Over

It's over.

It had always been that way.

Over

like the end of a time that shouldn't have been.

It's over.

Over

like how the lives we lead will one day be.

Over

as if none of it ever happened, and we disappear from each other.

Write.

Write a song for me and show me what I sound like.
Write the symphony you always hear when I'm here.
Write one sentence - just one - about what you wish you could say to me.

Write a poem to tell the stories we've created together.
Write a vignette that talks about our conversations.
Write one sentence - just one - about what you wish would happen to us.

Write a hopeful future that you wish we both will have.
Write the future you want us to have.
And then, write one sentence - just one - about how we'll get there.

Hi Readers.

Say "hi"

A Script from My Timeline: I don't think we can be friends

I think of how things have changed...all the time...

I remember how I burnt my toast every morning in the cheap toaster only students deserved - it stood for all we were worth; it stood for all we could seemingly ever have. And as times changed and I moved out and afforded more expensive kitchen appliances, I still find myself burning things. I'm beginning to question how much I've progressed in my life.

I think of how not-so-far-away it all seems...almost all the time...

We're meeting winter again in a few weeks. Every winter seems like an overlay of the last - nothing from the previous winters were ever forgotten. Their events (or non-events) were just enunciated in the annual sub-zero temperatures and they all seem more real than ever come the coldest time of the year. Not even a well-toasted slice of bread would keep me warm (though a cup of strong coffee might)

I think of how I've forgotten and drifted away...not nearly enough times...

I've burnt quite a lot of toast in the past - they are a pretty good reminder of how some things just do not go the way they should. With some things, I will try and try and again to make it work, to perfect the art of not burning my breakfast. But for others, maybe it isn't worth travelling the distance for a good breakfast and they'll lie forgotten.

I have a hot mug coffee in hand and a somewhat-okay piece of toast. They'll keep me company for now and I think we'll be friends for a bit.

As for the rest of you, I don't think we can be friends. In fact, I don't think we can ever be friends again.

I don't want to see you

I don't want to see you anymore.
Disappear around the corner
so that you seem farther away
and when I return
please make sure you're gone.

I can't see your face even if I wished;
it seems to have smeared
at the back of my mind, like mud
just washed up by rain
and you are no more.

I don't want to see you anymore.
Disappear around the corner
so that you seem farther away
and when I return
you'll be gone.

Fireworks for November

Fireworks be lit on November nights
and as I watch them disappear,
disperse in the cold, I feel saddened,
knowing nothing lasts forever.

Writing Stories

Come and write stories for me.
Tell me what will happen,
tell me what will become
tell me what we will be.

Follow skies for the future
and watch as life rolls under
but take care you hold on tight
or I might just let you go.

Please write stories with me
I want to you to be here
and be the character of my heart
which will live on forever.