The Crescendo

There are times when I turn on the radio and hear music that reminds me of loving you.

It never seemed that simple before, things barely seem that simple now.

But when I hear music, I hear us.

At first, it is subtle, like the way that the wind slowly grazes the flowers on a cloudless day. The way they sway as if no one even knows they are dancing.

Other times, it just hits. Like that gust of wind that has broken your umbrella and left you soaking wet, running through the streets crazily searching for shelter.

When I hear you in music, the room fills with the smell of cotton.

Fresh laundry, the tangling of sheets and the warmth of your body.

The way it feels to be pressed against you is one I could relive every morning and every night and every moment in between; if just out of boredom or because my body misses the piece that is meant to fit next to it.

The fall of my hand across your cheek, the soft scratch of time as it grazes just below your chin.

There is a pattern to your face that I trace over and over as I think about the moments we live that we slowly forget.

When I hear you in music, I am thrown into a memory. I am thrown into our memory.

At first, it is subtle, like the change in breath right before sleep takes you away into a far off place.

Other times, it just hits. Like the way my heart explodes after you’ve been gone too long and the rush begins as I throw myself into you once you’ve come home. The way you smell just the same, how everything falls back into place as if the clock had always been standing still.

There are times when I turn on the radio and hear music that reminds me of loving you.

It reminds me of so many of the moments we toss away, the little pieces of our past that we thought that we would cherish but forget to.

Life is intricate. Kissing you is simple.

But loving you, is just like music. It is one beautifully wild crescendo that rings above the noise.


When I was little, my mom would yell for my sister and I to run outside and watch the sky.

Watch the way it changes, the way it moves, watch what it is about to bring.

There was a stillness, right before it hit

A beauty right before the destruction.

And we would stand and watch, as if we were the storm, and it was just watching.

To be honest, my sister and I always thought my mom was crazy.

Why stand on the tallest hill in town watching the sky?

Getting so close we could kiss the wind.

Why stand on the tallest hill in town, just to feel the heat on our skin?


When I was little, my mom would take my sister and I to a forest preserve, but we would never stay on the path.

Right in the middle of winter, always straying off from the gravel rode.

She had read that Robert Frost poem a bit too many times.

But we always made it right back to the path, with cold noses and breath in the air.

We made it back with a little more adventure.


One night, when my sister and I were young, we turned our living room into a giant fort. Tent and all.

Blankets and pillows and cushions from the couch created our castle.

We sat in there, enticed by the stories my mom was expressing as the light flashed across her face.

It was raining outside, and so she did what she does best.

Took us right into it.

Our little legs followed as we ran through the field, lollipop in one hand, thunder in the other.

Talk about dancing in the rain. We danced the night away.

The little pitter patter of our excitement as we felt the grass squeeze between our toes with each step


You may ask what kind of mother has her daughters watch a tornado.

You may ask what kind of mother drenches her daughters in the middle of the night to get closer to the rain

My mom taught me about what it means to go after the things that make you feel strong and goofy and a little bit crazy.


Life is not waiting for the storm. Life is being the storm.

Life is an adventure, she taught us.


So go out, don’t run from the rain, live in it.


The sun is hot and the nights go on forever

Would you ever believe that sleep is just a distant memory

Play me your guitar boy and hand me your voice

Have you realized the world makes too much noise

Far off in the woods there is a little boy smoking

And in that bowl is the hopes and dreams of nothing

Play me your guitar boy and hand me your voice

All we ever need is the cool wind blowin’

A hot tub sizzles with secrets we all know

But the heat erases all the words as the steam just grows and grows

As the bed gets warm, all the world will blur

And all you feel like believing is the thought of her

Laughter, is as steep as the hills

Waterfalls and rivers are just droplets on the tin roof

Splashing, we are all just splashing

Making room for the rain to dry

Nothing makes a cloudy day like flying super high

Wine bottles are empty at the end of the day

And beer cans could float down the stream as they empty away

Play me your guitar boy and hand me your voice

Asking for hearts these days is too difficult a choice

When the boy holds her, she feels like there is no air

All that she is breathing is a far off dream somewhere

Nothing makes a man like letting down his guard

And when he lets down this the golden rose is his reward

Driving down the dirt paths, wrestling with the creeks

I can hear your life beating when you’re lying next to me

Nine hours down and nine hours up

A trip to Tennessee was so much more than just a drive to

The flannel and the deep south BBQ

It was a week that I was gifted to spend with

You and your red bristled beard

I almost feel the comfort when a memory creeps up too near

They say the bears attack if you get too close

But if you stay just far enough there is no need for them to feel provoked

Nature stays so distant from the people that never start the trail

Sometimes it is the ending, that makes the adventure worth the wait

Sometimes it is the music, that bring two lovers to the gate

Play me your guitar boy and hand me your voice

Drown out the business and pull out the ground

We all need to remember that stars are just above our feet

Reach for the moon and reach for the sparkle in her eye

Or she will keep asking the same question, why?

