AlsobyLangLeav

Love&MisadventureLullabies

MEMORIEScopyright©2015byLangLeav.Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybeusedorreproducedinanymannerwhatsoeverwithoutwrittenpermissionexceptinthecaseofreprintsinthecontextofreviews.

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ForMichael

Readingyouhasmademeabetterwriter.

Lovingyouhasmademeabetterperson.

Forgethertatteredmemories,orthepagesotherstook;

youarehereverafter—theheroofherbook.

ContentsINTRODUCTION

Part1

Here&Now

Part2

RememberWhen

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Iamhopelesslyinlovewithamemory.Anechofromanothertime,anotherplace.

—MichaelFaudet

Memories is a collection of poetry and prose, hand selected frommy two previous books,Love &MisadventureandLullabies.ItalsofeaturessomenewwritingIhavecompletedoverthelastyear.

Myintentionwastocreateabookthatisenduring,onethatcouldbekeptasakeepsakeorgiventosomeonespecialinyourlife.

Ihavealwaysthoughtofmemoriesasfragments,likecoloredglassshardsinakaleidoscope.Itisthesourceofgreatbeautyinourlives,yetthecauseofsuchheartache.Itremainsthebridgebetweenour

pastandpresent—itgivesweightanddimensiontoourveryexistence.

IhopeyouenjoyMemories asmuch as I enjoyedputting it together. Iknow there aremanygreatmomentsthatareyettotranspireforyou.Ihopeintime,youwillfindechoesoftheminthisbook.

Muchlove,Lang

PARTONE

HereandNow

TheRose

Haveyoueverlovedarose,andwatchedherslowlybloom;andasherpetalswouldunfold,yougrewdrunkonherperfume.

Haveyoueverseenherdance,herleavesallwetwithdew;

andquiveredwithanewromance—thewind,helovedhertoo.

Haveyoueverlongedforher,onnightsthatgoonandon;fornow,herfaceisallablur,likeamemorykepttoolong.

Haveyoueverlovedarose,andbledagainstherthorns;andsweareachnighttolethergo,thenlovehermorebydawn.

Stowaway

I love the way he looks at me. Shy and half-cocked as though he is caught off guard, like he isretracinghisstepstorememberallthewaystomakemesmile.HebringsmeflowerseverySundayandtellsmestoriesaboutmermaidsandsirenswiththeirsharpclawsandbeguilinglips.HesaysIremindhimoftheseaandattachesmetoametaphorI’veneverheardbefore,whenIthoughtImusthaveheard themall. I think someonebrokehis heartonce andnowhe can’t bear tobe apart from theocean.Hesaidit’sstrangehowthesmallestthingscanwreckaship.Likearock,orawave,orahairlinecrackinthehull.Hecallsmehislittlestowawayandhesaysitsadly,tenderly,asthoughIcansinkhim.

Birthdays

Itisaceremony,theblowingofcandles,thecuttingofacake—themessofcreamandspongeinyourmouth.Thetasteissweetandfamiliar,likeanewlyformedwish,fashionedfromalltheonesyou’vemadebefore.

Youdon’tremembertheminsequence—thethingsyouaskfor.Youonlyrecallthoseyouwantedthemost.Likethepairofneonpinkrollerskatesyousawintheshopwindowwhenyouweretwelve.Howdeeplyyoufelttheirabsencewhenyousatamongthelitteroftornwrappingpaperandemptynewpossessions.

Ortheyearyouturnedsixteen;whenyourbestfriend’smothergotreallysick,andallyouwantedwasforhertobeokayagain.Itwastheyearyoulearnedthatshootingstarswereeitherablessingoracurse,dependingonwhatyouwantedtobelieve.

Thentherewasthatyearyoufellinlove.Theonewherethereweren’tanycandles—justyouwalkinglateatnight throughthecity streetswithyourheart inpieces,wantingtogiveyourself to thefirststrangerwhocalledyoubeautiful.

Sincethenit’sbeenthesameeveryyear.Assoonasthefirstmatchisstruck,thesmellofburningtakesyou backward through yourmemory. It stops you right at thatmoment on thatwarm, Septembernight,asyouwatchedthefirsttrickleofmeltingwaxhittheicing,andyoucouldn’tthinkofasingle

damnthingyouwanted—becausehewasstandingthere,intheflickeringlight,askingyoutomakeawish.

