ninety-seven

Darling, you were not made to walk among the soft earth to seek comfort. You were created to live and laugh and love. The Lord rejoices when we use our lives boldly and beautifully. It was never intended for you to have it all figured out. How could you possibly, when you don’t even know how long you have? If tomorrow was your last day, tell me, how much have you made God smile? Hell, how much have you smiled yourself? 

ninety-six

I guess at some point you have to be okay with simply being okay. After fighting a battle, either within your own heart or on the field with another’s, I think merely waking up to exist for a while can be an adequate adventure. Never compare your struggle with someone else’s; and likewise, never compare your progress. Everyone’s doing the best they can. 

ninety-five

See, then, I wasn’t shaken by goodbyes, for it only meant a sweeter hello to come. But as the months went on the hellos were more infrequent and the goodbyes were less sweet. The comfort f pattern and the pattern of comfort were stripped until every hello became a timebomb and every goodbye became a grave. 

ninety-four

We caught fire rapidly and we burned everything before us, and when our flame went out, the smoke cleared too fast and all we had to blame was the alcohol that ignited it in the first place.

ninety-three

I’m trying to have words pour out of me like I did before and it seems a kiss is only good for initial excitement and initial heartbreak.  Even my poems are sick of carrying your weight; it really must be time to move on. 

ninety-two

And as much as I don’t want to, I can’t help but think of what is so fundamentally undateable about me that repels guys to believe that I am only good enough for a midnight stroke and a noontime smoke.

ninety-one

My eyes start to sting in reminiscence and my head starts to shake in new found clarity. My head is spinning impossibly fast and my words are coming out impossibly slow. That's how we were, though, weren't we?