Remember?

A scent of security
Followed by wisps of memories
These are what remain

For how can I ever forget
Forget... Forget...
Remember?

Strands of hope
Splitting on each end
Tied, holding on

Will this future ever become
Become... Become...
Remember?

To The Ends of the Sea

Both bare feet
At the edge of the sea
Cold salt water
And birds with melodies

I stare out into the horizon
With you on my mind
If I walk the distance
Is it you that I’ll find?

I lean over quietly
Take a fistful of sand
My eyes watch as they fall
As the grains sieve from my hand

If only seconds ran so quickly
Like an hourglass of time
Let the grains fall so quickly
‘Til the day you’ll be mine

If I walk the distance
Is it you that I’ll find?
If I keep on moving forward
Should I never look behind?

Cold salt water
And birds with melodies
Are they singing of you
You finding me?

Are they the prophets
Of things to come
At the edge of the sea
With the setting sun

Eating Away

Voices in my mind
Haunting my soul
I run to them blind
Will I ever reach my goal?

The voices hiss at me
From the shadows so dark
People question me
Yet I have no remark

An endless countdown
Like the days going by
Voices now all around
I am forced to comply

Red fiery eyes
And hands cold as stone
It wears no disguise
As it traces every bone

With a lick of its lips
It likes what it sees
Every hollow, every dip
I give in to this disease

Not This Time

My head is in the clouds
But it's raining down on me.
I am traveling so far
But this path is leading me nowhere.

I am tryin' so damn hard
But it's like I can't catch a break.
I try to do good deeds
But Karma just isn't on my side.

Not this time,
Not this time.

How can right feel so wrong?
How can time take so long?
What do I need to do
To prove my worth?

I go the extra mile
But the track brings me back to start.
I run until I collapse
But have no time to catch my breath.

Not this time,
Not this time.

Growing Fonder

I always used to hear them say:
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder,"
But I had never been familiar with this sentiment.

Yet now when I awaken
And your slender frame is not touching mine,
I realize how much larger, emptier this bed can be.

The smell of your hair has left the pillows
And the taste of your kisses has left my lips,
But you are always on my mind.

I impatiently await the moment
When we will be able to embrace,
And we allow our lips to caress.

Oh, the ecstasy we will encounter
When our bodies touch
And our fingers entwine.

You will fill the emptiness beside me,
Your scent will return to my pillows
And the taste of your kisses to my lips.

Let's Get Crazy

The bass is bumping
I can feel it in my feet
The music's blaring
I'm dancing to the beat

My heart is pumping
And I'm losing all control
Bring out the booze now
I'm on a roll

Bartender, poor me another
It's time to get crazy
Drink until I stumble;
Until the night gets hazy

Turn up this beat
I love this song
Having some fun now
Night doesn't seem so long

Bring all your friends
I'll bring mine, too
We'll close this place down
'Cause that's how we do

Bartender, poor me another
It's time to get crazy
Drink until I stumble;
Until the night gets hazy

Compliments of a Yearning Mind

After her death, everything was shoved into boxes and left in the attic to be forgotten. Dust covered everything up there. The door to the attic, while rickety and rotting, hadn’t been opened and remained locked. Only termites and mice went through the door and even they were scarcely found. The small round window on the far wall was curtained by an old, moth-eaten sheet. Only the little holes allowed the golden presence of the sun to enter the attic. The makeshift curtain billowed slightly where the window leaked the crisp fall air into the house. Nothing else drifted in the air for the last three years except memories and nostalgia.

I looked down at my hands, quivering as I held the key. The metal was cool against my calloused skin. I could sense the passion that I had caged behind the door. The only thing that kept me on my feet was leaning against the door that separated me from these emotions. After a few unsuccessful tries, the key found place within the lock. Turning the key, I quickly became aware of how much I was teetering on the brink of past and present. This feeling was so black and white, so powerful, that I fell to my knees in tears after I saw all that I had tried to forget. The problem was that I couldn’t help but remember.

