Love Letters with Nowhere to Go

These letters, these letters are written every day. Paragraphs of affection, foreign to all, but the one who wrote them, and the drawers they are stuck in. They wait, and wait. They desire to be given life by her eyes. The letters become forgotten and stale relics of love not found, and a love that didn't belong, and of a man that can't let go, a man whose soul still quiets when she enters a room, and seeks her ardently when she leaves. Dust collected on these letters signifies the selfishness of the writer. She is not his to love. How dare he think that words could win her heart? How dare he be such a selfish fuck up? Why does he do this to her? Why does he do this to himself? Why does he leave these letters in such a banal existence? Why does he not shred them? They have nowhere to go; captive letters with no release, praying to be read and released so they may live in the heart they always called home....
Dear Postman,
Don't come for us, If you do, return to sender.
Sincerely,
The Captive Letters

Cigarettes

She held him like a seasoned smoker holds a cigarette , with full awareness that if she let go, he would meet the ground, burn it, then have to be stomped by feet so callous. He held her as though she was his last cigarette, with tenderness and reverence. They did everything but let go. This was their last puff, and it could not be a corner store parking lot smoke. They knew they needed to savor the smoke, taste it, have the nicotine calm their bones like a warm winter fire. To be held like a smoker holds a cigarette is to be alive.

Her Poems

The poem she writes with her feet is my song. The poem she writes with her pen, my obligatory prayer.

Languages are of No Use

Loving a Woman

The If

If I was told I could trade our time, our friendship, and my love for you, for a lifetime of happiness with someone else, I would not do it. If   I  could trade my pain of missing you for the comfort of someone else’s arms, I would not do it. It is not that I am stubborn, Ok, well maybe I am, but I am not stubborn in this instance, here is where I love you. I know somewhere deep in the beauty and curves of your soul, you love me too. You know that at this point (or ever) we are not right for each other, and I’m ok that you feel that way, because in truth, missing you has become so deep that I don’t miss what I thought we could have had: a “relationship,” holding hands, that romance stuff lovers do, no I just miss you, you, Just you, my love, my friend. Others may momentarily captivate me, but you have my heart, and that is why I am blessed. 

Consecration

I want to distill my desire such that it is no longer my own, and becomes nothing but the desires that help you reach Nirvana. This way of loving you is the only way I can truly love you without interruption from the excesses of my heart. This way of loving you will not hinder you. This way of loving you means letting you go while knowing that you will always have a home with me in my heart should you ever need to call it to beat at the cadence of your voice. This way of loving you is the only way for me. My Nirvana .

The Hope in the Alone

There is a certain hope in feeling alone
The hope that it can all change
It takes so much effort to sustain this hope, that may, in the end when all our life has been spent, reveal itself as an illusion
There are people who have lived and died  their whole existence alone
Hope does not grant us anything but patience
We may die being patient

I'm Not Scared of Losing the Chance

I'm not scared of losing the chance to be more than a friend. I used to be scared that you and I would never have the chance to be more to each other. Slowly, but steadily, this fear evaporates and is replaced by the love I have for you, and nothing else. Love does not demand, nor require anything. Sure, love does indeed hope, but love also knows that it cannot be manufactured. Love knows that being friends can be just as fulfilling as being actual lovers. Love knows the importance of the happiness of its beloved.We are what we are, and for all that you are, all that you will be, all that I don't know of you, for all of this and the way you make me feel, I love you.

An Imaginary Tea with Death- Part 1

Death, dear Death, before you act in haste, let us have an Iced Tea and chat.

OK

Why do you plan on taking me at this time?

You might want to ask my boss, he said this was important.

God???? How do I reach him?

I don't know, he doesn't have many visitors

Well, I know you're here now, so perhaps I'll just probe the mind of the Grim Reaper.

Ok, but please don't call me the Grim Reaper, I was given that annoying nickname when I was a child.

Ok, how much time can you afford me?

Would it actually help if I told you that?

Well yeah. It'd kind of be like 'stoppage time' in a game of soccer, it helps the teams to mount that last offensive push or defensive hold.


I will take you after our tea is finished.

So.....that's it? ... No chance to say goodbye to my family and friends?

I empathize, but if I were to give you extra time, I would have to do that for everyone....what makes you special enough to be a rare exception?

Nothing.... absolutely nothing......

Tell me, if you were given a small chunk of hours, what would you do with them?

I'd buy my friends and family dinner, share jokes and tell them I love them, then I'd go skydiving, and finally, I would write one more time.

OK, odd grouping of choices, but to each his own. What would you write?

A love letter to her.

Who?

The woman I love.

You love her, yet all you are doing is putting words on a page, how would that help her???

I guess it wouldn't do much, but we are only talking about a few hours here.

Maybe you are more selfish than you realize?

I could ask her what is the best way I can help her?

Yeah that is a great idea.