Friday, January 30, 2009
The Blue Lines
I couldn't convince you that the blue you see is the same blue that I see. But maybe that's how lovers know they're meant to love; they see the same blue. And they both know it.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The World Loves You Too
The Time It Takes To Fall
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Moment My Skin Brushed Against Yours
But really, all we want, and I speak for the entire human race here, is contact. Someone to let us know that we aren't alone. That the world isn't a dream and you and I really are happening at the same time, even if it's not in the same place. That this is real. You're really there. I'm really here. We're real.
This is real.
This is real.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The Things I've Never Seen Or Heard
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Sound At The Back Of Your Throat
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Trees Grow For A Reason
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Time Before Now
I began thousands of years ago on a cave wall somewhere in Africa. I painted the idea of you before symbols could make sounds in our heads. And each time I come back, I'm the same. This is not the first time you've read this. I've told you a thousand times over a thousand years. I am no more the first me that's ever been than you are the first you. And we certainly won't be the last.
The Things We Could Do Today
Let's pretend we're artists and everything we feel is something new to be proud of. Let's take our imaginary friends on a double date and ditch them in a movie and hope they get along while we kiss outside on the sidewalk. Let's take the dreams you mumbled in your sleep and paint a child's nursery. And if we don't finish today, we've always got tomorrow.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
The Reflected Past
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
The Pressure To The Wounded
You know I just wouldn't be human if I didn't try and hold your hand as it disintegrated from the light of a thousand suns somewhere above Hiroshima. Or kiss the tears from your cheeks in Iraq, like the sweat from your brow in Zimbabwe. It isn't in me not to try and lift the rubble crushing you in Gaza or hide you in Rwanda. Like a last hug in a building in New York or the water we shared in Afghanistan. More than the blood we mixed in Flanders or the sandy beach we trod in Normandy. Longer than the fires burned in Dresden or Soweto. I won't let go of your hand.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Person Who Knows What They're Looking For
Saturday, January 10, 2009
The Brace Position
Friday, January 9, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Moment Of Recognition
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
The Cupboard Is Empty
I’m all out of midnight phone calls and flowers sent to your door. I’m out of throwing letters off fire escapes and drawing a cathedral in the sand. I’m out of spray-painting your name on freeway overpasses. I’m low on cute names given between blankets and 9am. I’ve got no dramatic displays of public affection left. And now everyone else I ever love is going to think me boring. Because I used it all up on you.
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