Poetry

Iknowyouhaveseenthingsyouwishyouhadn’t.Youhavedonethingsyouwishyoucouldtakeback.

Andyouwonderwhyyouwerethrownintothethickofitall—whyyouhadtosufferthewayyoudid.And as you are sitting there alone and hurting, Iwish I could put a pen in your hand andgentlyremindyouhowtheworldhasgivenyoupoetryandnowyoumustgiveitback.

Numbers

Nothingfeltlikemineanymore,notafteryou.Allthoselittlethingsthatdefinedme;smallsentimentaltrinkets,carkeys,pincodes,andpasswords.Theyallfeltlikeyou.Andmorethananythingelse,my

number—theone youboldly asked for that night, amidst a seaofpeople, under a skyof talkingsatellitesandglowingstars.

Yousaidnomatterhowmanytimesyouerasedmefromyourphone,youwouldstillrecognizethatnumberwhenitflashedonyourscreen.Theseriesofsixesandnines,likethedipofmywaisttothecurveofmyhips,yourhandspressedintothesmallofmyback.Ninesandsixesthatwerereminiscentoftwocontentedcats,curledtogetherlikeapairofspeechmarks.Yousaidifyoucouldneverholdmeorkissmeagain,youcouldlivewiththat.Butyoucouldn’tbearthethoughtofusnotspeakingandasked,attheveryleast,couldIjustallowyouthatonething?

I wonder what went through your mind the day you dialed my number to find it had beendisconnected.IfyourimaginationhadracedwiththoughtsofwhatnewcityIhadruntoandwhowassharingmybed. Isn’t it strangehowmuchofour lives are interchangeable,how little is trulyours.Someoneelse’s ring tone, someoneelse’s song, someoneelse’swords, someoneelse’sbrokenheart.Thesearethethingsweinheritbychoiceorbychance.

Anditwasn’tmychoicetoloveyoubutitwasminetoleave.Idon’tthinkthemoonevermeanttobeasatellite,keptinlovingorbit,lockedinhopelessinertia,destinedtorepeatthesamepatternoverand

over—tomeetineclipsewiththesun—onlywhenthenumbersallowed.

AWriter’sMuse

Onedayhewillfindyou.Hewilltouchyouandyouwillfeelalifetimeofindifference—ofapathymeltaway ina singlemoment.Andyouwill ache forhim.Youwill lovehim, in thewayyouwalka

tightrope—inthewaypeoplelearntofallasleepinawarzone.Youwillbleedforhimuntilthedayhe

isgone.Youwillbleedforhimeverydayafterthat.Thetimewillpassandyouwillfeelrobbed—andyouwillgrowbitter.Youwillaskwhy,butyouwon’tgetananswer.Andthatiswhenthewordswillcome.

TheStranger

Doesitmakeyoucrazy?Tothinkhesawyou—hiseyespassedoveryouandifonlytherehadbeen

somesmallmishap in thatpivotalmoment.Aspilleddrink,a stumble throughthedoor—his handreachingouttosteadyyouanditwouldhavehappened.Awholenewworldwouldhaveopeneduplikeavortextoswallowyoubothintoblissfuldelirium.Butyouturnedaway,outofshynessorindecisionandbythetimeyouturnedback,hewasgone.

Howdoyouexplainitwithoutsoundingunsound?Thatclickyoufeltwhenyoureyesmethis,liketheswitchofatraintrack,transportingyouforonemiraculousmoment,towhatmighthavebeen.

Thenrealityintervenesandwithashakeofyourhead,youtellyourselftostopchasingshadows.ButI

can tell younow—whatyou feltwas real—and youmust always listen to that click.For it is thesoundofyourfatebeckoning.Itisthevoiceofyourdestinycalling.Sometimesitonlycallsonce.

AftertheStorm

Therearestormsthatchangetheskyline,thatleavepatchesofbluewherebrancheshadoncespreadtheirbrittlefingers.Andintheaftermath,aneeriecalmsettlesovertheforest,asshell-shockedbirdssing warily in the sunlight. The nervous flutter of their injured wings, barely audible above thehammeringofahummingbird’sheart.

