Lullabies lang leav pdf free download

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She held them in her hands and breathed them inwanting so much to be part of their world. ItwasntlongbeforeEmilybeganspeakingtoher,thenSylviaandKatherine;theirvoicesranginunison, haunting and beautiful. They told her one day her poetry would be written on the ghost of treesand whispered on the lips of lovers. But it would come at a price. There isnt a thing I would not gladly give, she thought, to join my idols on those dusty shelves.

To beimmortal. Asifreadinghermind,thevoicesofthedeadpoetscriedoutinalarmandwarnedheraboutthegreatest heartache of allhow every stroke of pen thereafter would open the same wound over andover again. What is the cause of such great heartache? They heard the keen anticipation in her voiceand were sorry for her. The greatest heartache comes from loving another soul, they said, beyond reason, beyond doubt, withno hope of salvation. It was on her sixteenth birthday that she first fell in love.

With a boy who brought her red roses andwhite lies. When he broke her heart, she cried for days. Then hopeful, she sat with a pen in her hand, poised over the blank white sheet, but it refused to drawblood.

Many birthdays came and went. One by one, she loved them and just as easily, they were lost to her. Somewhere amidst the carnationsand forget-me-nots, between the lilacs and mistletoeshe slowly learned about love.

Little by little,her heart bloomed into a bouquet of hope and ecstasy, of tenderness and betrayal. Then she met you, and you brought her dandelions each day, so she would never want for wishes. Shelooked deep into your eyes and saw the very best of herself reflected back. And she loved you, beyond reason, beyond doubt, and with no hope of salvation.

When she felt your love slipping away from her, she knelt at the altar, before all the great poetsandshe begged. She no longer cared for poetry or immortality, she only wanted you. Butallthedeadpoetscoulddowaslookon,helplessandresignedwhileeverythingshehadeverwished for came true in the cruelest possible way. She learned too late that poets are among the damned, cursed to commiserate over their loss, to reachwith outstretched handshands that will never know the weight of what they seek.

TimeYou were the oneI wanted mostto stay. But time could notbe kept at bay. The more it goes,the more its gonethe more it takes away. Broken HeartsI know youve lost someone and it hurts. You may have lost them suddenly, unexpectedly. Or perhapsyou began losing pieces of them until one day, there was nothing left. You may have known them allyour life or you may have barely known them at all.

Either way, it is irrelevantyou cannot controlthe depth of a wound another inflicts upon you. Which is why I am not here to tell you tomorrow will be a new day. That the sun will go on shining. Or there are plenty of fish in the sea. What I will tell you is this; its okay to be hurting as much as youare. What you are feeling is not only completely valid but necessarybecause it makes you so muchmorehuman. For now, all you can do is take your time. Take all the time you need.

WoundedA bruise is tenderbut does not last,it leaves me asI always was. But a wound I takemuch more to heart,for a scar will alwaysleave its mark. And if you should askwhich one you are,my answer isyou are a scar. DespondencyThere was a girl named Despondency, who loved a boy named Altruistic, and he loved her in return. She adored books and he could not read, so they spent most of their time wandering through worldstogether and in doing so, lived many lives.

One day, they read the last book there was and decided they would write their own. It was a beautifultale set against a harsh desert with a prince named Mirage as the hero. From their wild imaginings, anintricate plot of adventure and tragedy unfolded.

Altruistic awoke one night to find Despondency sitting at her desk, furiously scribbling away in theirbook. It caught him by surprise for until now, she had not written a single word without him.

Despondency turned to face him, her eyes cast downward. She told him while writing their story, shehad fallen desperately in love with Prince Mirage and wanted to wander the desert in search of him. AltruisticwasheartbrokenbutknewitwasinDespondencysnaturetolongforwhatshecouldnthave, just like it was in his not to stand in her way. Crying, she begged him to burn the tale of PrinceMirage, but he could not bring himself to do it.

Heknew he would never see her again. Handing her a worn, leather-bound book, he said, Your father wanted you to have this. She knew atonce it was the book he had carried in his breast pocket, close to his heart for all his life. Her fathersinability to read was also something she had inherited, and while tracing her fingers over the cover ofthe book, she asked, Can you please tell me what the title is?

For YouHere are the things I want for you. I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I didwhen I was in your presence. I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I wasbetterforit.

Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it. IwantyoutoknowthatIhavekeptsacred,everythingyouhadentrustedinmeandIalways will. Finally, I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring youcloser. And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. I want you to knowthat most of all.

Always with MeYour love I once surrendered,has never left my mind. My heart is just as tender,as the day I called you mine. I did not take you with me,but you were never left behind. Loves InceptionI did not knowthat it was loveuntil I knew.

There was neveranother to comparewith you. But since you left,each boy I meet,will always have youto compete. KarmaSorrow tells stories,I relay them to wisdom;I play them like recordsto those who will listen. I know to be thankful,I was given my time;to those who have loved himyour heartache is mine.

To the one who will keep him,and the hearts he has keptyour love, when it leaves himhis greatest regret. Fairy TalesWhen she was a little girl, she went to the school library asking for books about princesses. Youve read every book we have about princesses. In the whole library? Years later, she fell in love. She wrote his name on the inside of her pencil case. Hoping he might askto borrow a pen so she could be found out. In the yard of a house where she lived, there was a large oak tree carved with the initials of each boyshehadeverkissed.

She loved only him. LikeRapunzel,shegrewherhairlongerthananyonesheknewandfornearlyawholesummer,sheslept and slept and slept. She stayed inside until her skin turned a powder white against her blood redlips. Each day was spent living and breathing and longing for twisted paths and murderous wolves. Youre living in a fantasy, her mother said.

You need to wake up, her boyfriend told her. But all she could think about was the boy who was now just an inscription inside a pencil case andtwo crooked letters carved into an old oak tree. And the fairy tale his lips once left on the ashen surface of her skin. A LetterIt was beautifully wordedand painfully read;the things that were written,were those never said.

His lies were my comfort,but the truth I was owedI so wanted to know it,now I wish not to know. UnrequitedThe sun above;a stringless kite,her tendril fingersreach toward. Her eyes, like flowers,close at night,and the moon is sadto be ignored. Concentric CirclesAging is a euphemism for dying, and the age of a tree can only be counted by its rings, once felled. Sometimes I feel there are so many rings inside meand if anyone were to look, they would see Ihavelivedanddiedmanytimesover,eachtimesheddingmyleavesbarewiththehopeofrenewalthe desire to be reborn.

Orbetteryet,tobecompletelystrippedandbaptizedmylines vanishing like a newly pressed garment, a still pond. Edgars GiftAnything and everything,the two almost the sameeverything says, have it all;anything, one to claim.

If I say, Id give you everything,we know it can never be,but I will give you anythingI just hope that thing is me. PretextOur lovea dead starto the world it burns brightlyBut it died long ago.

Living a LieThoughts that shecannot unthink;a life that shecannot unlive. Skipping stonesto watch them sink;she envies howthey easily. Sorrow wraps herlike a scarf;waiting for asmall reprievefalling in and outof love. SoundtracksHe once told me about his love for lyrics. How the words spoke to him like poetry. Thefaceshesawandthevoices he heard. The soundtrack to a thousand tragic endings, real or imagined. The first time I saw him, I noticed how haunted his eyes were. And I was drawn to him, in the way amelody draws a crowd to the dance floor.

Pulled by invisible strings. Now I wonder if I am one of those ghostsif I am somewhere, drifting between those notes. I hope Iam. I hope whenever my song plays, I am there, whispering in his ear. A Winter SongShe was the song,in a chorusunheard. You were the summerin her winter of verse. Yours was the melodyshe wanted to learn;it clung to her lips,in silence it yearned.

