Suspicious

The hours drip like melting ice. And why shouldn’t they? Nothing lasts forever. It all disappears, evaporates without a trace. As if nothing was ever there. And sometimes I have to wonder if I’m not imaging all this?

Believing that love will come my way and want to stay for more than a day or two. These thoughts, these feelings, like threaded needles trying to close up bleeding gashes. An effort in futility to keep alive what died so long ago.

The sweetness of his touch only makes me crave more. The love in his eyes just another song I’m not meant to hear. I name the days as if that will help me find what’s missing. My otherwise empty heartbeats like quiet footsteps in slippered feet.

Love might as well be made of paper dolls. Hands touching because they have no choice in the matter. I watch my life search the floor for its socks and shoes. Suspecting that it’s true. It's all just temporary after the door closes.

Poem from my hotel room - Part 2

What to say
when the words won't rhyme,
all that is felt
falls like a stone?

Where to sleep
when life takes me away?
Where to put my sadness
when even love won't fit?

How did the past
make me so fragile,
that I break under the weight
of it?

Where to begin when unraveling?
Visions that proceed the other,
the mist of breath upon shower walls,
for a length of time undetermined.

Whispers tumbling through
in every click of the channel,
when there's a stumble
under this popcorn ceiling barricade.

Connections undeniable,
trying to slow the water
trickling down.
as the loneliness rushes

eloping within
half thoughts of suicide
awaiting my own arrival
back home with you.

Poem from my hotel room - Part 1

Mistakes gathering in puddles,
following the dots of every raindrop.
My fingers trailing upon the railing
as I ascend and descend, every bump,
every ridge tempting.
Trying to forget
as forgetting will allow.

My hollow footsteps so tragic here
against the silence.
Loves reprisal always hiding
in the words I’ll never say.
Even in this place,
guarded by distance.
Colors longing to dance again
with shades of gray.
Twines of time,
stringing me into the places
where I wish to be.

And here,
hidden within these walls of sympathy,
I lay awake.
Visions trapping,
overlapping,
stifled by the door.
Leaning into the feelings
as if they were the wind.
Wishing I knew where to go
when redirected,
as detour signs vanish
with the setting sun.

Melt

Sometimes, we'll both stop in the middle of our crazy conversation and stare at each other - quite forgetting who started what and whose story was the oddest - we'll stop and stare, and each will remember what's most beloved about the other... and then he'll smile a blindingly sweet smile, and I’ll melt away.

Alone

When I’m not with him I wonder. What he’s doing. Alone, maybe, like me. On the couch or in a chair, reading maybe, thinking. I want to call him, but sometimes we need this time apart, so I resist and let him be. I sit alone on the bed and pretend I’m paying attention to no particular movie. But deep in my heart I’m hoping. He'll call.

Room 607

A toast...

To resting my head on his shoulder. To seeing the universe in his eyes. To the comfortable silence. To the lack of secrecy. To his protective arms around me. To the way I’m not alone whenever I think of him.

To every time he’s said, “me too.”

Waiting for the words

What to write that hasn’t already been written? What to feel that hasn’t already been felt?

Pacing in the shadow of my own decision, elastic possibilities snapping me back. Alone, with myself, once more. Alone, with everyone, as always. Closeness, intimacy, understanding. Just a lie told by anxious fingers.

I keep trying on these dreams. So certain one will fit. Like turning pages in the dark because I already know the words. But dreams are only as good as the person who dreams them. Trying to write it all down before I forget. Always talking to myself, afraid to say it out loud. Wishing the whole time I was someone else.

The problem isn't that I’m waiting for him; it’s that he's not waiting for me.

What I hate

It's the clock on the bedside table that keeps reminding me that the rest of the world is sound asleep and I will not be able to get this anger out of my head before it crawls into my chest.

But tonight I came to realize that I am in love with the way his voice caresses my ears. And the way his body crashes against mine. Like waves washing away sad poetry buried in the sand. And how when I hold his hand, I remember how much I hate to be alone.

And how my heart will always find a reason not to believe a single word he says.

Stars and wishes

Twisting my words like balloon animals. He hands me an abstract red giraffe and I take it and smile. As if I didn’t have to hold up the heavens to keep the stars from falling.

I miss talking, like we used to sometimes. Where our words meant everything and lasted longer. But now it feels like the sky might shatter worse than my heart. And I doubt his hands could let go of the door knob long enough to catch the pieces.

Maybe I should just face the fact that I’m too broken. The letters drip from my fingertips as the silence settles in, but it’s not comforting. Confused promises and lingering hope and the fear that I may run out of ink before I can say the words that are so anxious to be heard.

I picture the way his hands could set all those stars free. Scatter them like diamonds, back to where they belong. And I wish that I could somehow paint my secrets across the darkened sky for him to see. But I am so afraid of how easily I crumble to the sound of his heartbeat and how my skin aches for his touch to decorate me with goose bumps.

I wish I could be more than just a cloud in his beautiful sky.

And now for something different

I made a video. Okay, I didn’t actually “make” it. I kind of “barrowed” pieces from other peoples’ videos and made a new video. If you go to my profile, you’ll see a link to a blog called Movies, Photos and That Kind of Stuff. Go to that blog (or click on the link) and you’ll see my masterpiece. I plan on posting more videos here. I may not, but it's my plan at the moment.

Cool huh? Or maybe you’re saying, “I don’t get it.” What’s with the girl and who’s that guy?

I’m not going to tell you about the guy. If you’re a regular reader, maybe you can figure out the guy. Maybe. And the girl? Well, the girl is supposed emphasize the title – Different Worlds. The girl is a metaphor. And so is the guy. What isn’t a metaphor?

The video is supposed to be about the guy, going about his life. Maybe he knows the girl, maybe not. Maybe he knows someone like her, or maybe he used to be a lot like her. It doesn’t really matter, because she’s a metaphor, and because he’s got this entirely different life going on. He lives in a different world.

And the girl. Yeah, the girl. How many of you can relate to the girl? Hitchhiking, playing guitar on the street, trying to reach out, but no one’s there. Certainly not someone like the guy.

Because they live in different worlds. We all do. Sometimes our worlds touch each other, briefly. But most of the time we don’t even notice. We’re too busy. Trying to get things out of the way so we can move on to the next. Too busy to notice. Too busy to care.

Different worlds. We’re all people sharing this planet, but we live in different worlds.