I urged myself to the nearest taped box. The tears falling from my eyes swam with the dust that covered it. Eagerness pulled through my body and forced me to slice through the tape with the key I still firmly gripped. I unwillingly dropped the key to the floor and gingerly touched the flaps of the box as if they were parts of her. Suddenly, I felt the impulse to see what was inside, but found myself unable to make resolve. My mind raced with what it could contain. A Pandora of memories, photographs or maybe clothes that still had her scent clinging to the fabric for dear life. I heaved a loud sigh and swallowed back a few tears, trying to buck up and find the courage to let my eyes wander past the corrugation. Trembling fingertips pushed back the flap and I peered down in solid remembrance. My vision became blurry from a mix of tears and lightheaded nausea. I required my eyes to look at the tangible memories strewn within the box.

My reflection mirrored back at me in the glass of the picture frame. I tenderly held the photograph between fingers, careful not to smudge the glass. Blotting my tears with my sleeves, my vision cleared slightly and I found myself lost in her eyes. The photograph was a picture of the two of us at high school graduation. Long before we really knew what life meant, long before we really knew what love meant, long before…all of this. Her smile never changed. Her smile is one thing I’ve never forgotten and I knew it would outlast anything else.

Carefully I placed the frame back in the box and unveiled another. This one sent my hands trembling again. I could feel my body returning to the time and place the picture had been taken. The sun speckled across our faces, bits of the rays hiding behind overhead branches and leaves. A field of baby’s breath was before us, the branches of the willow swayed above us with the refreshing breeze and I could feel the wisps of her bangs against my temple as we captivated ourselves in a passionate kiss. I could see every freckle on her face and feel her slender fingers against my cheek.

My mind was pulled back to the attic because of a sudden noise. The picture frame had slipped from my grasp and landed back on the pile. My knees were to my chest and tears streamed down my face. One of my hands was against my face, as if it was holding hers. The smell of the field and her soft skin had disappeared along with the touch of her hand. I found myself unable to hold back the tears and the silence of the room was replaced by gasping sobs.

I shoved the box away from me and eased myself to my feet, staggering slightly as the blood rushed to my head and specks blurred my vision. I rubbed the heel of my hand against my brow, trying to urge it away. Boxes were stacked in one corner and a large portrait mirror stood in the din along with a few brown grocery bags that were near the window. Standing away from everything else was an old cherry wood desk that I used to still my wavering balance. Finding myself still lightheaded, I placed myself unsteadily into a matching chair that creaked slightly while it took on the burden of my body’s weight. Coughing erupted as the dust choked me, disturbing the sobs.

When I regained composure, I pulled on one of the brass knobs, opening the top drawer of the desk. A spider scurried out from the darkness and I brushed away the spider and cobwebs, revealing the journal she used to write in on late nights full of insomnia. The key was resting beneath it and I dared myself to break into the inner-workings of her mind. The lock and clasp of the journal fell away and the pages were neat and clean beneath the cover. The pen markings were dark and consistent among the pages, her handwriting was definitely recognizable. I opened the journal to a page near the middle and started reading. Her voice resounded in my skull, and a new rush of feelings embraced me.

It has been five days since I’ve felt her presence beside me. Her side of the bed has grown cold and the smell of her hair has left the pillows. At this point I’d give almost anything to have her return so I could wrap my arms around her and finally sleep. The clock only reads a little after 2 in the morning…but I feel like I’ve been awake and waiting for so much longer…

I bit my lip, remembering when this passage was written. I had gone to New York with my family to visit my grandparents for the holidays. My family was never accepting of the way I lived my life and didn’t allow her to join us even though she didn’t have a family with whom to spend that time. I must have returned only a few hours after she had written this. I drove all night from my parent’s house just so I could feel the comfort of my own home. When I had returned I had put my coat on the rack beside the door and I could feel the warmth of the dying fire in the den. She was nursing a mug of hot chocolate, wrapped in her favorite blanket.