Play me your guitar boy and hand me your voice

I will hand you everything, even without a choice

The sun will cook these flowers to bloom

This mans voice will allow a young woman to swoon

The sun is hot and the nights go on forever

Endings start too soon when you feel like you deserve forever

You should be here

I find myself daydreaming in class just to be with you

I never used to daydream, but now my mind can’t stop taking myself to a place I’d rather be

I want to be with you.

Morning. Afternoon, Night

I want to be with you

And I want to explore the intricate lines on your hand

Fuck. Actually no-

I just want to do what everyone else out there is doing

I want to be next to you and do boring things because to me, at this moment, with us:

That is what seems exciting

I want to stay up and drink tea and contemplate how we don’t know what we are doing with our lives

Yeah that’s right

I miss you, and I want you

And god dammit I miss what it feels like to share my body with you

Romantically or purely pleasurably

I miss the way your hands moved over my body

Or when you just kissed my forehead as we watched Dr.Who

I miss the way you said “come here” and brought me close when the world was too big and I was too small and I wished I had all the answers

All I wonder about is when I can see you next

When can you be tangible to me?

I want to eat indian food with you because I love indian food

And I want to do everything I love and have you there to share it with

I want to throw everything I love at you, and hope you can love it too

Because when I’m with you, I want to show you everything so you can smile just as wide as I am

And I want you to throw yourself at me, because I want you to want me to love you

Ah, what is love?

Who cares.

I just want to cook you breakfast, every other morning

Because obviously you’d be responsible for the days I don’t cook

And I want to not have to say that “I miss you”

Or “Hopefully soon” “Distance sucks” “One day”

Fuck one day.

One day could be today.

But it isn’t

So I’m stuck daydreaming

Holding onto yesterday

Onto I miss you.

Let me tell you, your picture is only worth a thousand words

But being with you is worth a dictionary

And if that isn’t the best pick of line I’ve ever written then shit, I have some work to do

So the days pass

Because that is what days do

And each day you cross my mind

A thousand times

And well, 365 days have passed since we met and it’s 32 days since you left

It gets better, the days become more dull and I get used to falling asleep alone

But I can’t help falling asleep with your name on my tongue and the thought of your arms around me

I miss your body

And your voice

The smell of you that lingers on my pillow

And I want you here. Now.

Shit, I want to memorize the lines of your hands

I don’t want romance, I just want to crazy dance in my basement because we do that

And I want to spin around you and forget everything except how my hair flies and my heart skips

When I’m dancing with you.

I want to forget that when we are together, in hours you could be on a plane somewhere far out of my reach

Or that you live too many miles away to easily visit

I miss your dimples

And how difficult you are to get up in the mornings

I want you here

Next to me

And one day we will invent a telaporation device

And I’ll stop complaining, because you will be here.

One day

I won’t have to miss you

And happiness will ensue


     When you have someone that is so important to you but lives so far away, airports take on a whole new meaning. Before my trip they are open doors to adventure and my heart beats a little bit faster every step I take through the great walls that will lead to my destination. I sit and wait as I watch the people run to their adventures, afraid they’ll miss it, eager to make it. Suddenly, I feel myself running. Running to what I’ve been waiting for for months. I count down every moment until boarding time arrives. Airports mean I can see him again. Airports mean I can kiss him again. Airports mean I don’t have to miss him. I sit in the taxi that takes me to him and I feel as if the world has everything to offer as long as it can offer me him. I throw the doors open as soon as I arrive and I feel myself running. I don’t know if I am or if my mind just wants me to be but then I am in his arms. And suddenly I am thrown into a wonderland of a life without reality. The world is a cloud because I am floating. Days pass and time is wasted on connection and goodness and puppies! No, not really puppies, but that would be the icing on the cake. We sit around and watch movies and talk about silly people and their plans for marriage, even though I sometimes wonder whether he thinks about where we are going, and we relax with great food and joyous music and a little too much weed, but we are floating. It is in these moments that I wonder how I could go a day without him there.