It seems as though now,you forgot every word;in a field full of flowers,she was the first. There once was a songyou reminded her ofshe no longer longs,yet she still loves. Two FishermenA girl came upon a fisherman at the waters edge and watched as he cast his net into the wide, opensea.

Why do you throw a knotless net into the water? I want to catch all fish in the ocean, he replied. But there are none I wish to keep. She walked on a little further and came across another fisherman, holding a simple line. She studiedhimquietlyashereeledhiscatchin,beforereturningittothewater. Afterherepeatedthisseveraltimes, the girl asked him, Why do you catch them just to throw them back?

There is only one fish I want to catch and so, no other holds my interest. ShipwrecksThe wild seas forwhich she longed,lay far beyondthe shore. The shipwreck thather lips had sung,meant she neverleft at all. It wasnt tilthe tide had won,that she learnedit could not hurt her. It was the furthestshe had goneand she never wentmuch further. An Artist in LoveI drew him in my world;I write him in my lines,I want to be his girl,he was never meant as mine.

I drew him in my world;He is always on my mind;I draw his every line. It hurts when hes unkind. I drew him in my world;I draw him all the time,but I dont know whereto draw the line. False HopeI dont know if I want you, he says. But I do know I dont want anyone else to have you. It wasnt good enough, I knew that. Honestly I did. In my mind it was crystal clear. My heart however,was having a serious case of selective hearing. All it heard was, I dont want anyone elseto have you. And within thatwas a glimmer of hope, a spark of optimism.

A Cautionary TaleThereisagirlwhoneverreturnsherlibrarybooks. Dontgiveheryourheartitisunlikelyyouwill ever see it again. AfterthoughtThoughts I think of presently,will come and go with easewhile thoughts of you, from long before,have yet to make their leave. The memory of you and I,still finds me here and now;tomorrow has arrived and goneyet your voice to me, resounds.

For if my present were an echo of,a past I cant forget Then these thoughts are justan afterthoughtand I am always in its debt. GroundedThe little birdswho dream of flight;who gaze intothe starry night. Their tired wingsfold down and up;they try their bestbut it is not enough.

The Very ThingI often wonder why we want so much, to give others the very thing that we were denied. The motherworkingtirelesslytoprovideherchildwithaneducation;thelittleboywhowasbulliedinschooland is now a Nobel Prize-winning advocate for peace. The author who writes happy endings for thecharacters in her book. Youwillneverbeanything more than second best.

Mixed MessagesThe questions you had never askedwere things you were afraid to know;everything that has come to pass,youve made them all up on your own. There are many words you never said,that others dreamed you someday would;each of us for all our dayswill live our lives misunderstood. MasqueradeAs a writer, there is an inclination to step inside someone elses shoes, to get under their skin and seethe world through their eyes.

In many such scenarios, I have slipped into these roles with the greatestof easethen out again with the same dexterity. That was until I found myself in character, playing the girl who falls in love with you. It was then theline between fantasy and reality were so blurred that I no longer knew who I was.

WhereIhadexhaustedeverynewangleorapproachtherewastowriting our story. I know its over, I really do. I know it has been for quite some time.

Its over, yet my heart still feelsyou. Whatwehadwasfinishedlongagoyet the words will not stop flowing. Change of HeartYou were faultlessI was flawed, I was lesseryet yougave more. Now with time,I find youon my mind Perhaps I loved you,after all. ReasonsI wish I knew why he left. What his reasons were. Why he changed his mind. For all these years, I have turned it over in my headall the possibilitiesyet none of them makeany sense.

And then I think, perhaps it was because he never loved me. But that makes the least sense of all. All There WasMy greatest lesson learnt,you were mine until you werent. It was you who taught me so,the grace in letting go. The time we had was allthere was not a moment more. Pen PortraitShe doesnt keep time,so she stopped wearing watches. Her promise wont bind,so no one holds her to them. She lives in the past,so her present never catches Her thoughts do not last,so her pen must tattoo them.

Musical ChairsWhen the music stood still, I was standing at an empty chair. I could feel you smiling behind me. We sense these things while dreaming. Your hands were on my shoulders, your kisses against my neck.

Thenfromsomewhere,themusicofapianoasshesingstoMozart,noonewilleverknowmetheway you do. Tell MeTell me if you ever cared,if a single thoughtfor me was spared. Tell me when you lie in bed,do you think of somethingI once said. Tell me if you hurt at all,when someone saysmy name with yours.

It may have been so long ago,but I would givethe world to know. Beach BallDo you know that feeling? When its like youve lost something but cant remember what it was. Itsas though youre trying so desperately to think of a word but it wont come to you. Youve said it athousand times before and it was always thereright where you left it. But now you cant recall it. You try and try to make it appear and it almost does, but it never does. There are times when I think it could surfacewhen I sense it at the tip of my tongue.

When I feel itstruggling to burst from my chest like a beach ball that can only be held beneath the water for so long. I can feel it stirring each time someone hurts me. When I smile at a stranger and they dont smile back. WhensomeoneIadmiretellsmeIamnotgood enough. AmendsI wonder if there will be a morning when youll wake up missing me. That some incident in your lifewould have finally taught you the value of my worth. And you will feel a surge of longing, when youremember how I was good to you.

When this day comes I hope you will look for me. I hope you will look with the kind of conviction Idalwayshopedfor,butneverhadfromyou. AndIhopeitwillbeyouwho finds me. The MostYou may not knowthe reason why,for a timeI wasnt I. There was a manwho came and went,on him every breathwas spent.

Im sorry I forgotall elseit was the mostI ever felt. HistoryIn the beginning, I wrote to you and you wrote back. For the first time, I had something worth writingabout. Thensomewhereduringourcorrespondence,Ideviatedandinsteadofwritingtoyou,Ibeganwriting for you.

There was so much to say, things I couldnt tell you and I sensed it was important toput them down somewhere. For inherently, mankind is compelled to record their greatest moments inhistory and you were mine. I dont write to you anymore. Nor do I write for you. But I do writeand every word still aches foryou. The DreamI saw a dreamlong lost to me,in search ofanothers waking.

It found a shorelinefar awayas the dayas my heart,was breaking. And I sighed and weptfor what could not beand for all that couldhave been, For every hopeand every prayerlong drownedbeneath the sea. I fell to sleepalone that night,to the soundof a distant call. The faintest whisperof good-byeand the dreamwas mine, no more.

Wishing StarsI still searchfor you in crowds,in empty fieldsand soaring clouds. In city lightsand passing cars,on winding roadsand wishing stars. I wonder whereyou could be now,for years Ive not saidyour name out loud. And longer sinceI called you minetime has passedfor you and I. Yet I have learnedto live without,I do not mindI still love you anyhow.

Forever for NowStretching out from here to then,days before us,came and went. Someday we will meet again,for now the endof days on end.

Nostalgia for TodayDo you remember what you once said to me? One day you will be nostalgic for today. At the time, I couldnt begin to conceive a future without youI believed with all my heart we weredestined for each other. And in the back of my mind, I always knew Id feel nostalgic for a momentwe shared or a memory we createdbut not once, not even for a seconddid I imagine it was youI would be nostalgic for.

Poker FaceThere was a time I would tell you,of all that ached inside;the things I held so sacred,to all the world Id hide. But they became your weapons,and slowly I have learnt,the less that is said, the betterthe lesser Ill be hurt. Of all youve used against me,the worst has been my words.

There are things Ill never tell you,and it is sad to think it so;the more you come to know methe less of me youll know. CrosswordsI write to bring you closer. To imagine your fingers trailing the curve of my spine.

