Feb 17, 2010


I document myself in mixed CD's and empty coffee cups.
Both litter the counters and floor space like the
scattered memory of you and me and that house
with the tin roof and a yellow dress and the
playground with rusty monkey-bars and
lightening storms over a lake on the other side of the mountains
and the strawberries that i forced myself to eat so I could
kiss you and not fall down.
Like Polaroids pinned to the wall with tiny metal tacks.
Driving so fast that I cant even catch up to myself.
But you, You always seem to
slow me down,
take me out of my head. Lets go for a walk -
the days are getting longer, you know.
I know.
You smile, and it's goofy and I love you for it.
The little things. Always the smallest things.
Laced fingers and humoring me when I
dont want to eat even though I should so I can
kiss you and not fall down.
You know so much, I smile and watch the skyline.
I love this city and it's better with you.
It's better not to be alone, especially
if you are me.
That's when the coffee cups get left too long.
No more clean ones, and the CD's get scratched.
Today I broke a coffee cup. Dropped in on the tile floor.
Shattered like fireworks.
You could have stayed.
Nothing is as serious as it seems.
And I already cleaned up the broken cup.

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