yours truly

blue light floods my room,
illuminating the dark and i can
hear the familiar chime,
one after another after
another.

i can’t help but reach out for you.

let’s pretend that i can hear the thrumming
of your heartbeat, miles away
in time with the way
your texts flood my phone
and you flood my mind.

i can’t help but keep count.

i sit up, sheet rumpled, tired eyes
but wait in anticipation—
i know you’re not done yet, and i am
here for you;
rant to me.

i can’t help but listen in rapturous silence.

i’ll scroll through our conversations,
smiling in nostalgia,
the way they seem to overlap simply
because there was too much to say all at once
and not enough time, and

i can’t help but fall in love with you.

daybreak

i know it’s your favorite time of day
when the world is bathed in gold,
all hazy like the halo in your hair.

i know you don’t believe in much,
but i believe enough for the both of us;
that you are an angel walking among humankind.

you know how it feels late at night
when no one else is awake
but those in love, and those about to break.

you know you’ll pull yourself out in the morning,
all rumpled hair and vague memories,
and pretend like the red in your eyes aren’t there.

still, your halo remains,
a light glow in the gleam of your hair,
a hope for brighter days.

unopened

i mutter underneath my breath waxing poetic about golden envelopes,
you mutter underneath your breath with curses for oblivion.

it’s like we breathe in synchrony.

you say that your lungs are worthy of burnt bastille’s jealousy;
i say you are worthy of the world.

it’s like you fear oblivion, yet it’s of your entire being.

there are things better left unsaid,
envelopes better left unopened,
because maybe if you scrutinize the context for long enough,
you’ll know already.

it’s like heartbreak is more bearable if you do it on your own.
it’s like triumph is more sweet if you cry sweet tears in the dark.

complacency

we don’t talk the way we used to, but in a good way:
you settle next to me comfortably and tell me what’s on your mind,
i pretend i’m not breaking down as i listen to you speak.

we’re getting used to each other. and it’s funny,
how you’re three thousand miles away, yet i’ve never felt closer to you before.
do you feel the same way?

i’ll wait until next week, and we’ll settle down together.
we’ll sink into the ground because down-to-earth is desired.
i want to fall in love with you,
to wake up next to you every morning.
i’ll wait until then.

wayward

melancholy winter nights,
listening to the drumming of the rain on my bedroom window
accompany the lull of acoustic music.
and it feels like i’ve got the steering wheel in my hands now,
but what’s the use when you’ve got no map to guide you home?

the headlights are the only thing separating me from darkness,
your voice is the only thing that’s keeping me from drowning in my thoughts.

keep talking, darling, and i can keep pretending that we’re not
plunging into the depths of winter,
where the nights seem to stretch down the highway
and you’re as rare as the sun in the pacific northwest.

famous

you know the saying,
“you don’t know what you’ve got
till it’s gone”
because you look back with
rose-tinted nostalgia
but nothing is ever as good (or as bad)
as you remember it to be.

because you can only compare it
to your skewed perception of today,
where an ache drums through your head
and runs down to your sore fingers and swollen knuckles.

because you are famous for smiling during subtle goodbyes,
and famous for the way you leave.

first and last winters

there’s something startling honest about winter.
maybe it’s the barren landscape, stripped to the bone,
or the way wind replaces the sun,
streaking through branches.
maybe it’s how the clouds seem a little more ominous,
the lights shine a little bit brighter,
the days end a little bit earlier,
your temper gets a little shorter.

it’ll be my first winter without you,
and my last winter at home,
before the pages turn
and winter fades to spring again.