She was sitting in the dining room earlier than normal.

Draped in her newest collection of thrift shop pompous.

The air must have been just cold enough that she felt the need to cross her arms.

Maybe the window was left open today and we all just forgot.

Ivory concealer missed upon removal happened to highlight

the weights tugging on her eyes.

The constant brevity of her tombstone texts had been silenced for this meal.

Her shoulders an untrained submissive, humbly angled to the floor.

Her lips were parted slightly yet her jaw was held firm.

Her arrogantly placed brows now lay softly with defeat on her face.

Happiness was so easily lost in the places she called home,

In the people she thought were home

Truth like sweat seeped out of her skin.

-she is now held silent by the words of others

Despite your efforts with empty-hearted classmates you’ve found security in alien life.

Of the bite-sized community of educated young adults

You fall into the category of literate yet unnaturally curious.

You've found your entertainment

In the second hand high from your peer’s infectious pursuits.

The aliens don't live vicariously through dried leaves and fermented grapes.

These creatures, fluent in their own tongue can never understand

The ideal life that a human teen resides in.

It can’t be a facade.

Your cautious studies of the adolescent behaviour led you to believe

That drinking was the only way to conform.

Moments are volatile- man man-made substances-and they evaporate quickly.

Your liquor delusions chemically impair your link between aliens and teens.

Trapped in orbit you are unable to grasp anyone.

Left with the recurring fear,

Being alone in your own mind.

Now you must finally accept who’s been inside your head all these years.

You have had success in creating relationships with all that is different and must realise

sometimes you do have have to look extraterrestrially to find the comfort in earth's complexity

Distance takes a person by surprise. Everyday waiting. Every second yearning. Looking past bore, peering over curiosity. Hoping to one day forget, or never forget.

Watching the trains pass through the station. The blood pump through a sick man’s veins. The people rushing through the streets. The water flowing out of the tap. The geese migrating in the winter. The sky, purpling over near dusk. Watching lights flicker out in the street as night falls close. Rain drips from clouds that forgot their silver lining.

These days are left for sitting on a park bench to sort and group the people you see. Forming lives of wonder for them. Creating a path they might not have chosen or a river they might not have followed

There’s a few taxis hoping to be somewhere else. Any road to nowhere would do. This road might be paved or gravel, wide or thin, busy or empty. But everlasting, travelable, and for some reason silent. This road is a time waster, time giver.

The geese fly above the road to their own destination. The sky of purple disappears each night, yet returns in the morning. The express train floats through the air adrift. Those people at the station all have their own path. Each one different each one perfect.

So watch out for the next time distance takes you. Watch for the geese and the sky. Just keep waiting for another taxi and sit on a bench and watch the world crash by. Follow the road, but make sure you chose the right one. Since as we’ve learned today not all roads lead to nowhere. Not when you've made your life count. 

I love the way he lights up the room with his laugh and how his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I love how he fiddles with the buttons on his shirt and bites his lip when he's focused. I love the way he moves: his steady walk, the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. I love the way he treats people and how he makes the best of a bad day. I love the way he loves people. I love the way he loves boys. I love the way he loves me.

Empty house, late night.

Cold bathroom, small tub

Hot water, foggy windows

Quiet room, naked body

Warm cheeks, icy fingers

Lights off, steady breaths

Dead heart, too still

campfires. lemon candy. a warm comfortable oversized hoodie. crystal grids. holding hands in a forest. caramel chocolate. a library. sandalwood incense. open mic nights on wednesdays. quoting literature to win arguments. brownie waffles. rosewater. being in bed. a glossy classical guitar. fireworks. sunshine filtering through a forest. cat memes. falling asleep easily and quickly. historical novels. paintings of eyes. organic coffee. recently tuned pianos. cologne. watching shows on netflix. casting spells with music. the surface of a meromictic lake. bursts of inspiration to compose. black cats sleeping in your garden. candlelight in winter. fuzzy socks. dancing around your room. tuxedo shirts for the orchestra concerts. stage lights. tarot cards. busking for change downtown with your ukulele and trilby hats. calculating astrology charts by hand. lip balms. collaborative graffiti. tea in the morning. the smell of saltwater. mint candies. spiked boots. sketches of roses. life.

-not all ideas mine-

You take a breath, your movements slow

You close your eyes so your tears won’t show.

You bow your head so you won’t feel pain

You bite your lip and close your eyes again

On the edge, your face white like chalk

On your wrist, your eyes gaze at the clock

On the brink you hear their voices

On that night you’ve made your choices

In the darkness you feel the rain

In the moment it feels insane

In the daylight you fought the fray

In the silence you kept your demons at bay

You’ve taken a breath, your movements slow

You’ve closed your eyes and your tears don’t show

You’ve bowed your head and you don’t feel pain

You’ve bitten your lips and closed your eyes again