Morning Flowing Into Mourning

This is a place for my words to live. Some lead good lives and others not so much. I just wanted a place to store my thoughts. I wouldn't call them poems, more so stories told poetically. If you read this and want to tell me how terrible my understanding of the English language is, or how I use commas far too much, or even if you like what I write; Questions and comments are welcome here: formspring.me/poeticstories Please let me know if you're reading.

A Picture Of A List Of Things That Should Only Be Spoken Of In Whispers

He remembered the speech vividly, the “Just friends” talk he had received years ago. Now she wanted him, now that it was too late and he had moved on. He remembered how she kept him in her life as a friend and came to him for advice on whatever relationship she was in at the time. He remembered thinking to himself “How can you get over someone as you’re falling for them?” His answer finally came late at night, as so many do, while half in the land of the living and half in the land of dreams. Distance, distance was the only answer. It had worked so many times before even on him. He knew it well, distance was a language he was fluent in. Slowly and meticulously disappearing before their very eyes like the worlds best magician. He thought to himself “I might as well be a picture, slowly fading away out of your life over time. Sitting on a shelf where no one notices how starkly different that picture is compared to the day it was first taken.” He was going to become a picture of himself. So much detail and reality but yet not real, somehow out of reach. And he did. Slowly and over time he faded out of her life with some brief interactions where necessary or dictated. But he was always distant and always busy. No time to talk, life is calling. Then one day an email, another a text, another a phone call, and finally over a span of three months a knock. “How did I screw this up to seem so open that she could just show up?” But he could read on her face she herself knew that was not the case. Once inside and the conversation got warmed up it finally came to light that she missed him and wanted him back in her life. She went on to talk about mistakes made and the blindness of youth. How she wanted to see where things could go now. His mind was on fire with anger, snippets of thoughts all adding up to one thing. “How dare she think she could live out her youthful years in such a laissez-faire style and then come back to me. I’m not second prize, I am not the one you settle down with when all else fails. The only blindness I suffered was from thinking you were someone for me.” Surprisingly, even to himself, he kept most of this thought process from her and only said “There are things in this world that should be only spoken of in whispers for fear of calling them back into the light. My feelings for you are, and have been for a very long time, one of the types of things on that list.” She smiled thinking that he meant he would be a challenge but welcomed the idea. “We all make mistakes she said, so please forgive me of mine.” As he stood up and escorted her to the door he responded, “I forgave you long ago, and it is true we all make mistakes, but what you fail to realize is we don’t all make them twice.” And he forever shut the door on her.

Two False Answers

I am still haunted by memories and feelings that should have long ago passed. The problematic curse of an almost perfect memory. Do I remember the days perfectly or do I remember her as perfect?

You Can’t Keep The Ocean In A Bottle

As his text message ring tone went off he could not help but to remember when she would text. He wondered how some of the girls texting him now would feel if they ever found out what went through his mind every time they texted him. How it made him think of her and reminded him of how his heart would jump with excitement and then stop with anticipation. Like a first time cliff diver running towards the nothingness, where the land beneath him would cease to be, heart and mind made entirely of excitement. And then as he got to the very edge, tips of his toes the only things still on the ground as the flats of his feet lifted to make that dive, he could see the ocean so far beneath him. That blind faith that nothingness would give way to beauty, if only he trusted it would, paying off. And time would grind to a stand still and he lived in a perfect moment, if only for a fraction of a second. He lived for her text messages, everything else was just filler. All other things a tick of the minute hand on a clock when you are bored enough to sit and watch it with anticipation. A movie a tick, a drive while listening to his favorite band another tick, going to work another tick. All spinning on an endless face that looped so it would go on forever. Then with a single ring his day would explode with life again, with all the excitement as it did the very first time he saw her. Hearing from her was a first time cliff diver every time. Nothing else mattered around him, friends and family no longer existed. His whole being transferred inside his phone where the ocean now resided. The anger he would feel when someone that was not her would text, it was palpable for those around him. As if by him looking at his phone and seeing it was not from her they had somehow stolen that joy, the joy of that perfect moment where he would look down and see the ocean. She was his ocean. The joy he felt when he went out on a limb and told her he lived for her texts and she said it was mutual, and how she also felt let down when she received a text not from him. And to hear her voice, or to be with her in person, can not even be explained. That, well that can only be described as heaven. Now every time he hears it ring he has to remember all those feelings. And now, well now it can only be described as hell, reliving that moment only to be let down. A beautiful day standing on top of a cliff, getting a running start towards the nothingness, lifting off at the edge with the sea breeze in his face. Then with dread, looking down, after it is too late to stop going full speed, seeing the dry sea bed below. Jagged rocks littering the spot where he will land. And with embarrassment and hurt looking out as he falls, noticing the ocean was still there. It just had retreated a little bit. And now with someone else playing in her waters. The ocean he knew full well wasn’t his to keep, but had hoped he was hers. If only she would be there again to catch him; Or at the very least if only he could stop jumping for her every time he heard his goddamn phone ring.

