistinLoveAngelsAQuestion
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AStrangerATimelineAToast!AWayOutBeachBallBeforeThereWasYouBrokenHeartsClocksClosureDeadButterfliesDeadPoetsDéjàVuDyslexiaEntwinedFadingPolaroidFirstLoveForgetMeNotForYouHeandIHerWordsIndexInTwoPartsJealousyLettingHimGoLosingYouLostandFoundLostThingsLoveLostLullabiesMetamorphosisMorethanLoveMyHeartNoOtherNostalgiaOdetoSorrowPatiencePretextReasonsRoguePlanetsSadSongsSadThingsSeaofStrangersSecondChancesSignpostsSomeTimeOutSoulMatesSoulsSoundtracksSundayswithMichaelSwanSongThatDayThatNightTheEndTheGirlHeLovesTheKeeperTheMostThePoetTheProfessorTheSeventhSeaTheThingsWeHide
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TheWandererThoughtsThreeQuestionsTimeTsunamisUsWallflowerWishfulThinkingWoundedYou
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PostedPoemsisauniquepostalservicethatallowsyoutosendyourfavoriteLangLeavpoemtoanyone,anywhereintheworld.
Allpoemsareprintedonheavyweightartpaperandencasedinabeautifulstring-tieenvelope.TosendaPostedPoemtosomeone
specialvisit:langleav.com/postedpoems
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Sharingyourthoughtscanhelpusimproveourebooks.Wewouldappreciateyourfeedback.Thankyou!
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