     Then the adventure ends almost as quickly as it began. The most dreaded realization sets in, I have to go back to the airport. The airport has now shifted from the hero to the monster. I cry before I leave. They are the giant tears that soak everything, trying to leave evidence that I was there. It is as if my body is trying to reject the truth so it pours out of my eyes. I say goodbye to him, which is possibly one of the worst feelings of all. It leaves holes in me, ones that the distance could never fill, but time does its best at healing. I hug him one last time, trying even harder to hold onto the memory of him holding me.  I sit in the taxi that takes me away from him, from Wonderland, and I dread everything about it. I get there and I hate the people running because I shouldn’t be here. I should still be in bed with him, laughing about Pug videos and drinking tea. I hate the walls that lead me farther away from him and closer to reality. I hate airports.

     It’s hard. Distance is the enemy of all those who sit alone at night thinking of the person that should be next to them instead of miles away. And yeah it sucks, a lot. Days after I leave I still feel the twinge when I wake up and he isn’t there but it slowly fades as the days turn to weeks. But, I always add a but in there. People don’t get it, but I do. And airports will continue to be  something I dread in the end, but if they will take me back to him. It’s a risk I am willing to take.

Do you know what it feels like when

Do you know what it feels like when I’ve wounded you

When I throw words and leave swords

Do you know what it feels like when I’ve damaged you

Started to break the bridges we built


My body goes numb

And everything rushes over me

There aren’t any rivers or tears here

Just rivers of regret


I wonder why I was born with such a sharp tongue

Does snake venom run in my veins

Was I born cruel, to be able to hurt the person I think about right as I awake

And the one I pray to dream about in my sleep


Then comes the rivers 

That sweep through my body

Like brooms on a spring cleaning day 

I can’t move, and I feel like my heart has been broken


Because to hurt you, is to kill me

To hurt you, is to break me


And it is the moment after it all, that I am so so so terribly sorry.

Pillow Talk

I like to believe that I’m stronger than most,

But lately, I’m afraid of my own thoughts

And what I can do with them

I’m afraid of your words,

And the opinions that continue to tear apart the words that held us together

I like to believe you care,

But what if we are just users in a game that we both play too well

What if, we were meant to end months ago

But we didn’t. Because I love you.

Does that make it my fault?


I’m afraid of waking up one morning with air weighing down the other pillow,

That I knew that is exactly where the wind should blow.

I’m afraid that I’ll walk down the stairs and your face will graze my memories,

I’ll wonder what you’re doing.

I’ll know I no longer have the right to ask.

And it is the little things I’ll miss that scare me:

It is everything I’ll miss that scares me.

It’s interesting isn’t it, how at one time you can be there and the next you are just dust

Dust that collects on 22nd street or the hot tub where we first kissed.

Dust that collects on laughter and memories and the broken strings between your heart.


I wish I could see you standing at the top of the stairwell

Knowing we were both meant to end at the top.

I’m afraid that too much of you is now a part of me

That the key has been molded to fit your lock

I wish time would stop.

Just for a moment. Just with you.

Just so I had enough time to cherish it, so I wasn’t always tripping on the the questions I couldn’t answer.


I’m afraid I’m never right anymore, which is saying a lot

That the things I thought whole are suddenly broken

I’m scared of caring about you too much

And being forgotten

Most of all, I’m afraid of the pain that will strike after the shock has warn off


It’s a dull pain, up until it isn’t

And when it isn’t, it feels like you’re falling apart piece by piece

Like your heart has been replaced with cement and your stomach has been replaced with everything except the feeling of being there

I’m afraid of hurting you, of being a broken puzzle that someone dropped all the pieces to

Left them in spilled cups of coffee or in between the covers


We used to love between those covers

We used to be more than just renters between the sheets

We used to be more than depressing poetry or old photographs

We used to be more than wounded


I’m afraid one day I’ll be strong enough to know the right decision

Which is the scariest feeling of all













What I Tell Myself

While growing up,  we are constantly put in front of two paths diverging in a wood.

We must choose which forest we’d rather travel through.

It won’t be easy, I’m warning you.

It’s going to be thorny and dark and you’ll end up alone without a fire some nights.

But paths have a wonderful way of turning into adventures.

Promise me you’ll remember that.

That you’ll remember the storm will only bring a little rain and a lot of beauty.

Life isn’t meant to be easy. If it was, there wouldn’t be a search for more.

There wouldn’t be a want for excitement

There wouldn’t be the opportunity to feel the rush of fulfilling a challenge.

Gravity was meant to keep us down But

Soul was meant to lift us up