The Guide To Grace When Falling Apart

Hello. Where are you? Here. Where? Right here. Can you feel that? Yes. That's me. I see. Yes. You feel like me. I am.

The Road Trip

If our arms aren't strong enough, we'll rip the roof off with our hearts. If the road is dark, our dreams will light the way. If there isn't space in the back, we'll make space in our hopes. Pack a bag with everything you want to keep and leave the rest behind. Because I'm coming to pick you up.

The Some Other Day (Rain, Rain)

You are 10 000 angels, standing in the rain (10 000 angels, treading water to remain).

So Earth, stay firm.
My fire, burn.
The sky, to fly.
Sweet water, subside.

10 000 angels waiting for the sun (10 000 angels, each and every one).

Wax on wings.
Till hope it brings.
To rooftops on high.
Till sweet water, subsides.

The Village It Was

We’re a city of aliens. Pretending to be people we’re not until we’re comfortable enough with each other to be who we are. So only you know who I am.

The Beakers I'd Break

And I'd study the science of you till I turned it into an art. The way your atoms rub together. Molecules colliding. Chemistry building.

Explosions of heat and radiation. Burning like a star at the end of the world.

The Scratches That Made Me

You buy things and you keep them clean. You take care of them. Keep them in a special pocket. Away from keys and coins. Away from other things that should be kept clean and taken care of as well. Then they get scratched. And scratched again. And again. And again. And again. Soon, you don't care about them anymore. You don't keep them in a special pocket. You throw them in the bag with everything else. They've surpassed their form and become nothing but function. People are like that. You meet them and keep them clean. In a special pocket. And then you start to scratch them. Not on purpose. Sometimes you just drop them by accident or forget which pocket they're in. But after the first scratch, it's all downhill from there. You see past their form. They become function. They are a purpose. Only their essence remains.

The Tales From The Bar

You're just another story I can't tell anymore.

The Train Of Lies

I say that I won't touch you.

But my fingers are liars.

I tell you how I won't hold you.

But my arms are going to hell.

I promise I won't kiss you.

But my lips break it.

I let you know that I won't love you.

But my heart has no conscience.

And no part of me will apologise.

The Place Where I Wait

I'll see you at your funeral, if you'll see me at mine. I'll wait at the edges for your ghost to rise (until the end of time). We'll find someplace nice to haunt, an abandoned beach house filled with memories of summer sunburns. Children will giggle as we tickle their feet at night and they'll never know the bad dreams we fight. We'll make our own heaven. Walking in places we used to walk until death, dies.

The Gun In The Stars

Out of 1000 hearts, I had to choose you. One of the comets sent to Earth to burn brightly, explode and turn to dust in my atmosphere.

The Handled With Care

If you knew how much trouble the universe went to for us to be here, now, standing in front of each other, you'd know we're going to have to be careful.

Plankton and plants and canals, a hundred suns, a thousand sailing ships, ten thousand civilizations, a million, million, million first kisses from all our mothers and fathers.

We owe it to them, to be careful.

The Noise Outside

Your car coming down the street (I'd recoginse that engine anywhere).

Maybe I should be cleaning up when you come inside, moving things around.

The door slamming shut (it never shuts right the first time).

Or try and look relaxed when you come inside, watching TV, reading a book.

Footsteps up to the door (scraping your feet on an old 'WELCOME' mat).

I could meet you there, when you come inside, act like I've waited the whole day for you.

Keys jangling (your keyring is too big, you open too many things).

And then you come inside. And I'm writing this.

The Edge Of Beggars & Rock Stars

Don't be afraid of the world. We're just all the people you could've been.

The Meaning Of It

I've tried to say it a thousand different ways. I've tried twisting the words inside out and doubling them back over onto themselves. I've tried coming up with words in different languages, because maybe they have words for this thing (I couldn't say what it is) that we're missing in this one. I've tried saying the same words over and over again in hopes that this time they'll mean what I want them to mean. I've tried writing it down and spelling it out and stressing each syllable across intercontinental static. I've filled up pages and pages of paper with what I'm trying to say, but never with what I mean to say.

Maybe it annoyed you in the end. Maybe I should just stop.

- Loren Barnes

The Corner Of Me & You

I don't know if you felt that or not.

But it felt like two people kissing after hours of thinking about it.

It felt like two people talking after nights of silence.

It felt like two people touching after weeks of being numb.

It felt like two people facing each other after months of looking away.

It felt like two people in love after years of being alone.

And it felt like two people meeting each other, after an entire lifetime of not meeting each other.

The Only Part Of You I Love

You could ink yourself until everyone knows all the things you love. You could wear uniforms that gave you all the authority in the world. Lose weight until there was nothing left. Paint the face. Suck in your gut.

But in the dark, stripped down to your bones, all that remains is you.

The Wood In The Trees

You constantly look for a sign and when it's given to you and you don't like the answer, you call it a coincidence. There are no coincidences.

The Series Of Collisions

In case you touch me by accident. In case you don't on purpose. More hope than heaven (more sadness than soil).

The Sky Is A Distraction

I can look anywhere in the world but at you. And it hurts to look anywhere in the world but at you.

The Story In The Distance

And you keep whispering the same story to yourself "I'll be unhappy now because that'll make me happy later. Because that's how a story works." So your happiness will always happen later, never now. Life isn't a story. Life is chaos.

The Inscription

This is how I live. This is how I live. This is how I live.

I mumble things under my breath, three times so I'll remember.

This where I live. This is where I live. This is where I live.

Inside the sun, beneath the burning trees.

This is how I love. This is how I love. This is how I love.

Touching you, in case there comes a time I can't.

This is where I love. This is where I love. This is where I love.

In the heart of things, on the tips of waves.

This is how I die. This is how I die. This is how I die.

Too fast, not long enough.

This where I die. This is where I die. This is where I die.

Here.

The Goodbye Song

So if you can't stay, walk away slowly. Rip the plaster off bit by bit, piece by piece. Because I'd rather feel that than nothing at all.

The New Colour

And their shape and their hair and their eyes and their smell and their voice. That suddenly, these things can exist and you're not quite sure how they existed without you knowing about them before.