Youoncetoldmethewindissilent.Howhissoundcanonlybeheardthroughcollision.Lastnight,hecried with a violent yearning while he tore through the trees. As he brought down their twistedbranches,Ithoughtofthefirsttimeyousaidmyname.

Youwerethestormthatchangedtheskyline.Afterthedamageandthedeluge,Icouldseethingssomuchclearer.Therehasn’tbeenanotherlikeyousince.

In1953,webegannaminghurricanessowecouldrememberthembeyondthewreckage.Sowecouldtrytomakesenseofthedestruction.ThisisthewayIrememberyou.

Memories

Haveyoueverfeltit?Thatsplitsecondbeforethefeelingcatchesthememory—thatsmallhavenofneutrality,beforetheheadlongcrashintorecognition.Yourmindpullshimtotheforegroundlikeasnappedrubberband.Andyouthinkofthelinehedrewinthesand,theoneyoucan’tseemtoputafootpast.Likeatripwire,you’reafraidofthedamagebutyouknowyoucan’tkeepstandingstill.Andtheworldfallsawayandyou’reexactlywhereyouwereonthelastnightyousawhim,whenhehadhishandsinyourhairandhismouthonyourneckandheneversaidawordaboutleaving.

NowandThen

Iwasalwaysmeantforyou.Withmytennisshoesandwildhair,draggingacasewithacellohiddenbetweenitsvelvetwalls.Eventhen.

Iwasalwaysmeantforyou.Inmyblackwoolendressandsapphirestuds.Betweenhotelroomsandstandingovations.Evennow.

Iwasnevermeantforroadsignswithforeignnames,orloverswhospokeinexotictongues.FormapsthatwerecomposedinalanguageIcouldnotreadandprintedinadialectIcouldnotwrite.

YousaidIwaslikeabirdofprey,cagedbymycaptorsandmadetosinglovesongstothesky.Yousaidmysadnesswaslikethesun,beautifulfromadistancebutithurtyoutoomuchtocomecloser.

Iwas nevermeant for poetry.Forwords carved into history, like ancient runes that told the sametragic taleoverandover. Ifanyhistorianwere todecipher the symbolshammered into stone, theywouldsayIwasmeantforyou.Evenbeforethefirstmallethadstruckiron,evenafterallcivilization

hascrumbledintodustandtheskyissetalightwithathousandexplodingstars—eventhen.

ALoveStory

Beyondtheshoresofmelancholy,therewasatimeIheldyourhand.Myheartnowbearsanuntoldstory,likeashipatsea,thatlongsforland.

Agreatuntruth,mylipshaveborrowed,aboundlesstreasuretolinemychest;

thewealthofwordsareintheirsorrow—andwordsareallIcanbequest.

Wewillremainunwrittenthroughhistory,noXwillmarkusonthemap;butinbooksofproseandpoetry,youlovedmeonce,inaparagraph.

Andyourlovehasleftme,onthisisland,ithasfilledmycupuptothebrink;

yetIgrowthirstyinthissilence—thereisnotadropformetodrink.

VirtualLove

Wefellinlovethroughscreens,throughsatellitesthatcarriedourwordsacrosstheachingvoid.Nightafternight,wespokeabouthandsonbodiesandlipsonskin.Afterthesilence,Iwouldthinkofallthegirlsmadeoffleshandbonewithinyourarm’sreach.

Aswintergavewaytosummer,thedustmotesdancinginthesunlightblurredintopixels,andIgavemyhearttoaphotograph.IwonderedhowIcouldbesoafraidoflosingsomethingthatwasn’tmine.

Thencamethecrossedwires,thesignal jam.Thestaticthatgrewbetweenus—itsdull,murmuringprotest.AndIwouldquestioniftherewereothersjustlikeme,whohadfoundthemselvescaughtin

yourorbit.WhetherIwasjustanothercelestialbody,sentupfromtheground;whenthemoon—the

originalsatellite—istheonlyoneyouseefromwhereyou’restanding.

AWriter’sPlea

TakemesomeplacewhereIcanfeelsomething—Iwanttogiveawaymyheart.TellmehisnamesoIcanknowlovewhenitspeakstome.GivemesomeoneIcanwriteabout.

IntheEnd

Iwasreadytogiveitallup—everything.Iwashalfoutofmymindwithlove.AndIdidn’tthinktwice

aboutwhatIwasthrowingintothefire,aslongasIcouldkeepitburningforjustanotherminute—ifonlyIwasallowedtositawhilelongerbesideitspaleglow.