To recall how thespan of your hands were exactly the width of my hips. And how our bodies would fall into each otherlike words on a crossword puzzle. I write for the raw ache in my bones when the ink seeps into paperfor the bittersweet sorrow that comes from bringing you back. Forget Me NotThe choice was onceyour choosing,before losingbecame my loss. I was there inyour forgettinguntil I was forgot. Melancholy SkiesThree summers passedof sun-drenched dreams,of snow white cloudsand you and me.

The warmth of love,all summer long,through winters chillwed carry on. Each seasons endbegan anew,until the lastI shared with you. They gave us years,though many ago;the spring cries tearsthe winter, snow. The PoetWhy do you write? So I can take my love for you and give it to the world, I reply.

Because you wont take it from me. AlmostDo you seehow I love him trueit could have been you. As for youand your love for sheit could have been me.

But we were a maybe,and never a mustwhen it should have been us. Hes ForgottenTime is to woundlike wound is to suture,when she was his pastand he is her future.

PerfectHe said to me Youre perfect,and I want you to be mine. But I felt I wasnt worthyand to be perfect, Ill need time. I knew it would be worth it,I could be better if I tried,then he got tired of waitingand I watched my chance go by. MinefieldIfyouknowaboywitheyesofquietwonderment,whosmilesoftenandspeaksrarelysomeonewho pays the same respect to words as he would a minefieldwho thinks deeply and is endearinglysadplease do not give your heart to him.

Even when he gently pleads with youor clutches yourhand with grave earnestno matter how he tries to convince you, please turn him away. You dontknow him like I know him. You cant love him like I do. A Sad FarewellFor all the time Ive known you,to the presentnow our past;I know never to forget you;though regret still pains my heart. Had I known, I would not have left you,alone beneath those stars,on the night when I last saw you,not knowing it was the last.

RegretsTiming is irrelevant when two people are meant for each other. ItswhatIonce believed. But we met during a time when I was such a mess, when I still had so much to figure out. How could Ihaveknownhowcrucialeveryword,everyactionwasorhowlosingyouwouldbesomethingIwould always regret? IjustwishIhadmadethemwith someone else. Ode to SorrowHer eyes, a closed book,her heart, a locked door;she writes melancholylike shes lived it before.

She once loved in a way,you could not understand;he left her in piecesand a pen in her hand. The ode to her sorrowin the life she has ledher scratches on paper,the words they have bled.

Remembering YouThe day you left, I went through all my old journals, frantically looking for the first mention of you. Searching for any details I can no longer recallany morsel of information that may have been lostto my subconscious. The memory of you is fading, a little at a time, and I can feel myself forgetting. Idont want to forget.

Loves ParadoxThere is a tide that rolls away,I want to make it stay. A borrowed book sits on my shelf,I want it for myself. There are two old handsthat move this clock,I want to make them stop. There is a love you sold to me,I keep it under lockand yet you hold the key.

A GhostHis voice in this room,like shadows on walls;I imagine him onthe other side of the door. His voice, his hands, his touch,at the start, the end,and in the middle. Strange how it mattered so much,when now it mattersso little.

Losing YouIusedtothinkIcouldntgoadaywithoutyoursmile. Withouttellingyouthingsandhearingyourvoice back. Then, that day arrived and it was so damn hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feelingit was going to get worse, and I wasnt going to be okay for a very long time. Ithappensoverand over again. I lose you every time I pick up your favorite coffee mug; whenever that one song plays on the radio, or when I discover your old t-shirt at the bottom of my laundry pile.

I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and loseyou, when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning, when I wake and reach for theempty space across the sheets, I begin to lose you all over again. The EndI dont know what to say, he said. Its okay, she replied, I know what we are and I know what were not. Perhapsbecause this person carries an angel within themone sent to you for some higher purpose, to teachyou an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time.

What you must do is trust in themeven if they come hand in hand with pain or sufferingthe reason for their presence will becomeclear in due time. Thoughhereisawordofwarningyoumaygrowtolovethispersonbutremembertheyarenotyours to keep.

Their purpose isnt to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this isfulfilled,thehaloliftsandtheangelleavestheirbodyasthepersonexitsyourlife. Theywillbeastranger to you once more Its so dark right now, I cant see any light around me. Thats because the light is coming from you. You cant see it but everyone else can. Thepresence that is felt through a hand held, a voice heard, or a smile seen. Theyonly know it feels right to be with one another. This is the reason why you miss someone so much when they are not thereeven if they are only intheverynextroom.

Can I ask you something? Why is it every time we say good night, it feels like good-bye? A DreamAs the Earth began spinning faster and faster, we floated upwards, hands locked tightly together, eyessadandbewildered. WewatchedasourfacesgrewyoungerandrealizedtheEarthwasspinninginreverse, moving us backwards in time. But I didnt let go. And neither did you I had my first dream about you last night.

She smiles. What was it about? I dont remember exactly, but the whole time I was dreaming, I knew you were mine. Rogue PlanetsAsakid,Iwouldcountbackwardsfromtenandimagineatone,therewouldbeanexplosionperhaps caused by a rogue planet crashing into Earth or some other major catastrophe.

When nothinghappened, Id feel relieved and at the same time, a little disappointed. I think of you at ten; the first time I saw you. Your smile at nine and how it lit up something inside me Ihad thought long dead.

Your lips at eight pressed against mine and at seven, your warm breath in myear and your hands everywhere. You tell me you love me at six and at five we have our first real fight.

At four we have our second and three, our third. At two you tell me you cant go on any longer andthen at one, you ask me to stay. And I am relieved, so relievedand a little disappointed. Sea of StrangersIn a sea of strangers,youve longed to know me. Your life spent sailingto my shores. The arms that yearnto someday hold me, will ache beneath the heavy oars. Please take your time and take it slowly; as all you dowill run its course. And nothing elsecan take what onlywas always meantas solely yours.

ClosureLike time suspended,a wound unmendedyou and I. We had no ending,no said good-bye. For all my life,Ill wonder why. AcknowledgmentsThank you to my agent, Al Zuckerman, for his invaluable guidance and wonderful support. To all the amazing people I have had the pleasure of meeting on my book tours you know who youare , thank you for working so tirelessly behind the scenes and for making me feel so welcome on myvisits.

To Ollie Faudet, who likes cows and makes me laugh. Yourunwavering support and kind words inspire me every day. About the AuthorTheworkofpoetandartistLangLeavswingsbetweenthewhimsicalandwoeful,expressingacomplexity beneath its childlike facade.

HerartworkisexhibitedinternationallyandshewasselectedtotakepartinthelandmarkPlayboyRedux show curated by the Andy Warhol Museum. She currently lives with her partner and collaborator, Michael, in a little house by the sea. All poems are printed on heavyweight art paperand encased in a beautiful string-tie envelope. To send a Posted Poem to someone specialvisit: langleav.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproducedin any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of reprints in the context ofreviews. Home Documents Lullabies-Lang Leav. Match case Limit results 1 per page. Author: matheafili Post on Aug 3. Category: Documents 1. Tags: love of books books filledwith love misadventure mind possessedby unmade duetin books unread betweentheir pages words of guise poems lostand pages.

Ukrainian lullabies. Lines, Links, Lullabies, and Lessons for Algebra 1. Go to to download Tarsia Puzzle maker Traditional Polish lullabies. Lullabies and Night Songs - thewaldorfconnection. Lullabies and Night Songs Page 4 Guten. Sharing your - 3. Traditional Estonian lullabies. A tentative overview This was a part of a cultural change, All I had hoped for.

All the things I can never get back. When I am with you, I want for nothing. Over My HeadI count his breaths, in hours unslept, against hours of him, I have left. With him lying there, with him unaware, I am out of my depth. The transient light�the ephemeral hues set against the fading, fading sky.

Until I am left only with the moon to refract your light. And in your absence, the stars to guide me�like a cosmic runway�steadily into the dark. Chapter 2InterludeShe was different from anything he had ever known. The fog lifted and all around us were trees linking hands, like children playing. Our first night, when you stood by the door, conflicted, as I sat there with my knees tucked under my chin, and smiling.

