love without words

wasting ink

I can't stop wasting ink on you. Your name clings, suspended from the tip of my pen as I drag you over the paper, again and again.

You always leave a messy streak on everything you touch, the stains on my coffee table.

And even with you gone its like you're always there.

Round reminders of what we weren't. Of what went wrong.

You had the knack of making me feel like everything seem cluttered, like i took up too much space.

And now you fill my room with crumbled up notes, sonnetts and apoligies.

You say it's inspiration but really it's invasion.

Every inch of you fills my notebooks, makes the pages cramped. Nothing has changed and I'm tired of writing about you.. how you always tucked your fingers in my pockets, as though you couldn't hold me any closer. The way held me in my sleep.

You ruined me and you left me with this endless cursive.. and odes to your lips.. the way they stayed closed.. suspended and let me walk away.

My margins are full, there is no room to breathe, my heavy pen reminds me of the weight of your hand in mine.

Now I'm miles away and you're all over my paper. Wasting ink on you.

today.

Today I slept in with James.

Loved him every second.

Got up and took a bath..

Too sunburned to have hot water.

Got dressed and made breakfast.

Of course I burnt the toast.

We laughed about the way I cook.

So he made the toast.

He left to go to work..

I still loved him every second.

Thought of why I shouldn't be with him for the rest of my life? Nothin.

Went to a meeting at work..

Wondered why I can't win everyone over.

Still wondering why.

Went tanning. Got a fresh sunburn.

Came home and saw James before he left for the weekend.

Loved him every second.

Went and had dinner with Jen and Kim.

Wondered how I got lucky enough to meet such good friends. Nothin.

Talked to my dad.. felt sad that he's lonely.

Wrote a blog about being lonely.

Took a bath.. cold, because of the sunburn..

Thought of cuddling up to a good book.

Read the good book..

Thinking of why not to write a book? Nothin.

what its like to fall.

You're sitting on an airplane. You're 40,000 feet above the ground.
Dreaming of the future and the one you're going home to.
You're watching the water being pressed into tiny designs along your window..

Your sealtbelt is on, your feet are up. You're safe.

Like lightning your oxygen mask falls in front of your face and the plane starts to fall.

Right then, you hear yourself say... "Please god. I really need you now. Help me make it through this one."

The nose of the plane pulls up.. and you can finally breathe again.

The pilot comes over the speakers and says, "Sorry for the scare."

That's kinda how love is.

And when it's over you ask yourself why you got on the plane in the first place.

You remember the beautiful places it took you...

So the question is.. will you fly again?

And if you do, will you crash and burn?

a memory

I'm seven years old. I'm laying in the long, soft, golden grass staring at the sky.

Dandelions exist all around me like the sea. And thats exactly what they are, a sea of lions.

To me, dandelions are the most beautiful of all the flowers.

No one ever bothered to tell me they were weeds. How did a weed manage to change into something with such beauty?

It wouldn't have mattered anyways, you couldn't change my mind.




I'm swirling a dandelion in my fingers, holding it by its stem.

I look over at my mother and she snaps a quick photograph of me in the sea of lions..

the sun reflecting off her golden hair.

She reminds me of a dandelion. The most beautiful of all the mothers.



I realize this is my heaven. I want to live inside that photograph forever.



Heaven. I'm staring up into it. I'm watching as the clouds keep moving further and further into the sky and in a way I know I'll never see them again and I miss them as they pass. I'm a little girl dreaming of heaven.