ThatwashowI lovedyou intheend.Withmybodycoldandshuddering.Withemptyhandsoversmolderingash,countingouttheminutes.

PiecesofYou

HeknowsIcan’ttellajokewithoutlaughing.AndhowI’malwaystalkingaboutsecondchances.HeknowsIsleepalldayandwakeuptired.AndIcouldnevergiveanyoneastraightanswer.

IcriedthefirsttimeItoldhimaboutyou.IsaidIwassorryasheheldmesoclose.Hesaidhenowknewwhymyeyeswerelikesearchlights.Howtheylookedattheskywithsuchlonging.AndwhyIreadmystarsinthepapereachmorning.

HeleftmeoneSundaywithhiscuphalfempty.Ipaddeddownstairsandsawthewritingonthewall.Outsidetherainwasalreadyfalling.Andtherewerestillpiecesofyoubehindeverydoor.

She

Shewas the soundofglass shattering—the sharp ringing inyourears.Theperpetualmotionof aspinningballerinatrappedinsideamusicbox.Thesad,tinnytuneofLaVieenRose.

Shewasthezigzaginyourstraightline.Theabsenceinyourdirection.Shewaseveryturnyoutookwhenracingthroughahedgemaze,againstthesettingsun.

Shewasthetidethatcameinandout,likethebreathofthewounded.Shewasthebloodthatflowedbetweenheartandhead.

Shewas thebook thatwasnotwritten.The sentence thatwasnot scripted. Shewas thewordyouwishedyoucouldhavesaid.

ReachingOut

Ihavegivensomuchtothingsthatweren’tworthmytime.Whenallalong,it’sthepeopleIlovethatIshouldhavecarried.It’stheonesIcaredforwhomIshouldhavebeenresponsible.

ButmaybeI’mtoolate.BecauseIdon’tknowhowtotalktoyou.Idon’tknowhowtoaskyouifyou’reokay.Idon’tknowhowtotellyouIamsoafraidoflosingyou.Howmuchlightwouldleavemylifeifyouwerenolongerpartofit.

Ijusthopeyourealizehowmuchyoumeantome.IjustwishIcouldremindyouofhowbeautifulyouare.I’msorryIhaven’ttoldyouinsolong.Butpleasedon’tthinkIhavegivenuponyou.Iwillnevergiveuponyou.Myarmsarewideopen.Thereisalwaysaplaceforyouhere.

Faith

Iwhisperyournamelikeaprayer—withallthehopeofheaven.

Itracethelinesofyourpalmanddrawamaptosalvation.

IheartheknockofyourheartandIansweritlikemycalling.

Home

Doyouthinkofmeonairplanes?Withyourheadphonessnugaroundyourearsandthecloudsbelow?

Do you think ofmy hands as you are exploring new territory—the freedom, the thrill, the rush?Whenyoutravelagainsttheturnofourplanet,doesittakeyoubackintothepast?

Ithinkofyouonjetplanes.Inthoughtsthatgoamillionmilesanhour.Overtoytownsandtowersmadeoftin.Nothingfeelsrealwithoutyou.

Doyouthinkofwhatcouldhavebeen?Intheearlymorninglightwhenyouwakeupnexttosomestranger,wonderingwhyyoudon’tfeelathing.Ineverybarroomandbedroomwhereyou’reforced

intoconversationorgivingawaypartsofyourself—doyoumissme?

Doyouthinkofmeincars?Wheneveryturnyoutakeisdrivingusfurtherapart.Doeseveryroadsignpleadingyoutotakecare,remindyouofhowmuchIwantyou,howdeeplyyouareloved?

Ithinkofyouonroadsthatstretchintothehorizon.OnroundaboutsandsignsthatkeeptellingmeIamgoinginthewrongdirection.IhopeyouthinkofmeasmuchasIthinkofyou.Ihopethateverystep will bring you closer, that every dead end is a messenger, willing you to turn back around,remindingyouit’stimetocomehome.

Waiting

Itrytothinkofawordthatisclosesttoloveandtheonlythingthatcomestomindisyourname.ItrytoimaginewhatIwouldsayifourpathsevercrossedagainbutIkeepdrawingablank.

