Enumerate

Must time mock me?

Promising to heal my wounds by taking forever to pass…

A prisoner of my own thoughts, free to leave them behind if they were not of you and so treasured…

All of the little things done…

That were only you being yourself… I counted them one by one, placing them into my heart as if they were meant just for

me…

Unaware that each keepsake would forsake me and become the seconds counted down to the destruction of what love

we shared… In a space given that only had so much room, we broke laws of physics… we made love and experienced

its infinite possibilities…

Where does the time go?

How long will it take to remove each moment spent with you, without removing myself in the process?

I didn’t count on this…

Because I counted on you…

And if I were to list the ways in which I did, I would surely pass before I would be able to finish…

Because I loved you…

Watercolors (The Artist)

My subject… allow me to subtract the world around you, so all that remains is a portrait of you…

Background noise of various memories that must be no more, yet they are everything and so much more… but fail to remain underwater…

Once washed over with every thought of you and basking in the rain are now but tears that fall onto a page, where I attempt to paint the best but the color refuses remain…

Faded away… not even the black and white are present… the imagery is all gone…

All that is left is you, which can not be removed because I didn’t create you…

And with my hands covering my face, I wonder if it would have been wiser to just give you my heart and not my mind… for my heart will heal, but I am but an artist and you will never leave my thoughts…

Writer’s Block

Waiting for words to find me… I sit still, allowing my thoughts to race…

Competing for the ultimate prize of “the point of inspiration”… but my carefree mind wanders, switching worlds randomly so the paths of words to the motioning of ┬ámy wrists to which I write them is indirect…

Yet I compose myself by whispering compose yourself and then reply with notes that are the pieces of the chords struck within me…

What falls to the page and to the screen sometimes even shocks me…

And I am shown often what I did not even know about myself that is imbedded in my soul whenever I give back to my soul instead of constantly asking of it…