Note to Self

A deliberately cruel moment it is
To realize you are tasked with
Using a quick tongue
Often left unheard in the moments
You wish to be the loudest

That voice stuck inside you
Trapped by your own doing
Yet written for the world to read
You will find the lessons and words
You give to those around you
Are not meant for
The stranger on a screen
But the stranger in your reflection

These moments are yours

Dedication

His eyes flicker
Back and forth with concern
As he carefully places
Intricate lines
Fiddling with dimensions
Playing with spaces
He is the master
Behind this craftsmanship

His passion in his work
Is something not even I
Could ever be the muse of

Memory

I have accepted that I am a memory.

And as a memory, I will no longer physically enter your life. Every gentle touch I graced you with will slowly fade into a simple remembrance of lust. Every picturesque moment of me dragging my fingers across your skin, softly kissing your neck, and whispering secrets to you in the isolated presence of our scars. All of this will be but a flash of the past, a dream that will soon become so faint you will be taunted with the idea of a nightmare.

However, be careful, for this is not a photo you can keep. This is not a book that I will allow you to store on a shelf, only to eventually forget about. I will continue to allow this memory to form it’s rightful infection.

I am but a memory, but you will always remember me.

Coffee Stains

Gentle music bounces off brick walls as I sip notes of cocoa and cinnamon from a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee. I brought my MacBook with me to this coffee shop but odds are I will do what I normally do, opening the screen to look inconspicuous but really spending my time bewildered by those around me. I’m always distracted by the energy that surrounds other people.

This time it’s a couple cozied up on the distressed couches placed in the corner by large windows. A man endearingly gazes at, who I assume is, his girlfriend next to him. Examining the expressions on her face and seemingly in bliss, she catches these stares after tasting one of the shops homemade muffins. She pinches his arm in what looks to be an expression of embarrassment for him having witnessed her messy eating, and he soon after, kisses her forehead.

Unaware of the world around them, both immersed in the aura and presence of the other. What a way to be in love.

Will you tell them that I loved you?
Or neglect to speak the truth?
Give me the brush that you will use
To paint me the one uncouth

Though you drew yourself a tainted heart
Strokes of detail the world should see
I will hide those colors dyed too dark
Your work of art is safe with me