I’veforgottenwhatitwasliketofeelthesunonmyskinwithoutworryingthatitcouldhurtme.I’vestoppedthrowingmyselffromcliffs,withmyarmsintheair,waitingforthesplashbelow.

Everyday,IlookinthemirrorandIseemoreandmoreofmymother’sfacestaringbackatme.EverydayImeasuretheweightofmypastagainstthepresentandfeelthedragofwhatcouldhavebeen.

I find a photograph of you and wonder when I’ll stop hoping. I stare at the clock, with its slowmethodicalhandsanddreadthedaywhenI’llknowit’stoolate.

DearLove

Love,hehasabandonedme,dowithmeasyouwill.

Love,heleft—unceremoniously,whymustIlovehimstill?

ThebestofmeIgavetohim—theyears,thedays,thehours.Preciouslittle,inturnhe’dgiven,likedewtoawiltingflower.

Love,heshearedawaytenderly,mybeauty,mystrength,mymind,

thegiftsthatwerebestowedtome—wereswallowedinhispride.

Love,hasheforgottenme?Pleasetellmewhatyou’veheard,

Iguardhismemoryjealously—withhimI’dplacedmyworth.

Revelation

Hereistheplacewhereyoufoundme.Underthehalf-moonanditshalf-light.Yousaid,ifonlyIhadmetyoutherethatnight.Perhapswecouldhavefoundourway.I learnedsomethingaboutsadnessafterthatday.

Youshowedmeinsanity,asyoupromisedyouwould.Likeanopenwindow,sevenstoreyshigh.AnditwasjustasterribleandasbeautifulasyouandI.

Andyou said ecstasywas a storm cloud, just before the rainwouldburst into thenight sky, like a

thousand aquatic stars—and not one singlemoment before. And you were right. You were rightaboutitall.

Language

Irememberlearningthealphabet.Howthosestrangemarkings,alienandincoherent,grewmoreandmorefamiliar,likethenameofsomeoneyoulove.

Themomentwordsfoundme,theyburrowedthemselvesintomybones,theysettledlikedustinmylungsuntilIfeltthemeverytimeIbreathedinandout.Iwouldplacethemsidebysidelikefractals,inamyriadofverse.

Irememberlearningyourname,thestrangejumbleoflettersthatdancedundermytongue,thatleaptfrommyhungrymouth.Thosefoursyllablesthatbitdeepintomysoullikepoetry.IrememberhowIwhisperedthemagainstyourlips.

Andyouwouldsay,thisishowIamwithyou,withyou.

ItwaswordsthatIfellfor.Intheend,itwaswordsthatbrokemyheart.

APoem

Iwroteapoemaboutagirlwholovesyou.Isaidasoliloquythatwasspokeninherhonor.

Ifelteverywordthatburstfromherlips,likeshootingstars,intotheairaroundus.Ifitwerepossibletoholdloveinyourhand,itwasherhandthattrembledasIheldit.

I could taste her tears that ran like rain onwindshields.The kind that searchedwith longing, forlonelydropafterdrop,toformapoolofforlornbelonging.

Iwrotethispoemforthegirlwholovesyou—forshelovesyoumorethanIloveyou.BecausesheissorryandsoamI.

InLove

You’venotyethadyourheartinhalves,

solittledoyouknowoflove—totellmeIwillsoonforget,therewillbeotherstoregret.

Nowalltheyearshaveprovedyouwrong,myloveforhimburnsbrightandstrong;

youcan’tdividethestarsfromnight—fromlovetherecanbenorespite.

SundayBest

Do you remember that night I turned up on your doorstep? I was wearingmy Sunday best. Youwatchedthemascaraasitrandownlikefaultlines,andyouknewIhadbloodonmylips.

I’mtiredofrunning,Isaid—

andtheearthshookalittle.

SoamI,youreplied

asitshookalittlemore.

Idon’twantanyoneelse,Iwhispered.

AndIfeltmyselfcrumble.

You held out your arms and Iwas cracked porcelain.We looked at each other aswe stood at theprecipice.AndIknewonceIfell,I’dneverstopfalling.Andeverythingbeforeyouwouldbetimetokill.Yousaidyouwerescaredbutyoucouldn’tignoreit.

Andthatwasthemomentwhenwebecamereal.