Then rainbows arching over and the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. How the wind howls as the sea whispers, I miss you. Come back to me. The ProfessorA streak of light flashes across the sky. Thick heavy raindrops pound the uneven dirt floor, littered with dried leaves and twigs.

She follows closely behind him, clutching an odd contraption�a rectangular device attached with a long, squiggly, antenna. She stumbles over a log as he reaches out to catch her. They tumble on the dry grass laughing. He tosses aside the bent, silver coat hanger, wrapping his arms around her waist. The little transistor radio falls from her hands.

The sun peeks through the treetops. She thinks of their first conversation. As if it had always been there, waiting to welcome her. Like the pretty, sunlit room that remained unfurnished, sitting empty in his house, now filled with her paints and brushes.

She would fondly call him her Frankenstein, this man who was a patchwork of all the things she had ever longed for. He gave her such gifts�not the kind that were put in boxes, but the sort that filled her with imagination, breathing indescribable happiness into her life.

One day, he built her a greenhouse. He showed her how to catch the stray butterflies that fluttered from their elusive neighbors, who were rumored to farm them for cosmetic use.

She would listen in morbid fascination as he described how the helpless insects were cruelly dismembered, before their fragile wings were crushed and ground into a fine powder. They spent much of their days alone, in their peaceful sanctuary, apart from the little visitor who came on weekends.

When the weather was good, the three of them would venture out, past the worn jetty and picnic on their little beach. He would watch them proudly, marveling at the startling contrast between the two things he loved most in the world. His son with hair of spun gold, playing at his favorite rock pool and chattering animatedly in his singsong voice. She, with a small, amused smile on her tiny lips, raven hair tousled by the sea wind.

She was different from anything he had ever known. The Dinner GuestThe wine, sipped too quickly, has gone to my head. I watch the way your hands move as you tell your joke and laugh a little too loudly when you deliver the punch line. His eyes flash at me from across the table. The same disapproving look he shot me earlier, as I was getting dressed. How do you know him, again? Just an old friend.

We worked together years ago. He clears his throat, breaking my reverie. My grin fades into a small, restrained smile. You top up his glass. The conversation drifts into stocks and bonds. My mind begins to wander, like a bored schoolgirl. Your hand brushes my leg. Was it an accident? I look at you questioningly, but you are staring straight ahead, engrossed in conversation. Then there it is again. Very deliberately, resting on my knee. Oh, your hands.

They slide up my thigh and under my skirt, lightly skimming the fabric of my panties. I part my legs under the table. The conversation turns to politics. A mirror effect, you say. He looks confused. The word sends a jolt through my body. Your hand slips into my panties. My favorite artist.

I wanted his book that time. I tipped my little coin purse upside down and counted all my money. I was short twenty dollars! She lies on her stomach by the fire with her sketchpad open, lazy pencil strokes lining the paper with each flick of her wrist. Oh, poor you, he says sympathetically.

Thanks, baby. She smiles at him then returns to her sketching. She looks up, bemused. Pencil down, chin propped in hand. You go into the bookstore and you buy a cheap paperback novel. Smile sweetly and make small talk with the people at the register. I just drew these. What do you think? He lets out a small chuckle, leaning forward. Then my dear, you get as close as you can to the entrance without attracting any attention.

And� you bolt! As fast as you can, down the escape route that we would have planned the day before. How does it feel? DumplingsHer impatient hands work slowly. Like this, she says. Then you dip your finger in the egg yolk. Put it between the sheet and press it down firmly. She watches as he fumbles.

The little pocket of pastry is foreign in his hands. She reaches out, placing hers on either side of his face. Pulling him towards her, she kisses him warmly. This is why I love you. The sides of his face are white from her flour-coated hands. It makes her laugh. If only you could see yourself the way I do. He smiles sheepishly. Yours are so pretty, he says. He puts down the oddly shaped dumpling. And picks up another sheet of pastry. The GardenThe curtain, a smoky gray color, drops from the creamy white ceiling.

Crawling with strange bugs and eight-legged creatures, from where an ominous fan whirs. His hand reaches for the cord. A string of shiny, black beads that glisten against the bright, early evening sun. Flashback to the time he found her in the garden. White cotton dress pulled up around her thighs, feet blackened by the rich, lush earth that she had just been turning. That NightIt was one of those nights that you are not altogether sure really did happen.

There are no photographs, no receipts, no scrawled journal entries. Just the memory sitting in my mind, like a half-blown dandelion, waiting to be fractured, dismembered. Waiting to disintegrate into nothing. As I close my eyes, the pictures play like a blurry montage. I can see us driving for hours, until the street signs grew less familiar�the flickering lamplights giving away to stars.

Then sitting across from you in that quiet, little Italian place. Your hands pushing the plates aside, reaching across for mine.

The conversations we had about everything and nothing. And kissing you. How I remember that. That wonders if I was ever there at all. Chapter 3FinaleThey gave us years, though many ago; the spring cries tears�the winter, snow. It was like being exhumed, I answered. And brought to life in a flash of brilliance. What was it like to be loved in return? It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied.

To be heard after a lifetime of silence. What was it like to lose him? There was a long pause before I responded:It was like hearing every good-bye ever said to me�said all at once.

Fading PolaroidMy eyes were the first to forget. The face I once cradled between my hands, now a blur. And your voice is slowly drifting from my memory, like a fading polaroid. But the way I felt is still crystal clear. Like it was yesterday. There are philosophers who claim the past, present, and future all exist at the one time.

And the way I have felt, the way I feel�that bittersweet ache between wanting and having�is evidence of their theory. I felt you before I knew you and I still feel you now. And in that brief moment between�wrapped in your arms thinking, how lucky I am, how lucky I am, how lucky I am�How lucky I was.

Thoughts Dawn turns to day, as stars are dispersed; wherever I lay, I think of you first. The sun has arisen, the sky, a sad blue. I quietly listen� the wind sings of you. Dyslexia There were letters I wrote you that I gave up sending, long before I stopped writing. I could never quite contain you to those messy sheets of blue ink. I could not stop you from overtaking everything else.

I wrote your name over and over�on scraps of paper, in books and on the back of my wrists. I carved it like sacred markings into trees and the tops of my thighs. Years went by and the scars have vanished, but the sting has not left me. Sometimes when I read a book, parts will lift from the pages in an anagram of your name. Like dyslexia in reverse. Dead PoetsHer poetry is written on the ghost of trees, whispered on the lips of lovers.

As a little girl, she would drift in and out of libraries filled with dead poets and their musky scent. She held them in her hands and breathed them in�wanting so much to be part of their world.

They told her one day her poetry would be written on the ghost of trees and whispered on the lips of lovers. But it would come at a price. To be immortal. As if reading her mind, the voices of the dead poets cried out in alarm and warned her about the greatest heartache of all�how every stroke of pen thereafter would open the same wound over and over again. What is the cause of such great heartache? She asked. They heard the keen anticipation in her voice and were sorry for her.

The greatest heartache comes from loving another soul, they said, beyond reason, beyond doubt, with no hope of salvation. It was on her sixteenth birthday that she first fell in love. With a boy who brought her red roses and white lies. When he broke her heart, she cried for days. Then hopeful, she sat with a pen in her hand, poised over the blank white sheet, but it refused to draw blood.

Many birthdays came and went. One by one, she loved them and just as easily, they were lost to her. Somewhere amidst the carnations and forget-me-nots, between the lilacs and mistletoe�she slowly learned about love. Little by little, her heart bloomed into a bouquet of hope and ecstasy, of tenderness and betrayal.

