Maybe we carry parts of those we loved and who loved us with us into whatever is beyond. They travel wrapped in the safety and comfort of our hearts. Love enough people and you will live forever.

She's sublime as an afternoon spent on a porch with coffee and a good book during a Summer rain; she reminds me of what it means to love the quiet parts of myself.

Write me to where you are now. Draw me a map with the way your heart beats when I say that name you love more than your own. Send me a playlist of road songs that lead to you.

Come get lost with me. Let's find a forest and take off our boots in the soft earth until we grow roots and stay until we return as trees.

Storm the gates at her heart with a legion of truthful words and matching actions and watch them open to let them in and accept her surrender.

She is the salve for the scars on my heart. They fall away like blown dust at her touch.

Love her story and kiss all her scars. Guard her heart and, she'll give you the stars.

There is a conifer whose cone is sealed tight against all damage and only by fire and extreme heat will it unfurl; it is by those scales I recognize your heart and wish to burn you wide open that you may become the forest of words you were meant to be.

I think of her and that spot in my heart reserved for her aches like an old injury at the threat of rain.

Midwest girl of spun corn silk and cashmere scarves come remind me what home feels like.

She said she doesn't fall because there's never anyone to catch her when she does. I looked at my hands, smiled knowingly and said "Try me."

She says she's poison but maybe just a little of her would be enough to keep me love drunk.

Her laugh is a slowly blooming rose made of warmth in my chest.

You've made yourself at home in my mind; this cozy nook with half-read books and records spilling their warm magic into the air, and from an open window comes that river rush that is my blood speeding with thoughts of you.

Haunt me, little ghost, light up my dark with your luminescence. Make me believe in something after this. For I have already fallen for the you who isn't here.

Wrap me in your sleepy voice, sing me to sleep with your soft laugh. I want to fall into slumber like I fell for you; Resistant at first, then slowly, deeply.

The night sky is a mirror its reflection the space within my chest I recognize it, I know it's there in the thundering silence that secret machine of time's advance I gaze in fear in awe in wonder if you see me, too.

To be heard. To be understood. Or, if not understood, to be free to express myself and to be felt. But, above all to be trusted. That is all I ask and I fear it's too high a price for anyone to pay and get me in return.

All I want is to be a good memory in someone else's head; to take up just a little space in a finite heart not my own.

If this be the end of days, to use my remaining breaths whispering things that make you smile and kiss me will be time well spent.

Peace is her smile upon waking; a whispered secret name in a language only you two understand.

I wish there were some way to show her how absolutely beautiful she is but words fail. Only my hands and her skin speak the truth.

Her ocean eyes cascade waves through my heart as constant as natural as eternal as the moon moves the tide.

Holding space in the shape of you until you fill it with your warmth, your thrumming heart and the smile you try to hide from me.

I saw Cassiopeia in the desert sky and thought of you not some vain queen just blazing bright beauty luminous in the ink dark guiding me safely home to you.

I think about her head on my chest and the scent of her hair and it almost for a moment seems real. Almost.

We are not broken, slightly scratched but, not broken. We are vintage cool, retro, old school, because we believe in love as warm as a vinyl record. We are priceless. We are rare finds. I'm glad we both kept looking through the stacks. I'm glad we both found the song we were searching for.

She smells like a warm kitchen on a winter morning. She tastes like maple syrup, pancakes and coffee. She feels like a favorite sweater. She sounds like vintage vinyl. She looks like home.

She hides her true self her dreams her heart from the one who aches to find them for fear she will lose them and herself to him.

A girl like a bedtime story that makes you want to stay awake all night to see how it ends. And, read it again. And, again.

My hand, her thigh, a warm Summer night, windows down in the blue moonlight, sea salt air, not one care; the very definition of just right.

She's an alchemist turning knowing smiles into heart races; turning caresses into electricity; turning sublime moments into sweet memories.

She plays the music they danced to that night. Each beat his thick fingers and warm palm on the small of her back. The melody his breath on her neck. Spinning, she harmonizes; her sweet secret solo echoing softly off lonely walls.

Every word every line every page is another chapter in the story of us. Let's fill a library.

I have built so many houses in my heart in the hope you might find one you like and call it home.

As a sugar maple stretches its bare arms to the sky tender bud sprouting arching herself toward the warmth hope against hope that this isn't another strawberry spring, that this is real that this is true this time.

Keep your rainbows I find beauty in the myriad greys of a fog dim morning sharp pines pointing upward to an unmoved sky in cemetery gates at dusk in the chiaroscuro between the shallow of collarbone and the depth of sad eyes for shades become ghosts and they remind me of you.

Sow your sorrowful seeds wet with tears in the garden of my heart that with my tender care and warmth they may take root and bloom lilies, lavender and forget-me-nots.

My hothouse flower, roots digging thin fingers for purchase, the glass sweats as she opens, blooming in stillness, for my gardener's hands.

Wreck me on the rocks of your broken. Strand me on the shores of your heart. Show me your night sky eyes and I'll never dream of rescue.

Can't save her from drowning. All I can do is stand on the shore with a warm towel in my open arms and pray she remembers she can swim.

It's raining in LA. All I can think is we should still be in bed, window open, silently reading each other's eyes like our favorite books.

When she gets quiet, when she quiets her mind and speaks from her fragile heart, is when I see the sunrise of endless tomorrows in her eyes.

I just want to hold your hand when no one else cares to, kiss you on your worst day, sync our breathing when you're out of tune.

Her eyes; worn pennies patinated with soft green. And, when she lets the light in, they become dragonfly wings or the honeyed gold memories of Summers of my youth.

Look in the mirror. Find the thing you hate most about yourself. That thing? There will come a day when I ache for it like a homecoming.

If she is not meant for me, tell me now, that I might begin the metaphysical therapy of relearning to love with half a heart.

Give my life purpose and you can have the rest of it.

I'm in love with the soul behind the way her eyes look at me. I'm in love with the heart that moves her in a way that makes mine ache.

She is every good childhood memory happening at once.