Surprisingly insightful, dont know why I would be so surprised though…

Surprisingly insightful, dont know why I would be so surprised though…

(Source: daniipants)

The Artisans One of a Kind Antiquities

What I am offering you is an antique. Passed down from my grandparents, to my parents, to me. And now to you if you will take it. It began with my ancestors years ago, millennia ago. Given new shape by each possessor, somehow making it uniquely theirs, do not lose it. This is centuries old, do not break it. Although broken before, always mended in preparation to be given to the next owner. Sometimes stolen, but always retrieved. A relic that offers so much to the owner, but only envy to those who do not have it. A collectors piece that gives meaning to the small, what some would call insignificant, things. It causes the smallest acts to have the biggest outcomes. This is priceless, and not for a black market affair. This is one of a kind, many strive to convince you of their knock offs. A genuine and unique artifact. A piece of art painstakingly sculpted specifically for you, specifically for this moment. This gift is precious. This is my heart, and I want you to have it.

The Calm After The Storm Is Not What We Fear

I find it funny when I catch myself telling someone else “Things get better.” Because of course things get better, that is not in question. What is in question is will things get better before you break? Can you make it through the fog of your own mind? You will live, but the living part is the hard part. The surviving your own life is what should worry you. No one is scared of the peace after the storm, they are scared of the storm; Of being in the midst of that storm. The lightening that illuminates your fears clearer than you could have ever seen them, the tornadoes that will rip your life apart, the tsunamis of mixed emotions that will flood your days and nights and dreams. So the way I think I will say it from now on is, “The thunder is simply the bark of a dog, and I will not lie and say it does not match its bite. Because sometimes that bite can exceed the warning. But it will get better, if you have the strength to let the time pass. If you have the faith that wounds heal. And most importantly, if you simply let it. Because no storm has never ended.”

This Is Me Getting Away

Sometimes I wonder if anyone considers me the one who got away, if my words are the words that repeat in your mind. Haunted by things I have said, or written, or done. Time spent together a sad remnant of your past. If the memories you have of me are beautiful. The thoughts beauty inspiring. I have been told I have ruined a girl before. In that they expect so much more out of a relationship now and I have ruined them for other men. I, of course, do not believe them but it is thought provoking and flattering; That I have ruined other relationships because of raising expectations. I have yet to be ruined in that way, my views of humanity only seem to weaken as time goes on. When I write a happy ending it is because I don’t want to be one note and only write sad things, but really it’s what I trust, what I know the best. I know it will be there in the morning, it never fails. Not to put on a mask though, I will admit to being a hopeless romantic. Like many have accused me of being in the past. But I do believe the truth is in the title, “Hopeless.” And even that is born of want. When I was young I would see my dad only in the summers. I remember laying next to him and I would sync my breathing with his and think to myself “Even when I leave here and don’t see him for months I will have this.” I thought that when away I could think to myself “We are breathing in at the same time, right now. Our hearts beating at the same rate, same tempo. Keeping in time with the longing to see eachother again.” Hope had been etched into my very being, it’s all I had. And to think about it logically causes a real battle between heart and head. So with all these ghosts I have, I wonder if I wander the halls of someones elses mind. If the thing they hope for is me. And if so, I hope I don’t let them down.

The Life Of Friends Is Sometimes The greatest Insult

As she walked up to him after months of silence she wondered how it would go. What could she say to him after leaving him like that, without even a goodbye. Not even a goodbye for the boy who held her heart, even if only briefly. “I know I don’t deserve even this after I left you the way I did, and that I can not just waltz back into your life, but I was hoping we could still be friends.” He looked at her like a fire was burning behind his eyes, and she feared it would escape when he opened his mouth to speak. To speak these words, the words she would remember for the rest of her life “No, we can not be friends. Do you think just because you ran off with your ex that it would sway me? That it would stop me from being who I am?” She could only muster “What do you mean?” And a cruel smile started creeping across his face, “What I mean is I am not a quitter, I will not be swayed from how I feel about you. I am coming after you, coming after you with a ferocity you have never seen before. It will be like there is no past, only future; And you will see the type of man I truly am. But if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I will ruin you. Believe me when I say it; Friends is not an option, anything less than lovers is an insult, I will win your heart back.” A tear ran down her cheek as she said “Good luck, to the both of us.”

Why She Hated You; And Was Right To

She said “You never did tell me why she hated me.” He laughed sincerely and responded “She hated you because she said you were secretly in love with me.” She laughed, but not sincerely. He looked at her while she laughed and examined every movement, every small facial expression, the pitch of her laughter, how her pupils were dilated, and how she held her body. For the first time he realized something that would change his life forever “It’s true isn’t it? You do have feelings for me.” Her face turned bright red and her eyes looked down to the floor. “Why did you just pretend like it wasn’t true?” Still not making eye contact she could only squeak out “It wasn’t the right time to tell you.” He started laughing again and she started to frown and turn her head away. She shifted her whole body and took a step as if she was going to try and escape as quickly as possible. He grabbed her hand preventing her from leaving and said “Any time is the right time, especially now.” She finally made eye contact again, and they both knew they would never go that long without looking into each others eyes again; Only in sleep, and even then their dreams would not turn from each other.