Thoughts of futile endeavors begun with empty words.

They never carried you far before; what makes you think they will now? Taking and giving never seemed this hard; yet every time you reach out to grab, your fingers don’t function how you wish they would. Instead of gently picking the love from the palm of his hand, you smack it down- spilled on the ground, empty and wasted.

What has this become, this mentality? You can’t seem to let it go, and you won’t even try, you stubborn soul. You feign kindness and love, but least love yourself. You say that isn’t the case, but we know the truth. We know.

You are so unwilling, and I am tired of trying to make you care. Stay still, breathless; I don’t care. Go far from this place and never return; I don’t care. Tear down these bridges of beautiful memories; I don’t care. But finally be what you claimed you would become, because I do care.

“I’ve faced the same and walked out alive,” you heard her whisper underneath propped-up sheets, a flimsy tent that sags in the middle, a slight representation of your soul, seemingly strong but able to be blown into nothingness if a strong-enough wind presents itself.

Take it for what it isn’t.
Leave it for what it is.
Break the broken until nothing remains.
Grieve for what you cannot love anymore.
Finally be what you claimed you would become, because I do care.

I couldn’t have prepared myself for this fall, shattered in pieces curled on the floor.

You were never where you needed to be- always away, never near, hiding in the dark corners of your heart. You never let the sunshine in, never showed him what you wanted to become, and so he never learned you. And to this day you regret all the words you never said, all the times you never shared wrapped in his arms underneath the covers sharing softly-spoken secrets. But lighting doesn’t strike the same place twice. True love is a gift and you let it drift away.

Maybe next time you will think twice before you throw it all away.

c'e'... non c'e'

Oh enough quiet heart…. I wish you would be louder. I wish you would see deeper, I wish you would feel more. But go ahead, back into the corner, where you know that you are safe, protected from the outside, protected from the hate.

You give advice you do not follow and where does it leave you? “Whole” you say and “Half of what you could become,” he adds quickly after. I’m confused and the rubble surrounding me won’t let me see my way out safely. I climb and climb and stay in the same place unsure of the cost, unsure of my fate.

But take it by the hand just this once and find a way to shake these thoughts; they hold you down, they crack your foundations from the inside out, until nothing would be able to stand. Oh enough quiet heart…

And well this is what we became…. An empty room with no chairs to rest on.

Monday, January 18 made me think twice.

I think it has been far too long since I last met myself. When did I get this busy? When did extraneous things become so important? Four letters and a remixed tune brought me back. And here I am again. I couldn’t find the key for the longest time, and I found I had to break in just to catch a glimpse of what I used to be.

Romping about through invisible snow still leaves me feet soaking wet

Strap them on, the boots for blistery weather. No matter how much you prepare the flurries still seep in, and you find your socks steadily growing damp. So you trek back to the house, change them, and head back out. This time the outcome is the same. The subtle chill in the cracks between your toes brings this to your attention. Again you return and change. By the end, you have found that you have travelled back and sought change more than a dozen times now.

This time you double up, two pairs masterfully attached to your limbs by blue waterproof duct tape. And although this time it takes a little bit longer, after a while, your waterlogged socks make a squishy noise with every step you take. What more will it take? Should I stay inside, ignoring the call of nature? Should I stay in, alone, and sustain myself with a well-built fire? You ponder this for a while with your elbows resting on your knees and your head propped up by your hands as you sit teetering on the edge of your blanket-laden bed.

A knock comes to your door and you think to yourself, “Who else would be out in this weather?” As you make your way across your living room the sunshine peeking in through a crack in the pulled-shut drapes catches your attention. You gently crack the door open and peer outside, the postal man stands on your door step dressed in his finest pair of postal shorts and a short sleeved shirt. He has a bright yellow smiley face pin attached too his lapel. He looks at you bewildered by the presence of your winter clothes layered one upon the other. He chuckles to himself as he informs you kindly that the temperature today is a lovely sun-filled 73 degrees, “and well isn’t it nice?” You play if off of course, informing him that you "just got these and wanted to try them on" because you are ecstatic about an up coming ski trip in a few months. You lied and he believed you.

You have always lied, and for the most part they have always believed you. The truth is you have never set foot outside of your front door. You have never been out in nature, you have never even tried. You have just lied and lied and lied, until you finally believed it yourself. When will you stop? When will you realize the snow had never come and that it has always been a mild 73 degrees? And as this realization sets in you slowly work open the package with no return address that the postman has delivered. You smile to yourself as you pull out a set of flip flops from underneath the packing peanuts. You slip them on and for once in your life you give it a chance. And as you swing the door wide and step outside, you feel truly alive for the first time in your life. And this time, there is no turning back.

Il tempo ha arrivato per costruire i muri tutt'intorno il mio cuore.

I hate this feeling that I get when I think of you. This feeling of loss, of emptiness because you aren’t here. And I thought I was doing so well, far from you, I didn’t have to bring your name up in conversation. But still you seem to find me, to seek me out, when the whole time I just want to forget you. I want to forget you because I love you in the worst way possible, and even typing these words makes my heart hurt all over again. I can’t seem to escape you, and I can’t ever have you. So now I sit in helpless silence once again fighting back these feeling that spawned from a nearly lost hope. Sadly this hope can never find fulfillment, and I will remain here, alone, without you. Some things just aren’t worth having if the price you pay is losing everything else.

Ti ho perso, e di te non parlero' mai.

Boxing Shadows in a Windowless Room

Goodness gracious. You sit right across from me and still you remain out of my grasp. Am I this unfortunate in finding this thing? This love? But still I can’t say I know you, I can’t say I know what your heart feels, what your mind thinks, what you want to become. But I will say, if you will tell me I will be able to either put these lost feelings to rest or I will give you my whole heart entirely. Don’t you see love is risky? Love makes us vulnerable, opens us up to possible feelings of pain. But that risk is nothing if you go all in, if you set all your chips on the table to find that in the end you and you alone remain with the best possible "hand." And this game, this game you play called love has just been won by the five cards sitting unmoved in your hand. And those cards turn into fingers that connect to a hand that joins you to the arm of the person you love. And in this you find what you have been looking for. In this you find that risk doesn’t always end in loss. In this you find the reality of true love. That it is unwavering, steadfast, not easily shaken, deeper than the shallowness of feelings, stronger than the force that rages against it, and more than you could have ever asked it to be. This is love at its core. This is what melts the hardest hearts of stone. This is what fills the emptiest emptiness. This is what changes the world.