Friday, June 29, 2012

I miss your voice

I miss your voice like 
plants miss sunlight in the night
I miss your voice like
shoes miss pavement on saturdays
I miss your voice like
I'd miss winter during Christmas in Australia
I miss your voice like
the dry parts of sandy shores miss the kisses of the ocean 
I miss your voice like
Batman misses his parents

I miss your voice

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Ocean Shores and Crashing Waves

She holds the ocean in her eyes. And the sound of crashing waves in her voice. Her skin, only part of the surface, sand on the shores. She breathes life, just in the way she is - the essence of living, the beauty of existing, speaks and flows, radiates, from her being. Everything she has been designed as, imperfections and all, has created something perfect. She holds the key to my heart, unlike any other. She sees through to my soul, speaking to me in ways even she is unaware of; subtle, the voice of her existence whispers, finely, into my ear and down to my heart. It has dug itself a home within my chest.

Or has it?

Has this cavern always been? Knowing that one day, she would come about, and rest in my soul?

Oh and how she rests. Her spirit tightly wraps itself within the cracks and crevasses of my being, becoming part of who I am. I can hear her voice now, and oh, how it's the only voice I long to hear - again and again.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012


Night had consumed day, and the lights on the buildings had given a hopeful sort of tint, like white christmas lights during winter - a sepia haze, sure and confident. I was in the midst of fleeing, trying to find the blueprints of my most profound, successful ideas. They laid scattered, a heaping mess of papers on the floor, in a small room on the side of a building. I heard a voice, as if telepathically, yet involuntarily; I heard the voices of others wanting my blueprints. The voices said, "Notes, notes, notes... make sure he gives you the notes".

A man had accompanied me to find the papers. He was waiting outside the door, watching my every move. I initially felt he was there for support, but after hearing the voices, I knew he was there for another reason. He wanted my success. He was playing his part in a great scheme to rob me of my imagination - plans and projects I had set in motion. I thought I knew him. Clearly I didn't.

After digging around a bit, I made it look like I grabbed the notes. I handed him the faux papers, fooling him and his greedy ways. He fled as soon as he could, knowing his "innocent" appearance had been broken. A bus came to the front of the building, in which he got on and left. I turned and looked at the chaotic flurry of papers on the floor, and soon found the ones that gave birth to the physical manifestations of my ideas; I had in my hands the blueprints to my future.

A beautiful young lady, with dark brown hair, in a caramel colored dress, had been keeping an eye on me earlier that night. She found me here, and gave me a look only an old friend could give, someone who cared deeply but had always kept a distance. She was a silent signature in my life, permanent but waiting for the right moment to make her sound evident. She was waiting for the right moment to make our sound evident. For the feeling was mutual, and she knew it; my nature, and role in her life, mimicked hers in mine.

I picked up the papers and saw her there, waiting, speaking without words in the way she moved, the way she looked at me. Her very essence engaged a conversation with mine, speaking things I could never translate, things so wonderful, yet so subtle and sure. As our eyes finished what felt like a lifetime of conversation, my mouth opened and I spoke. Sound was evident. I said, "I got it, I have the blueprints" and she looked at me with the most grateful and proud look I had ever seen anyone give in exchange for words. The smile she gave grew big on her fair, bronzed skin.

Her glow was radiant that night.

Or was it always?

I looked at her and asked her to come nearer. Being silly, I moved my finger for her to come closer my way. She did so, in an unmistakable blushing manner. Our faces, three feet apart, I had her come closer - to the point where I could feel her breath on my face. And before she could say a word, knowing that she wouldn't, I leaned in swiftly, and met my lips with hers. We embraced a trade of emotions that had been held in for years on end. It was an intimate conversation amidst the curves of our mouths, yet weighing with meaning of so much more.

Movement continued in time that stretched like hours, but sat as mere seconds. I opened my eyes to see her face graciously pull away from mine. Her eyes had been lit aflame, captivated and curious. That look in her eyes... that feeling in my chest... she had become a thief.

Following the moments of my heart being stolen, time had seemed to slow - but only for me. It was because, somehow, I knew the time I had left with her was withering; the consciousness of this dream was carving its place in memory, preparing to fade away. It was all only a dream, yet all so real. The final moments of being in her presence soothed my soul, halted the stirring in my bones and the worry in my mind. I soaked in the sight I was seeing, a sepia haze gleaming. Sure and confident, I knew I would see her again.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012


I'm tied down in thought
as my soul spills out
using my heart as a door
talking feels like screaming
as emotion pours out
bleeding love on the floor
it stains, yet abstains from stopping
breathing your name
a rapid beat in my chest
pumping, untamed

Monday, June 18, 2012

a smile
a stare
a short conversation
it's funny how 
the radiance of beauty
can amplify your own loneliness
shut you quiet
holding your chest
your heart drops
inches upon inches

but I still have a question:

why does loneliness
the loving soul
to the point where it feels like
a lonely soul?

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