Hope

Onedayyouwalkintoacafeandthereheis.It’sassimpleasthat.Aseasyasthat.Thenforeverafter,youspendyourlife,walkingintocafes,hopinghe’llmagicallyappear.Likehedidthefirsttime.Ortherewouldbesomeoneelse,justlikehim,sitting,withhisheadburiedinabook.Hewouldturntolookatyouanditwouldallbeginagain.

Whenlovefindsyou,itdoesn’tcomewithcrashingwavesorthunderbolts.Itappearsasasongonthe

radiooraparticularblueinthesky.Itdawnsonyouslowly,likeawarmwintersunrise—wherethepromiseofsummershinesoutfromwithin.

Wenumberourdaysanddivideourseasons.Weendlesslydefinewhatitistobeinlove.Whenintruth,springblursintosummerandalwayshas,longbeforethatlinewaseverdrawn.Yourloveforhimisthe

same—itrunswildandfree.Liketheairaroundyou,itstretchesallacrosstheworld,itdoesnotleaveasinglethinguntouched.Youcarrythatlovewithyou,likeabrightandblazingbeacon,astraightlinefromyourhearttohis.Anditkeepsalivethataching,throbbinghope,thatsomewhereintheworld,thereisacafeandwithinthosewalls,heisthere,hopingjustasmuchasyou.

Stardust

IfyoucametomewithafaceIhavenotseen,withavoiceIhaveneverheard,Iwouldstillknowyou.Evenifcenturiesseparatedus,Iwouldstillfeelyou.Somewherebetweenthesandandthestardust,througheverycollapseandcreation,thereisapulsethatechoesofyouandI.

Whenweleavethisworld,wegiveupallourpossessionsandourmemories.Loveistheonlythingwetakewithus.Itisallwecarryfromonelifetothenext.

NewLight

Whengoodbyewassaid,thereitbegan

thecarefultread—theonesyouchosetoloveinstead.

Yetinsideyouglowsacandlelitthoseyearsagoandbrighterstillitburnsforhimasearingflametostavethedarkyouholdwithin.

Thehonorthepromise

youoncemade—whenyouandhewereskintoskin,andthebrighteststar

hadceaseditsreign—toheraldnewlight,borninhisname.

Happiness

I knowmy being happy is an anomaly.No one knowsme better than you.But I can saywithoutavoiding your gaze, without crossingmy fingers behindmy back; or the other things I do when

speakinguntruthfully—Iamhappy.Iknowtheraindoesnotdiscriminatebetweendayornightand

eitherwillholditsownlightanddark—butnow,atthisverymoment,IfeellikeIamthesun.AndI

knowinmyheart,Iwillalwayslookuponthistime—notwithoutasenseofmelancholy—thatitwasthehappiestinmylife.

TheSaddestThing

Therewas someoneIknew,a longtimeago.Iwas so in lovewithhimIcouldn’t see straight.Thesaddestthingis,hefeltthesamewayaboutme.

Itwaseasyinthebeginning.Allwehadtodowaslaughatthesamethingsandlovetookoveranddidtherest.Ihadneverfeltsoconnectedtoanotherperson.

HewouldalwayssayitfeltasthoughIwasmadeforhim.Howgladhewastohavemetme.Weweresosureofwhatwefelt.Weshouldhaveheldtight,ontothatcertainty.

There is never one particular reason why two people are torn apart. All these years later, I havestoppedlookingforanswers.Iknowbetternow,thatloveisneveraguarantee.Notwhenyouhavetherestoftheworldtocontendwith.

Sometimesyouhave to stepback and look at these things fromaphilosophical standpoint.AndIknowlovinghimhastaughtmesomethingaboutmyself, ithasbroadenedmyunderstandingoftheworld.Andifithasdonethesameforhim,thenitwasn’tallinvain.

TheNight

It’sbeenawhilesincewordshavefoundme,

thetimebetween—you’llcomeandgo;I’dgrowntolovethesunaroundme,I’vebeenastrangertomywoe.

It’sbeensolongsincetherewassilence,allaroundme,yourvoicehadrung;likeabirdwhosingstogreetthemorning,totellyouthatthedayhascome.

It’sbeensometimesinceI’vefeltlonely,likeabookthatisnolongerread;thedarknesslingersonwithoutyou,itfillsmyemptyheartwithdread.