Then she met you, and you brought her dandelions each day, so she would never want for wishes. She looked deep into your eyes and saw the very best of herself reflected back. And she loved you, beyond reason, beyond doubt, and with no hope of salvation. When she felt your love slipping away from her, she knelt at the altar, before all the great poets�and she begged. She no longer cared for poetry or immortality, she only wanted you.

But all the dead poets could do was look on, helpless and resigned while everything she had ever wished for came true in the cruelest possible way. She learned too late that poets are among the damned, cursed to commiserate over their loss, to reach with outstretched hands�hands that will never know the weight of what they seek.

TimeYou were the one I wanted most to stay. But time could not be kept at bay. You may have lost them suddenly, unexpectedly. Or perhaps you began losing pieces of them until one day, there was nothing left. You may have known them all your life or you may have barely known them at all. Either way, it is irrelevant�you cannot control the depth of a wound another inflicts upon you. Which is why I am not here to tell you tomorrow will be a new day. That the sun will go on shining.

Or there are plenty of fish in the sea. What you are feeling is not only completely valid but necessary�because it makes you so much more human. For now, all you can do is take your time. Take all the time you need. WoundedA bruise is tender but does not last, it leaves me as I always was.

But a wound I take much more to heart, for a scar will always leave its mark. And if you should ask which one you are, my answer is� you are a scar. DespondencyThere was a girl named Despondency, who loved a boy named Altruistic, and he loved her in return. She adored books and he could not read, so they spent most of their time wandering through worlds together and in doing so, lived many lives.

One day, they read the last book there was and decided they would write their own. It was a beautiful tale set against a harsh desert with a prince named Mirage as the hero. From their wild imaginings, an intricate plot of adventure and tragedy unfolded.

Altruistic awoke one night to find Despondency sitting at her desk, furiously scribbling away in their book. It caught him by surprise for until now, she had not written a single word without him. Despondency turned to face him, her eyes cast downward. She told him while writing their story, she had fallen desperately in love with Prince Mirage and wanted to wander the desert in search of him. Crying, she begged him to burn the tale of Prince Mirage, but he could not bring himself to do it.

They said their good-byes and she asked him if he would carry their book with him always. He promised he would and with one final look, she was swallowed by the swirling desert sands. He knew he would never see her again.

For You Here are the things I want for you. I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence. I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it.

I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will. Finally, I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring you closer.

And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. I want you to know that most of all. Always with MeYour love I once surrendered, has never left my mind.

My heart is just as tender, as the day I called you mine. I did not take you with me, but you were never left behind. There was never another to compare with you.

But since you left, each boy I meet, will always have you to compete. KarmaSorrow tells stories, I relay them to wisdom; I play them like records to those who will listen. I know to be thankful, I was given my time; to those who have loved him� your heartache is mine. To the one who will keep him, and the hearts he has kept your love, when it leaves him� his greatest regret.

Fairy TalesWhen she was a little girl, she went to the school library asking for books about princesses. In the whole library? Years later, she fell in love. She wrote his name on the inside of her pencil case.

Hoping he might ask to borrow a pen so she could be found out. In the yard of a house where she lived, there was a large oak tree carved with the initials of each boy she had ever kissed. She put a cross next to the letters F. She loved only him. Like Rapunzel, she grew her hair longer than anyone she knew and for nearly a whole summer, she slept and slept and slept.

She stayed inside until her skin turned a powder white against her blood red lips. Each day was spent living and breathing and longing for twisted paths and murderous wolves.

You need to wake up, her boyfriend told her. But all she could think about was the boy who was now just an inscription inside a pencil case and two crooked letters carved into an old oak tree.

And the fairy tale his lips once left on the ashen surface of her skin. A LetterIt was beautifully worded and painfully read; the things that were written, were those never said. His lies were my comfort, but the truth I was owed� I so wanted to know it, now I wish not to know. Unrequited The sun above; a stringless kite, her tendril fingers reach toward. Her eyes, like flowers, close at night, and the moon is sad to be ignored. Concentric CirclesAging is a euphemism for dying, and the age of a tree can only be counted by its rings, once felled.

Sometimes I feel there are so many rings inside me�and if anyone were to look, they would see I have lived and died many times over, each time shedding my leaves bare with the hope of renewal�the desire to be reborn. Like concentric circles that spill outwards across the water�I wish I could wear my rings on the surface and feel less ashamed of them.

Or better yet, to be completely stripped and baptized�my lines vanishing like a newly pressed garment, a still pond. Pretext Our love�a dead star to the world it burns brightly� But it died long ago. Living a LieThoughts that she cannot unthink; a life that she cannot unlive. Skipping stones to watch them sink; she envies how they easily. Sorrow wraps her like a scarf; waiting for a small reprieve� falling in and out of love.

Soundtracks He once told me about his love for lyrics. How the words spoke to him like poetry. I would often wonder about his playlist and the ghosts who lived there.

The faces he saw and the voices he heard. The soundtrack to a thousand tragic endings, real or imagined. The first time I saw him, I noticed how haunted his eyes were. And I was drawn to him, in the way a melody draws a crowd to the dance floor. Pulled by invisible strings. Now I wonder if I am one of those ghosts�if I am somewhere, drifting between those notes. I hope I am. I hope whenever my song plays, I am there, whispering in his ear.

A Winter Song She was the song, in a chorus�unheard. You were the summer in her winter of verse. Yours was the melody she wanted to learn; it clung to her lips, in silence it yearned. It seems as though now, you forgot every word; in a field full of flowers, she was the first. There once was a song you reminded her of� she no longer longs, yet she still loves.

On closer inspection, she noticed how all the knots that usually held a net together were unknotted. She studied him quietly as he reeled his catch in, before returning it to the water. The shipwreck that her lips had sung, meant she never left at all. It was the furthest she had gone� and she never went much further.

An Artist in LoveI drew him in my world; I write him in my lines, I want to be his girl, he was never meant as mine.

I drew him in my world; He is always on my mind; I draw his every line. Honestly I did. In my mind it was crystal clear. My heart however, was having a serious case of selective hearing. And within that�was a glimmer of hope, a spark of optimism. A Cautionary TaleThere is a girl who never returns her library books.

AfterthoughtThoughts I think of presently, will come and go with ease� while thoughts of you, from long before, have yet to make their leave.

The memory of you and I, still finds me here and now; tomorrow has arrived and gone� yet your voice to me, resounds. Grounded The little birds who dream of flight; who gaze into the starry night. Their tired wings fold down and up; they try their best but it is not enough. The Very ThingI often wonder why we want so much, to give others the very thing that we were denied.

The mother working tirelessly to provide her child with an education; the little boy who was bullied in school and is now a Nobel Prize-winning advocate for peace. The author who writes happy endings for the characters in her book. You will never be anything more than second best. There are many words you never said, that others dreamed you someday would; each of us for all our days� will live our lives misunderstood.

In many such scenarios, I have slipped into these roles with the greatest of ease�then out again with the same dexterity. That was until I found myself in character, playing the girl who falls in love with you. It was then the line between fantasy and reality were so blurred that I no longer knew who I was. Yet, there was clearly a point when my role was well and truly over. When I had gone above and beyond the required word count.

Where I had exhausted every new angle or approach there was to writing our story. I know it has been for quite some time. You are a memory to me now, but my mind still thinks of you. What we had was finished long ago�yet the words will not stop flowing. Change of Heart You were faultless I was flawed, I was lesser yet you gave more. Now with time, I find you on my mind� Perhaps I loved you, after all. ReasonsI wish I knew why he left. What his reasons were. Why he changed his mind. For all these years, I have turned it over in my head�all the possibilities�yet none of them make any sense.

And then I think, perhaps it was because he never loved me. But that makes the least sense of all. It was you who taught me so, the grace in letting go. The time we had was all� there was not a moment more. She lives in the past, so her present never catches� Her thoughts do not last, so her pen must tattoo them.

