7/18/16, 4:30pm

You loved me like the monsoon loved the insignificant suburban town at mid afternoon in the heart of July. A sudden, steady intensity, a deliberate, blinding love, with thousands of droplets roaring the same simple promise of Forever. Thick with the heat of passion, dense with the sanctity of happy ever after. The world turns white, contained in a violent storm of Now. We are encapsulated in the fervor of Eternity, never wavering under the pillars of thundercloud strength.

I cannot see anything but this moment, you and I, our hearts beating in time to the brutal pitter patter of downpour. Time has stopped as we breathe to the rhythm of the growling grey skies, and of each other. I am suffocated by the humidity of your words, yet I grapple to breathe in more. I struggle to remember a life outside of this propitious, silver whirlwind. I don’t think I want to.

We could have only been evoked by a rain dance, the final resort of a man desperate for love. The universe has worked so hard for us to be, yet in an instant, we are gone—you, are gone. The trees have surrendered their wooden thrones, and the sidewalks guiltily reek of a damp, forgotten romance. Zeus watches, mouth agape, bewildered and inexplicably wounded. When the Sun finally reveals itself again, we dazzle in the specks of flint sparking in the concrete, begging to be remembered. The storm has passed, and nothing is the same.

97 In Between

We parted ways at the center clock

With small embraces

And mumbled exchanges

Sauntering to our numbered platforms

Looking back for a moment

Reluctant yet relieved.

As I stepped onto my train

Whisked away back again

To a sleepy one horse town

I began to wonder

About all the things I didn't say:

Was he closer to his father

Or his mother?

Was he scared of being swallowed whole

In a school of 30,000

Or would he navigate gracefully

Through the crowds of people

Trying their best to make sense of it all

Just like him?
Even though he swears he’s not a messy eater

How many times a day

Does he stain his baby blue button down

With mint chocolate chip ice cream?

Does he watch them splash around

Darting his eyes from left to right

For the money

Or something

Deeper

And bigger

Than all of us?

Why finance?

Does it make his heart sing,

And would he ever consider Wall Street?

What goes on

In that beautiful mind 

As he sits quietly in a corner

With an empty beer can in hand

Waiting for someone to notice him?

Did he know he was the first time

I looked at novelty with eagerness;

Something other than spite?

And lastly,

Did he know

On the subway ride home

Back to 42^nd

Where I discovered

That the crook of his arm

Was a place I fit perfectly

That this was the last time?
Did he know it was the end

To something that had not yet begun

Or does he too,

Wonder

About all the things he didn't say?

We Still Have Time

We as humans have a funny little habit of telling ourselves and one another that we still have time. We still have time until we don't.  We still have time until the day we've been silently dreading for weeks on end finally wedges its way into the present. We still have time until we are in the very moment of departure. And then we freeze. Our minds go blank and our bodies go numb, as if the universe is refusing to let us comprehend the concept of one last goodbye. What do we say? What do we do? Are words enough? Is one last embrace enough? So we get sloppy, and we start babbling about things we've already talked about; dead end statements that can't possibly be added onto. Perhaps we do it to fill the awkward air between us as we desperately try to search for something meaningful to say—something that'll stick. Perhaps we do it as to not let the other person know how much the present moment is ripping us apart inside. We fight the urge to look each other in the eye because we know if we do we'd never want to look away. We ditch the thought of trying to memorize each other's features because that in and of itself indicates that we'll only ever exist in each other's minds from here on out—and that's just not right. We shut down. We become emotionless robots. We give careless one armed hugs as to not let the gravity of the situation drag us down with it—at least then we still have some bits of our deluded fantasies to hold onto, even when reality is forcefully tugging us in the opposite direction. We turn our backs to each other and call out standard farewells, none of which even mean anything, really. We turn our backs to the sound of each other's voices, the ones that have been the symphonies of our daily lives for so long, as they echoed down halls, filled up rooms, and seeped into the tender cracks of our hearts. We turn our backs to the only goodbye that will ever really stay with us, rejecting its importance in a useless act of protest. We turn our backs even though we are fully aware of the risk we are taking. This could be the last, and we're wasting it. We lock up our hearts with such ferociousness because we're too afraid of everything that's left to say—everything we still need to say. We convince ourselves that it's not the last time, because we know it can't be. We won't let it be. We convince ourselves that we still have time. Because we still have time, until we don't. 

One Last Goodbye

A fleeting wave

To end the day

We can't escape

The mess we've made.

I want to try

Ask myself why

It's all a lie

We cannot hide.

I miss you now

But don't know how

A broken vow

Take one last bow.

Better to leave

Torn at the seams

A movie scene

Not made for keeps.

There's no more sorrow

Tears will not follow

A friendship borrowed

Until tomorrow.

It's time that we

Accept defeat

One day we'll meet

Again repeat.