It’s a curious ache
Of guilt mingled with tenderness
And a wispy kind of regret;
And you realize you are missing
Who you were supposed to have forgotten
A long, long time ago.
But then you come across
A photograph, a sonnet, an article in a magazine,
And the faded scars suddenly bristle;
They are raised and white upon your skin-
Your mind, your heart-
Like ghosts of a tomorrow in a different place,
Which you will never know.
And so you smile and say,
"He’s the one who got away."
I’ve been in love for so long and I think I’ve forgotten to appreciate how incredibly beautiful and rare it is, and to comprehend how hollow I am going to feel when it’s gone.
It bewilders me
How you have covered my entire world
With your scrawly handwriting
So that every wall, every window
The curve of my hip, the nape of your neck
And the infinite sky,
Are covered with scribbled paragraphs
Which, weaved together,
Tell our story.
People are always saying how it’s the little things that count but I’m not sure I agree. It isn’t important that you remember what kind of dressing I like with my salad or who my favourite character on a television show is. It’s important that you know what to say when I break down and tell you all the awful things that have been going on. It’s important that you can be trusted with my midnight murmurs and my rainy-day rambles. It’s important that you know, just from the sound of my voice on the phone, whether you need to crack a joke and make me laugh, or jump into your car and come hold me tight. These are the big things, the ones that count. So buy me carnations instead of lilies. But when I need you most, be there.
This poem’s kind of silly,
It’s really not profound.
It’s not pretty, it’s not witty,
But I like the way it sounds.
I know we said enough
We had to let it go
But life without you’s rough
And I can’t do it anymore.
So can I be the icing on your cake?
Can I be the leaves stuck in your rake?
The promise that you’ll never break?
The reason you get up after every mistake?
Can I be the sugar in your tea?
The hiding hole for treasure in your tree?
The one you always want to see?
Can you stop and just crawl back to me?
I know this poem’s silly,
I know how dumb it sounds,
I wish it were pretty, or even witty.
I wish it were profound.
But I’ve kind of had enough
And I can’t do this anymore.
I just can’t let you go,
That’s why I’ll be outside your door.
Because I want to be the icing on your cake.
The pesky leaves stuck in that rake.
To mend the promises we break.
To forgive you for all those stupid mistakes.
I want to be the sugar in your tea.
And the treasure you keep hidden in a tree.
I want you wake up and see.
It’s time for you to crawl back to me.