Musical ChairsWhen the music stood still, I was standing at an empty chair. I could feel you smiling behind me. We sense these things while dreaming. Your hands were on my shoulders, your kisses against my neck. Then from somewhere, the music of a piano as she sings to Mozart, no one will ever know me the way you do.

Tell Me Tell me if you ever cared, if a single thought for me was spared. Tell me when you lie in bed, do you think of something I once said. Tell me if you hurt at all, when someone says my name with yours. It may have been so long ago, but I would give the world to know. Beach BallDo you know that feeling? You try and try to make it appear and it almost does, but it never does. There are times when I think it could surface�when I sense it at the tip of my tongue.

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And kissing you. How I remember that. It was one of those nights that my mind still cant be sure of. That wonders if I was ever there at all. Yet in my heart, it is as though Ive never left. Chapter 3FinaleThey gave us years,though many ago;the spring cries tearsthe winter, snow. It was like being exhumed, I answered. And brought to life in a flash of brilliance. What was it like to be loved in return? It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.

What was it like to lose him? There was a long pause before I responded:It was like hearing every good-bye ever said to mesaid all at once.

Sometimes we wantwhat we couldntsometimes we lovewho we could. Fading PolaroidMyeyeswerethefirsttoforget. Like it was yesterday. There are philosophers who claim the past, present, and future all exist at the one time. And the way Ihave felt, the way I feelthat bittersweet ache between wanting and havingisevidenceoftheirtheory. I felt you before I knew you and I still feel you now. And in that brief moment betweenwrapped inyour arms thinking, how lucky I am, how lucky I am, how lucky I amHow lucky I was.

ThoughtsDawn turns to day,as stars are dispersed;wherever I lay,I think of you first. The sun has arisen,the sky, a sad blue. I quietly listenthe wind sings of you. The thoughts we each keep,that are closest to heart,we think as we sleepand youre always my last. DyslexiaThere were letters I wrote you that I gave up sending, long before I stopped writing.

I dont remembertheircontents,butIcanrecallwithabsoluteclarity,yournamescrawledacrossthepages. Icouldnotstopyoufromovertakingeverything else. Icarved it like sacred markings into trees and the tops of my thighs. Years went by and the scars havevanished, but the sting has not left me. Sometimes when I read a book, parts will lift from the pages inan anagram of your name.

Like a code to remind me its not over. Like dyslexia in reverse. Dead PoetsHer poetry is written on the ghost of trees, whispered on the lips of lovers. She held them in her hands and breathed them inwanting so much to be part of their world. ItwasntlongbeforeEmilybeganspeakingtoher,thenSylviaandKatherine;theirvoicesranginunison, haunting and beautiful. They told her one day her poetry would be written on the ghost of treesand whispered on the lips of lovers.

But it would come at a price. There isnt a thing I would not gladly give, she thought, to join my idols on those dusty shelves. To beimmortal. Asifreadinghermind,thevoicesofthedeadpoetscriedoutinalarmandwarnedheraboutthegreatest heartache of allhow every stroke of pen thereafter would open the same wound over andover again.

What is the cause of such great heartache? They heard the keen anticipation in her voiceand were sorry for her. The greatest heartache comes from loving another soul, they said, beyond reason, beyond doubt, withno hope of salvation.

It was on her sixteenth birthday that she first fell in love. With a boy who brought her red roses andwhite lies. When he broke her heart, she cried for days. Then hopeful, she sat with a pen in her hand, poised over the blank white sheet, but it refused to drawblood. Many birthdays came and went. One by one, she loved them and just as easily, they were lost to her. Somewhere amidst the carnationsand forget-me-nots, between the lilacs and mistletoeshe slowly learned about love. Little by little,her heart bloomed into a bouquet of hope and ecstasy, of tenderness and betrayal.

Then she met you, and you brought her dandelions each day, so she would never want for wishes. Shelooked deep into your eyes and saw the very best of herself reflected back. And she loved you, beyond reason, beyond doubt, and with no hope of salvation. When she felt your love slipping away from her, she knelt at the altar, before all the great poetsandshe begged.

She no longer cared for poetry or immortality, she only wanted you. Butallthedeadpoetscoulddowaslookon,helplessandresignedwhileeverythingshehadeverwished for came true in the cruelest possible way. She learned too late that poets are among the damned, cursed to commiserate over their loss, to reachwith outstretched handshands that will never know the weight of what they seek.

TimeYou were the oneI wanted mostto stay. But time could notbe kept at bay. The more it goes,the more its gonethe more it takes away. Broken HeartsI know youve lost someone and it hurts. You may have lost them suddenly, unexpectedly.

Or perhapsyou began losing pieces of them until one day, there was nothing left. You may have known them allyour life or you may have barely known them at all. Either way, it is irrelevantyou cannot controlthe depth of a wound another inflicts upon you. Which is why I am not here to tell you tomorrow will be a new day. That the sun will go on shining. Or there are plenty of fish in the sea. What I will tell you is this; its okay to be hurting as much as youare.

What you are feeling is not only completely valid but necessarybecause it makes you so muchmorehuman. For now, all you can do is take your time. Take all the time you need. WoundedA bruise is tenderbut does not last,it leaves me asI always was. But a wound I takemuch more to heart,for a scar will alwaysleave its mark. And if you should askwhich one you are,my answer isyou are a scar.

DespondencyThere was a girl named Despondency, who loved a boy named Altruistic, and he loved her in return. She adored books and he could not read, so they spent most of their time wandering through worldstogether and in doing so, lived many lives. One day, they read the last book there was and decided they would write their own.

It was a beautifultale set against a harsh desert with a prince named Mirage as the hero. From their wild imaginings, anintricate plot of adventure and tragedy unfolded. Altruistic awoke one night to find Despondency sitting at her desk, furiously scribbling away in theirbook.

It caught him by surprise for until now, she had not written a single word without him. Despondency turned to face him, her eyes cast downward. She told him while writing their story, shehad fallen desperately in love with Prince Mirage and wanted to wander the desert in search of him. AltruisticwasheartbrokenbutknewitwasinDespondencysnaturetolongforwhatshecouldnthave, just like it was in his not to stand in her way.

Crying, she begged him to burn the tale of PrinceMirage, but he could not bring himself to do it. Heknew he would never see her again. Handing her a worn, leather-bound book, he said, Your father wanted you to have this. She knew atonce it was the book he had carried in his breast pocket, close to his heart for all his life. Her fathersinability to read was also something she had inherited, and while tracing her fingers over the cover ofthe book, she asked, Can you please tell me what the title is?

For YouHere are the things I want for you. I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I didwhen I was in your presence. I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I wasbetterforit.

Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it. IwantyoutoknowthatIhavekeptsacred,everythingyouhadentrustedinmeandIalways will.

Finally, I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring youcloser. And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. I want you to knowthat most of all. Always with MeYour love I once surrendered,has never left my mind. My heart is just as tender,as the day I called you mine. I did not take you with me,but you were never left behind. Loves InceptionI did not knowthat it was loveuntil I knew. There was neveranother to comparewith you.

But since you left,each boy I meet,will always have youto compete. KarmaSorrow tells stories,I relay them to wisdom;I play them like recordsto those who will listen. I know to be thankful,I was given my time;to those who have loved himyour heartache is mine.

To the one who will keep him,and the hearts he has keptyour love, when it leaves himhis greatest regret. Fairy TalesWhen she was a little girl, she went to the school library asking for books about princesses. Youve read every book we have about princesses.

In the whole library? Years later, she fell in love. She wrote his name on the inside of her pencil case. Hoping he might askto borrow a pen so she could be found out.