Smiling at the memory, I closed the book. The night of my return we had slept until the afternoon and even after awakening, we remained in bed for hours. Alone in the attic I gasped, feeling her tender lips brushing across my neck. Tears made paths down my cheeks from my glassy eyes and fell in droplets on the cover of the journal. Sniffling, I pushed that away just like I had done with the photographs. In a rage of despair I chucked the journal key at the desk, scarring the surface of the wood.

I slowly regrouped and led myself to the window, tearing down the old sheet. The sky outside was blue and a few geese were honking their way south. The pine trees down the street still held their own but the leaves of their neighbors were falling to the ground. The sound of a leaf blower across the street filled the air as I cracked the window open slightly. The cool air that trickled into the attic brought me back to my senses and I turned to face the attic again.

My reflection stared back as I found myself facing the large mirror across the room. I looked a complete wreck. Dust dulled the colors of my clothing and the dark makeup around my eyes bled down my cheeks. My hair was falling from its pony tail messily. I walked slowly towards the mirror, pushing my hair back into the hair tie. She had readied herself in front of it countless times. She was sitting in front of it the first time I confessed my love to her. I pressed my hand up against it as if I could pass through and find her and I sitting there, staring at it from the other end.

A strip of photos holding the two of us hung from the mirror’s edge. They were taken at the nearby mall in one of those photo booths. It was taken after her team won the tournament. We celebrated with ice cream at the mall and couldn’t resist putting a few quarters into the machine. Dirt smudged my face where her hands had been, but it didn’t compare to the dust covering hers, her freckles almost absent. I pulled the photos down from the mirror to get a closer look. Her eyes shone with brilliance and mine couldn’t stray away from hers. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes to keep myself from hyperventilating.

I draped the sheet from the window over the mirror and moved on to the boxes in the corner. I hated myself for forcing my hands to tear open the boxes but I couldn’t stop. Photographs, trinkets and books. The boxes contained everything that reminded me of her. They contained items I had gifted to her upon many birthdays, Christmases and other special occasions. They contained letters in her fluid handwriting and more journals filled with her thoughts. They contained broken things that I didn’t have the heart to dispose. Lastly, they contained things she had given me. A still-sparkling ring from our 5 years, more photographs and hand made cards from when we were in college.

I slipped the ring back onto my finger and kissed the gem. I walked back over to the window and looked down at it as the sun gleamed and reflected light on its many glowing facets. My eyes cut over to the several brown paper bags that were now at my feet. They were filled with her clothing and the top layer of each bag had a layer of dust.

My hands reached into the closest bag and pulled out each article of clothing one by one. Cardigans were near the top followed by a vest and a few hooded sweatshirts. The first ones smelled mostly of must but the further I had gotten into the bag, the more I could smell her hair and the perfume she used to wear. The bottom-most sweatshirt was one of her favorites -- teal with black birds flying up the sleeves. I sat down beside the bag and clutched the sweatshirt to my chest, inhaling to bring her scent to memory.

I was brought back to a time in college when we had been stargazing on the bed of her pick up. She was wearing this exact sweatshirt and we were laying on her favorite blanket. That was the first night I had ever seen a shooting star and it was also the first night we kissed and held each other’s embrace until daylight. We had been friends for years before that but neither one of us could bring ourselves to take the next step in the relationship, afraid of how the other might react. It still wasn’t easy after that and my parents were enraged when they had found out. They were still enraged now.

I slipped the sweatshirt over my head and hugged the fabric to me, feeling her warmth, her embrace and her touch. I rocked back and forth where I sat, tears returning to my eyes as I tried to look past them and out the window to the beautiful day outside.

My friends were surprised to see how well I had overcome her death and started to move on. That tends to happen when one locks it all away in the attic. All the pain and regret.

My attention was brought down to my front yard as the doorbell rang. The car alongside the curb belonged to the woman at the store just down the block that I had been debating asking for dinner. Last week I mustered up the courage and now she was here. But is it too soon? Is three years too soon? When will it be time? The woman’s eyes were completely different, but her smile was the same. Her smile never changed. Her smile is one thing I’ve never forgotten and I knew it would outlast anything else.