It's like we’re playing chess.
Moving strategically, testing boundaries,
all while watching each other’s expression.

We all know how this games ends…
The queen destroys you and steals your heart.

an August rich with wanting
in September my leaves changed colors
and I fell into madness.

Every day at nightfall
the sun sets herself on fire
in an immaculate public display of affection.
Vibrantly glowing in shades of vermillion
before vanishing beyond the horizon,
surrendering the day to the darkness of night.

Her departure, a self sacrifice,
generously offering her light so that
the moon may shine so brightly.

It hangs in the air. It’s stifling. We carry it in our hearts. It’s heavy.
We grieve the missing pieces, but also the empty spaces they belong to.
The parts of ourselves with muscle memories that no longer have a purpose. Parts of ourselves that become inaccessible, and try as we might, we can never enter that space again.

How do you hold a hand that isn’t there?

and I hope catching a glimpse of what you can't have is worth losing what you already do.

strange how a very real moment
later becomes a less tangible memory

time passes and our memory fails us
(what color shirt was he wearing?)

tiny little moments become representatives
for longer spans of time

a phase, or an age
comprised of only a handful of images,
plus the smell of burning candles and vanilla frosting
always plants you right in the middle of your ninth birthday party

life has seasons
and I am not a flower
I am a tree
with changing colors
shedding it's leaves