Sometimes

Sometimes it hurts

Sometimes I’m in love

Sometimes I feel nothing at all

Someday I’ll let the ocean take me

A love letter to the loveless

I would love you despite your feelings

Leave so I can love you harder

Come back to a warm bed

but it’s not mine

like it once was

you’re not mine

like you once were

and that’s fine

I love you still the same

at home in the mountains

It rained on the day we went up to the mountains. It rained and we stayed in our car for the most part, eating takeout from a nearby restaurant. We planned to eat it by the waterfall, but our sandwiches would’ve been soggy. We sat parked on a cliff-side, overlooking the mountains, the greens and reds and oranges and yellows of the treetops swaying gently with the breeze. We sat silent for a while as we took in the overwhelming feeling, the largeness of it all. We ate our takeout, but we didn’t feel worthy to be there in all the beauty. This moment was bigger than us. And I remember you said quietly and defiantly, “Someday, this will be home.”

and I knew I’d be alright

It was warm

I felt whole

you smiled at me

and I knew

I’d be alright.

We’d get through winter

and all its cold nights

and we already got through February

and for some reason

it’s warm today

and we’re sitting outside

drinking pink lemonade

like it’s summer already

and you look at me

and you smile

and I smile, too

and we know

we’re exactly where we should be.

relax

The window open,

a newly cleaned room,

a cup of tea

cooling on the windowsill.

With nothing left to do today,

I relax and enjoy

the smell of nature,

the sunshine peeking in,

my cup of tea,

and a good book.

“foolish,” you’ll say, and I’ll agree

And someday we’ll find ourselves in different places, in different homes, with different lovers and we’ll decide to reconnect. Maybe we’ll see each other on the street, or someone will mention something that reminds us of each other, and we’ll reach out and we’ll reconnect.

You’ll tell me about how you’re happier now than you ever thought you could be. I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to and you’ll listen. We’ll make jokes and remember what it was like when we were once so close. We’ll wonder why we ever drifted apart, conveniently forgetting what happened between us that day when we thought the world would end. And I remembered it for a while, and I cried for a while, but I got over it, and I got over you.

But it wasn’t like I didn’t think about you, and it wasn’t like I didn’t look for you when I went by your old house. You told me you moved two years ago. I’ll say, “has it really been that long?” and you’ll say, “it’s been six years, man.” And I’ll feel sad. And you’ll feel sad. And we’ll agree to stay in touch, but I’ll tell you I’m only in town this week then I’m going back to the city, and you’ll look at me like you’re proud, and I’ll feel like crying.

And in that moment, I won’t be able to even think about what broke us apart. I remembered us staying friends for a long time. And we were there for each other through everything. And somewhere along the way, we separated.

We’ll be reminiscing about our conversations and I’ll be surprised by how many details I remembered, and then I’ll remember that we stopped talking because of something so stupid and so trivial that I laugh out loud in the coffee shop. And you’ll ask me what I’m laughing for and I’ll tell you. And you’ll look at me, chuckle once, and shake your head.

“Foolish,” you’ll say, and I’ll agree.