Memories are wasted figments
and visions of you, sketchy blurs
compared to the joy of being with you.

You made me feel real and true and alive, 
gave me wings to fly and touch the sky. 

If I close my eyes, you would be a burst
of sunlight, swirling wisps of gold. 

This is what I mean when the wind rushes
through my hair and my body hums
with the birds, echoing their song of loss. 

mynameiselly:

And then one day mid-May,
           I stopped hanging onto the 
        hope of you and started to
               hold onto the possibility of
                          the future that was always
                      waiting for me,

           you were never my roots
             or the soil holding my feet
                     down, I am my own soul,
                   I am my own sky, I am my own
                       branches reaching up and out,
                     you were a temporary sunshine
                       that I have outgrown the way seeds
                grow weary of staying in the ground:

    I have since learned to find
        light and love
    in places other than 
  anyone’s arms.

(via wheelbreaks-thebutterflies)

How many more
novels to read
plays to see
mountains to hike
poems to write
lasagnas to make
smiles to fake
notes to sing
years to breathe
before I lose you completely?

I could scream I love you at the sky
until my lungs burst in flames
and the dogs next door start barking,
but still you wouldn’t hear me. 

You fly higher than my arms 
could ever reach. 
The wind pushes you towards
where you’re meant to be. 

But my feet are planted deep in the soil
and no matter how tall I rise,
the warm sunlight upon my back
could never compare to your lullaby.  

I can still hear you, as the
insistent whispers in my mind:

C’mon Kon, faster. 
(when the wind is rushing and my vision is a blur and my sneakers slap the turf silly)

C’mon Kon, you got this.
(when I raise my hand in class and everyone looks at me)

C’mon Kon, get up already. 
(when she left)

It’s worse when my lips slip and speak in tune with the whirlwind of C’mon Kon’s; that’s when you’re not a voice, but the best friend next to me. 

C’mon Kon (what should I do now?)

I hate how parts of you still remain in me. 

I’m here, he whispers
and to me, that’s better
than I love you

You are in the morning air I breathe,
the laughter my friends share,
and this lonely path my sneakers lead. 

All that’s left 
is to keep flying
and hope we meet again
next summer

there’s a certain comfort in
scribbling our thoughts on paper,
letting the doubts and fears
dry alongside the ink. 

flower buds awake

to the warm, dancing sunlight

all is bright and new