Itseemsanageago,sinceyouhaveleftme,timehasfilledme,withwordsunsaid;asthesadnessseepsintomeslowly,andIamlefttofacethenightahead.

Her

There is somuchhistory in thewayhe looks at her. In thewayhe says her name.When they aretogether,thereisacurrentthatrunsbetweenthem;likeanelectricchargeonthevergeoferuptingintoaperfectstorm.

Idon’tloveheranymore,hesays.

Anditisinthewayhesaysthewordher—thattellsmeotherwise.

Love

Idon’tknowwhatitisliketolovesomeonewhotheworldtellsmeIamnotsupposedtolove.Ican’timaginehowharditmustbetolovesomeoneIamafraidtokissonthestreet.

ButIdoknowwhatitisliketolovesomeonewhoIcannotbewith.Iknowhowitfeelstohavemybraintellmeonething,andmyheartanother.Iknowhowharditistohavetolovesomeoneinsecret.Tolivewiththeknowledgethatifcircumstanceshadbeendifferent,IwouldbewiththeoneIlove.

Idoknowthereareallkindsofbarrierstolove.Idobelievetheworldneedslessofthem.

Collision

DoyouthinkIhaveslippedintoatimewarp?

Itwasyouropeningline.Ididn’tknowitthen,butmypast,present,andfutureweresettocollide.

At the time, the collision felt like agentlewake-up call.Like a lazySundaymorning spentgently

partingwayswithsleep.ButnowwhenIlookback,Iseeitforwhatitwas—alarmbellsblaringatfivea.m.andaplaneIcouldn’tmiss.

Igotlostinthedaytoday.Ipassedbyprophetsonthecitystreetswiththeirsigns,warningmeabouttheapocalypse.Ineverimagineditwaswalkingrightbesideme,holdingmyhand.Nightafternight,Ilookedintoyoureyesbutneveroncedidtheyoffermeapreludetothedestruction.

Lifewentonwithoutyou.Ofcourse,itdid.Ofcourse,itdoes.Itwasjustanending,theytellme,nottheend.

PARTTWO

RememberWhen

AToast!

Tonewbeginnings,infearandfaithandallittinges.

Toloveisadare,whenhopeanddespair,aregatesuponithinges.

ThreeQuestions

Whatwasitliketolovehim?askedGratitude.Itwaslikebeingexhumed,Ianswered.Andbroughttolifeinaflashofbrilliance.

Whatwasitliketobelovedinreturn?askedJoy.Itwaslikebeingseenafteraperpetualdarkness,Ireplied.Tobeheardafteralifetimeofsilence.

Whatwasitliketolosehim?askedSorrow.TherewasalongpausebeforeIresponded:

Itwaslikehearingeverygood-byeeversaidtome—saidallatonce.

MyHeart

PerhapsIneverlovedenough,IfonlyI’dlovedmuchmore;Iwouldnotnearlyhadsomuch,leftwaiting,foryouinstore.

IfIhadgivenawaymyheart—tothosewhocamebefore;

itwouldbesaferleftinparts—butnowyouhaveitall.

LoveLost

Thereisonewhoyoubelongto,

whoselove—thereisnosongfor.Andthoughyouknowit’swrongful,thereissomeoneelseyoulongfor.

Yourheartwasonceavessel,itwasfilleduptothebrim;untilthedayheleftyou,noweverythingsingsofhim.

Ofthetwowhocametoloveyou,toone,yourheartyougave.

Helivesinstarsaboveyou—inthelovewhocameandstayed.

AfterYou

IfIwroteitinabook,couldIshelveit?

IfItoldofwhatyoutook,wouldthathelpit?

IfIwillit,canIun-feelit,nowI’vefeltit?

RoguePlanets

As a kid, I would count backwards from ten and imagine at one, therewould be an explosion—perhapscausedbyarogueplanetcrashingintoEarthorsomeothermajorcatastrophe.Whennothinghappened,I’dfeelrelievedandatthesametime,alittledisappointed.