In the yard of a house where she lived, there was a large oak tree carved with the initials of each boyshehadeverkissed. She loved only him. LikeRapunzel,shegrewherhairlongerthananyonesheknewandfornearlyawholesummer,sheslept and slept and slept.

She stayed inside until her skin turned a powder white against her blood redlips. Each day was spent living and breathing and longing for twisted paths and murderous wolves. Youre living in a fantasy, her mother said. You need to wake up, her boyfriend told her. But all she could think about was the boy who was now just an inscription inside a pencil case andtwo crooked letters carved into an old oak tree.

And the fairy tale his lips once left on the ashen surface of her skin. A LetterIt was beautifully wordedand painfully read;the things that were written,were those never said. His lies were my comfort,but the truth I was owedI so wanted to know it,now I wish not to know. UnrequitedThe sun above;a stringless kite,her tendril fingersreach toward.

Her eyes, like flowers,close at night,and the moon is sadto be ignored. Concentric CirclesAging is a euphemism for dying, and the age of a tree can only be counted by its rings, once felled. Sometimes I feel there are so many rings inside meand if anyone were to look, they would see Ihavelivedanddiedmanytimesover,eachtimesheddingmyleavesbarewiththehopeofrenewalthe desire to be reborn. Orbetteryet,tobecompletelystrippedandbaptizedmylines vanishing like a newly pressed garment, a still pond.

Edgars GiftAnything and everything,the two almost the sameeverything says, have it all;anything, one to claim. If I say, Id give you everything,we know it can never be,but I will give you anythingI just hope that thing is me. PretextOur lovea dead starto the world it burns brightlyBut it died long ago.

Living a LieThoughts that shecannot unthink;a life that shecannot unlive. Skipping stonesto watch them sink;she envies howthey easily. Sorrow wraps herlike a scarf;waiting for asmall reprievefalling in and outof love. SoundtracksHe once told me about his love for lyrics. How the words spoke to him like poetry. Thefaceshesawandthevoices he heard. The soundtrack to a thousand tragic endings, real or imagined. The first time I saw him, I noticed how haunted his eyes were.

And I was drawn to him, in the way amelody draws a crowd to the dance floor. Pulled by invisible strings. Now I wonder if I am one of those ghostsif I am somewhere, drifting between those notes. I hope Iam. I hope whenever my song plays, I am there, whispering in his ear. A Winter SongShe was the song,in a chorusunheard. You were the summerin her winter of verse.

Yours was the melodyshe wanted to learn;it clung to her lips,in silence it yearned. It seems as though now,you forgot every word;in a field full of flowers,she was the first. There once was a songyou reminded her ofshe no longer longs,yet she still loves. Two FishermenA girl came upon a fisherman at the waters edge and watched as he cast his net into the wide, opensea.

Why do you throw a knotless net into the water? I want to catch all fish in the ocean, he replied. But there are none I wish to keep. She walked on a little further and came across another fisherman, holding a simple line.

She studiedhimquietlyashereeledhiscatchin,beforereturningittothewater. Afterherepeatedthisseveraltimes, the girl asked him, Why do you catch them just to throw them back? There is only one fish I want to catch and so, no other holds my interest.

ShipwrecksThe wild seas forwhich she longed,lay far beyondthe shore. The shipwreck thather lips had sung,meant she neverleft at all. It wasnt tilthe tide had won,that she learnedit could not hurt her.

It was the furthestshe had goneand she never wentmuch further. An Artist in LoveI drew him in my world;I write him in my lines,I want to be his girl,he was never meant as mine.

I drew him in my world;He is always on my mind;I draw his every line. It hurts when hes unkind. I drew him in my world;I draw him all the time,but I dont know whereto draw the line.

False HopeI dont know if I want you, he says. But I do know I dont want anyone else to have you. It wasnt good enough, I knew that. Honestly I did. In my mind it was crystal clear. My heart however,was having a serious case of selective hearing. All it heard was, I dont want anyone elseto have you. And within thatwas a glimmer of hope, a spark of optimism. A Cautionary TaleThereisagirlwhoneverreturnsherlibrarybooks. Dontgiveheryourheartitisunlikelyyouwill ever see it again.

AfterthoughtThoughts I think of presently,will come and go with easewhile thoughts of you, from long before,have yet to make their leave.

The memory of you and I,still finds me here and now;tomorrow has arrived and goneyet your voice to me, resounds. For if my present were an echo of,a past I cant forget Then these thoughts are justan afterthoughtand I am always in its debt. GroundedThe little birdswho dream of flight;who gaze intothe starry night.

Their tired wingsfold down and up;they try their bestbut it is not enough. The Very ThingI often wonder why we want so much, to give others the very thing that we were denied. The motherworkingtirelesslytoprovideherchildwithaneducation;thelittleboywhowasbulliedinschooland is now a Nobel Prize-winning advocate for peace. The author who writes happy endings for thecharacters in her book.

Youwillneverbeanything more than second best. Mixed MessagesThe questions you had never askedwere things you were afraid to know;everything that has come to pass,youve made them all up on your own. There are many words you never said,that others dreamed you someday would;each of us for all our dayswill live our lives misunderstood.

MasqueradeAs a writer, there is an inclination to step inside someone elses shoes, to get under their skin and seethe world through their eyes. In many such scenarios, I have slipped into these roles with the greatestof easethen out again with the same dexterity. That was until I found myself in character, playing the girl who falls in love with you.

It was then theline between fantasy and reality were so blurred that I no longer knew who I was. WhereIhadexhaustedeverynewangleorapproachtherewastowriting our story. I know its over, I really do. I know it has been for quite some time. Its over, yet my heart still feelsyou. Whatwehadwasfinishedlongagoyet the words will not stop flowing.

Change of HeartYou were faultlessI was flawed, I was lesseryet yougave more. Now with time,I find youon my mind Perhaps I loved you,after all.

ReasonsI wish I knew why he left. What his reasons were. Why he changed his mind. For all these years, I have turned it over in my headall the possibilitiesyet none of them makeany sense. And then I think, perhaps it was because he never loved me. But that makes the least sense of all. All There WasMy greatest lesson learnt,you were mine until you werent. It was you who taught me so,the grace in letting go. The time we had was allthere was not a moment more.

Pen PortraitShe doesnt keep time,so she stopped wearing watches. Her promise wont bind,so no one holds her to them. She lives in the past,so her present never catches Her thoughts do not last,so her pen must tattoo them. Musical ChairsWhen the music stood still, I was standing at an empty chair. I could feel you smiling behind me. We sense these things while dreaming.

Your hands were on my shoulders, your kisses against my neck. Thenfromsomewhere,themusicofapianoasshesingstoMozart,noonewilleverknowmetheway you do. Tell MeTell me if you ever cared,if a single thoughtfor me was spared.

Tell me when you lie in bed,do you think of somethingI once said. Tell me if you hurt at all,when someone saysmy name with yours. It may have been so long ago,but I would givethe world to know.

Beach BallDo you know that feeling? When its like youve lost something but cant remember what it was. Itsas though youre trying so desperately to think of a word but it wont come to you. Youve said it athousand times before and it was always thereright where you left it. But now you cant recall it. You try and try to make it appear and it almost does, but it never does.

There are times when I think it could surfacewhen I sense it at the tip of my tongue. When I feel itstruggling to burst from my chest like a beach ball that can only be held beneath the water for so long. I can feel it stirring each time someone hurts me. When I smile at a stranger and they dont smile back. WhensomeoneIadmiretellsmeIamnotgood enough. AmendsI wonder if there will be a morning when youll wake up missing me. That some incident in your lifewould have finally taught you the value of my worth.

