we are children of the universe

hope is the dream of a soul awake.

…here’s to hoping.

lately, it’s what i build everything on.

all i might have given…

all i might have given for love’s sake…

too late.

dying. slow as a tree.

-the thin red line

perfect

perfection is not about being truly flawless…everyone has their faults. it is when you can accept those imperfections and realize the true beauty and essence within someone that you can see perfection.

i see it in her every single day. i see it in the way she smiles. i see it in the way she laughs. i see it in the way her hair falls over her shoulders. i see it in every inch of her being.

she doesn’t have to believe it’s true. she can’t see past whatever flaws she believes she has. she’s never been able to see herself as i do: a beautiful woman, a beautiful person, the most amazing and stunning being ever to exist.

she is perfect.

the only moment we were alone

the bustle around him was almost defeaning. a river of bodies shuffled past, their steps much more determined and hurried than his. heels clicked against pavement. toes scratched with small pebbles underfoot. elbows bumped up solidly against his back and voices assaulted him from all directions. the sun beat down on the back of his neck, prickling the hairs there with unease.

he walked, seemingly aimlessly, his lips pursed with anxiety. sweat began to bead on his brow as the people closed in around him. their noise hit a fevered pitch, the heat from their constantly moving bodies pressing against his skin, choking off his already-shortening breaths. his steps stopped, a red light forcing a dam in front of the flood of pedestrians. their breath was scalding on his neck, elbows and shoulders ddug sharply into him, their numbers increasing all around. suddenly, he felt a hand slide into his. he blinked slowly.

he felt a cool breeze as small arms wrapped around him, her lithe form soft against him. ocean waves echoed against a far-off shore, the clean, crisp air of some far away paradise filled his nostrils. he felt her lips coolly kissing his neck. he breathed in the smell of her, her hair, her skin. he felt full, blanketed by her being. 

opening his eyes, he saw the light turn green. the people began to flow by across the street. he followed suit, a smile on his face, still holding her hand lightly in his.

dancing

slow dancing in the vibrant flames of gray moonbeams to the music of the universe.

(dec, 2009)

divine spark

they say that in each of us there is a divine spark placed at the center of our being and that the purpose in this life it to let it free into the universe. i think that the purpose of life is to find the one who can hold that ethereal ember in their palm and never want to let it escape.

(aug, 2009)

the whole universe

her warmth was soft against my fingertips, the space between us electric, and when our lips met, the entirety of the universe lay bare behind our closed eyelids.

slipping away

the soft wind swirled about him, his outstretched arms embracing nothing. time slipped by with the breeze as two handfuls of sand trickled between his fingertips, the grains lifted away and into the emptiness around him.

(oct, 2010)

watching the last sunset on earth

a calm breeze blew lightly against the old wood of the small farmhouse. its few windows were already dark, reflecting the growing dusk. the boards of the long front porch were warped and weather-beaten, some of them free of their ancient rusty bonds. two rickety-looking rocking chairs sat lonely watch next to the front door. the house itself seemed to lean on one corner of its foundation, somehow winning its battle to remain upright when all it wished to do was collapse in exhaustion. 

waves upon waves of long, thin grasses surrounded the place, their lengths weaving and flowing with the whims of the wind.  light tufts of fluffy clouds billowed above, positioning themselves to best reflect the wonders of the sunset.  oranges and purples and reds and yellows all swirled out from the west, slowly exploding in brilliance as the dusk deepened.  the sun perched itself on the horizon, seeming to stall for a moment as if considering its plunge down below.  just as it decided to dive, the torn screen door of the house opened with a small screech of protest.  a man, his back hunched with age, shuffled out onto the porch.  his hair was white and unruly, his skin dark and tough.  his eyes, slightly bloodshot, were a brown akin to the earth on which his small home stood.  they seemed tired, reflecting the burden his shoulders seemed to sag beneath.

he stopped next to one of the chairs, his hand on the high arching back, looking out at the evening without blinking.  exhaling softly, he slid into the chair’s embrace.  the man’s hands sat unmoving on each of the rocker’s arms, his feet flat on the porch’s gnarled boards.  something squeaked lightly in rhythm with his slight rocking.  his breathing was muted while he watched the world whisper goodnight.

the veil of night rolled over the farmhouse.  the great masterpiece in the clouds faded to dark purples and blues.  stars bloomed in the blackness.  a chill crept into the breeze. and yet, the man sat unmoving, the chair still rocking forward and backward, his eyes unyielding on the last vestiges of the sunset.  as the day finally dipped away for good and night lay over the air completely, the man moved.  his eyes looked to his right, stealing a glance at the other, empty rocking chair.  after a moment, he stood slowly, turned towards the house, and let the screen door slam shut behind him.

-

 the next morning, the sun rose with purpose, greeting the world with its rosy smile. dew hung from the meadow grass around the farmhouse.  a slight mist sat low in the air.  everything was still.

miles and minutes

the road stretches unendingly. miles ahead become miles behind, each a minute more away from home.

how quickly time goes, mile-by-mile. it’s been days since we said goodbye, despite what the clock in the dashboard reads. the warmth of your hand in mine has already slipped away, replaced by the cold grip of the steering wheel. the wind buffeting through the open windows carries a low rumble, muddling the sound of the music streaming from the speakers.

i can remember so vividly how beautiful you are with your hair at the mercy of the breeze and a carefree smile on your face.

but the passenger seat is empty. miles ahead, the minutes will finally stop rolling by, the miles between us will stop increasing, and we can go back to waiting.

light fantastic

let’s trip the light fantastic, baby…just you and me.

-zaphod beeblebrox, the hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy

you are beautiful

my god, do you know how beautiful you are? i’m helpless, arms outstretched, falling through the atmosphere, reaching for anything to stop me. and there you are, radiant, stunning. and so i’m rushing up to meet you, regaining lost ground, hoping to whatever god exists in the heavens that you never stop smiling at me.