Just Friends.

I know that I don’t own you,

and perhaps I never will,

so my anger when you’re with her,

I have no right to feel.

I know that you don’t owe me,

and I shouldn’t ask for more;

I shouldn’t feel so let down,

all the times when you don’t call.

What I feel—I shouldn’t show you,

so when you’re around I won’t;

I know I’ve no right to feel it

but it doesn’t mean I don’t.

When ignorance is bliss.

I deplore,

being ignored.

For—

I am not a bore!

But it’s perplexingly sweet,

and quite sexy too—

to be ignored,

ignored by you

A thank-you note.

You have said

all the things

I need to hear

before I knew

I needed to hear them.

To be unafraid

of all the things

I used to fear,

before I knew

I shouldn’t fear them

Sad Songs.

Once there was a boy who couldn’t speak but owned a music box that held every song in all the world. One day he met a girl who had never heard a single melody in her entire life and so he played her his favorite song. He watched while her face lit up with wonder as the music filled the sky and the poetry of lyrics moved her in a way she had never felt before.

He would play his songs for her day after day and she would sit by him quietly—never seeming to mind that he could only speak to her through song. She loved everything he played for her, but of them all—she loved the sad songs best. So he began to play them more and more until eventually, sad songs were all she would hear.

One day, he noticed it had been a very long time since her last smile. When he asked her why, she took both his hands in hers and kissed them warmly. She thanked him for his gift of music and poetry but above all else—for showing her sadness because she had known neither of these things before him. But it was now time for her to go away—to find someone who could show her what happiness was.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Do you remember the song that was playing the night we met?

No, but I remember every song I have heard since you left

Soulmates.

I don’t know how you are so familiar to me—or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence.

All or nothing.

If you love me

for what you see,

only your eyes would be

in love with me.

If you love me

for what you’ve heard,

then you would love me

for my words.

If you love

my heart and mind,

then you would love me,

for all that I’m.

But if you don’t love

my every flaw,

then you mustn’t love me—

not at all

- Can I ask you something?


- Anything.


- Why is it every time we say good night, it feels like good-bye