And you will feel a surge of longing, when youremember how I was good to you. When this day comes I hope you will look for me. I hope you will look with the kind of conviction Idalwayshopedfor,butneverhadfromyou. AndIhopeitwillbeyouwho finds me. The MostYou may not knowthe reason why,for a timeI wasnt I. There was a manwho came and went,on him every breathwas spent. Im sorry I forgotall elseit was the mostI ever felt.

HistoryIn the beginning, I wrote to you and you wrote back. For the first time, I had something worth writingabout. Thensomewhereduringourcorrespondence,Ideviatedandinsteadofwritingtoyou,Ibeganwriting for you. There was so much to say, things I couldnt tell you and I sensed it was important toput them down somewhere.

For inherently, mankind is compelled to record their greatest moments inhistory and you were mine. I dont write to you anymore. Nor do I write for you. But I do writeand every word still aches foryou. The DreamI saw a dreamlong lost to me,in search ofanothers waking. It found a shorelinefar awayas the dayas my heart,was breaking. And I sighed and weptfor what could not beand for all that couldhave been, For every hopeand every prayerlong drownedbeneath the sea.

I fell to sleepalone that night,to the soundof a distant call. The faintest whisperof good-byeand the dreamwas mine, no more. Wishing StarsI still searchfor you in crowds,in empty fieldsand soaring clouds.

In city lightsand passing cars,on winding roadsand wishing stars. I wonder whereyou could be now,for years Ive not saidyour name out loud. And longer sinceI called you minetime has passedfor you and I. Yet I have learnedto live without,I do not mindI still love you anyhow. Forever for NowStretching out from here to then,days before us,came and went.

Someday we will meet again,for now the endof days on end. Nostalgia for TodayDo you remember what you once said to me? One day you will be nostalgic for today. At the time, I couldnt begin to conceive a future without youI believed with all my heart we weredestined for each other. And in the back of my mind, I always knew Id feel nostalgic for a momentwe shared or a memory we createdbut not once, not even for a seconddid I imagine it was youI would be nostalgic for.

Poker FaceThere was a time I would tell you,of all that ached inside;the things I held so sacred,to all the world Id hide. But they became your weapons,and slowly I have learnt,the less that is said, the betterthe lesser Ill be hurt. Of all youve used against me,the worst has been my words. There are things Ill never tell you,and it is sad to think it so;the more you come to know methe less of me youll know.

CrosswordsI write to bring you closer. To imagine your fingers trailing the curve of my spine. To recall how thespan of your hands were exactly the width of my hips. And how our bodies would fall into each otherlike words on a crossword puzzle.

I write for the raw ache in my bones when the ink seeps into paperfor the bittersweet sorrow that comes from bringing you back. Forget Me NotThe choice was onceyour choosing,before losingbecame my loss.

I was there inyour forgettinguntil I was forgot. Melancholy SkiesThree summers passedof sun-drenched dreams,of snow white cloudsand you and me. The warmth of love,all summer long,through winters chillwed carry on.

Each seasons endbegan anew,until the lastI shared with you. They gave us years,though many ago;the spring cries tearsthe winter, snow. The PoetWhy do you write? So I can take my love for you and give it to the world, I reply. Because you wont take it from me.

AlmostDo you seehow I love him trueit could have been you. As for youand your love for sheit could have been me. But we were a maybe,and never a mustwhen it should have been us. Hes ForgottenTime is to woundlike wound is to suture,when she was his pastand he is her future. PerfectHe said to me Youre perfect,and I want you to be mine. But I felt I wasnt worthyand to be perfect, Ill need time. I knew it would be worth it,I could be better if I tried,then he got tired of waitingand I watched my chance go by.

MinefieldIfyouknowaboywitheyesofquietwonderment,whosmilesoftenandspeaksrarelysomeonewho pays the same respect to words as he would a minefieldwho thinks deeply and is endearinglysadplease do not give your heart to him.

Even when he gently pleads with youor clutches yourhand with grave earnestno matter how he tries to convince you, please turn him away. You dontknow him like I know him. You cant love him like I do. A Sad FarewellFor all the time Ive known you,to the presentnow our past;I know never to forget you;though regret still pains my heart. Had I known, I would not have left you,alone beneath those stars,on the night when I last saw you,not knowing it was the last. RegretsTiming is irrelevant when two people are meant for each other.

ItswhatIonce believed. But we met during a time when I was such a mess, when I still had so much to figure out. How could Ihaveknownhowcrucialeveryword,everyactionwasorhowlosingyouwouldbesomethingIwould always regret? IjustwishIhadmadethemwith someone else. Ode to SorrowHer eyes, a closed book,her heart, a locked door;she writes melancholylike shes lived it before. She once loved in a way,you could not understand;he left her in piecesand a pen in her hand. The ode to her sorrowin the life she has ledher scratches on paper,the words they have bled.

Remembering YouThe day you left, I went through all my old journals, frantically looking for the first mention of you. Searching for any details I can no longer recallany morsel of information that may have been lostto my subconscious. The memory of you is fading, a little at a time, and I can feel myself forgetting. Idont want to forget. Loves ParadoxThere is a tide that rolls away,I want to make it stay. A borrowed book sits on my shelf,I want it for myself. There are two old handsthat move this clock,I want to make them stop.

There is a love you sold to me,I keep it under lockand yet you hold the key. A GhostHis voice in this room,like shadows on walls;I imagine him onthe other side of the door. His voice, his hands, his touch,at the start, the end,and in the middle. Strange how it mattered so much,when now it mattersso little. Losing YouIusedtothinkIcouldntgoadaywithoutyoursmile.

Withouttellingyouthingsandhearingyourvoice back. Then, that day arrived and it was so damn hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feelingit was going to get worse, and I wasnt going to be okay for a very long time. Ithappensoverand over again. I lose you every time I pick up your favorite coffee mug; whenever that one song plays on the radio, or when I discover your old t-shirt at the bottom of my laundry pile.

I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and loseyou, when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning, when I wake and reach for theempty space across the sheets, I begin to lose you all over again.

The EndI dont know what to say, he said. Its okay, she replied, I know what we are and I know what were not. Perhapsbecause this person carries an angel within themone sent to you for some higher purpose, to teachyou an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time.

What you must do is trust in themeven if they come hand in hand with pain or sufferingthe reason for their presence will becomeclear in due time. Thoughhereisawordofwarningyoumaygrowtolovethispersonbutremembertheyarenotyours to keep. Their purpose isnt to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this isfulfilled,thehaloliftsandtheangelleavestheirbodyasthepersonexitsyourlife.

Theywillbeastranger to you once more Its so dark right now, I cant see any light around me. Thats because the light is coming from you. You cant see it but everyone else can. Thepresence that is felt through a hand held, a voice heard, or a smile seen. Theyonly know it feels right to be with one another. This is the reason why you miss someone so much when they are not thereeven if they are only intheverynextroom. Can I ask you something?

Why is it every time we say good night, it feels like good-bye? A DreamAs the Earth began spinning faster and faster, we floated upwards, hands locked tightly together, eyessadandbewildered.

WewatchedasourfacesgrewyoungerandrealizedtheEarthwasspinninginreverse, moving us backwards in time. But I didnt let go. And neither did you I had my first dream about you last night. She smiles. What was it about? I dont remember exactly, but the whole time I was dreaming, I knew you were mine. Rogue PlanetsAsakid,Iwouldcountbackwardsfromtenandimagineatone,therewouldbeanexplosionperhaps caused by a rogue planet crashing into Earth or some other major catastrophe.

When nothinghappened, Id feel relieved and at the same time, a little disappointed. I think of you at ten; the first time I saw you. Your smile at nine and how it lit up something inside me Ihad thought long dead. Your lips at eight pressed against mine and at seven, your warm breath in myear and your hands everywhere.

You tell me you love me at six and at five we have our first real fight. At four we have our second and three, our third.

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