Ithinkofyouatten;thefirsttimeIsawyou.YoursmileatnineandhowitlitupsomethinginsidemeIhadthoughtlongdead.Yourlipsateightpressedagainstmineandatseven,yourwarmbreathinmyearandyourhandseverywhere.Youtellmeyoulovemeatsixandatfivewehaveourfirstrealfight.Atfourwehaveoursecondandthree,ourthird.Attwoyoutellmeyoucan’tgoonanylongerandthenatone,youaskmetostay.

AndIamrelieved,sorelieved—andalittledisappointed.

Pretext

Ourlove—adeadstar

totheworlditburnsbrightly—Butitdiedlongago.

Souls

When two souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the yearning to be close to the other. Thepresencethatisfeltthroughahandheld,avoiceheard,orasmileseen.

Soulsdonothavecalendarsorclocks,nordotheyunderstandthenotionoftimeordistance.Theyonlyknowitfeelsrighttobewithoneanother.

Thisisthereasonwhyyoumisssomeonesomuchwhentheyarenotthere—eveniftheyareonlyin

theverynextroom.Yoursoulonlyfeelstheirabsence—itdoesn’trealizetheseparationistemporary.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

CanIaskyousomething?Anything.Whyisiteverytimewesaygoodnight,itfeelslikegood-bye?

SomeTimeOut

Thetimemaynotbeprimeforus,thoughyouareaspecialperson.

Wemaybejusttwodifferentclocks,thatdonottock,inunison.

TheWanderer

Whatisshelike?

Iwastold—sheisamelancholysoul.

Sheislikethesuntonight;amomentarygold.

Astarwhendimmedbydawninglight;theflickerofacandleblown.

Alonelykite

lostinflight—someoneoncehadflown.

SadThings

Whydoyouwritesadthings?heasked.WhenIamhere,whenIloveyou.

Becausesomeday,inonewayoranother,youwillbetakenfrommeorIyou.Itisinevitable.Butpleaseunderstand; from themoment Imet you, I stoppedwriting for thepast. I no longerwrite for thepresent.WhenIwritesadthings,Iamwritingforthefuture.

SeaofStrangers

Inaseaofstrangers,you’velongedtoknowme.Yourlifespentsailingtomyshores.

Thearmsthatyearntosomedayholdme,willachebeneaththeheavyoars.

Pleasetakeyourtimeandtakeitslowly;asallyoudowillrunitscourse.

Andnothingelse

cantakewhatonly—wasalwaysmeantassolelyyours.

BrokenHearts

Iknowyou’velostsomeoneandithurts.Youmayhavelostthemsuddenly,unexpectedly.Orperhapsyoubeganlosingpiecesofthemuntiloneday,therewasnothingleft.Youmayhaveknownthemall

yourlifeoryoumayhavebarelyknownthematall.Eitherway,itisirrelevant—youcannotcontrolthedepthofawoundanotherinflictsuponyou.

WhichiswhyIamnotheretotellyoutomorrowwillbeanewday.Thatthesunwillgoonshining.Orthereareplentyoffishinthesea.WhatIwilltellyouisthis;it’sokaytobehurtingasmuchasyouare.

Whatyouarefeelingisnotonlycompletelyvalidbutnecessary—becauseitmakesyousomuchmore

human.And though I can’t promise it will get better any time soon, I can tell you that it will—eventually.Fornow,allyoucandoistakeyourtime.Takeallthetimeyouneed.

AnArtistinLove

Idrewhiminmyworld;Iwritehiminmylines,Iwanttobehisgirl,hewasnevermeantasmine.

Idrewhiminmyworld;heisalwaysonmymind;Idrawhiseveryline.Ithurtswhenhe’sunkind.

Idrewhiminmyworld;Idrawhimallthetime,butIdon’tknowwheretodrawtheline.

TheSeventhSea

Theanswerisyes,alwaysyes.Icannotdenyyouanythingyouask.Iwillnotletyoubeartheagonyofnotknowing.

YesIloveyou,Iswearit.Oneverygrainofsaltintheocean—onallmytears.IfoundyouwhenIreachedtheseventhsea,justasIhadstoppedlooking.

ItseemsalifetimeagothatIbegansearchingforyou.

Alifetimeofpainandsorrow.Ofdisappointmentandmissedopportunities.

AllIhadhopedfor.AllthethingsIcannevergetback.

WhenIamwithyou,Iwantfornothing.

InTwoParts

Youcomeandgosoeasily,

yourlifeisasyouknew—whilemineissplitintwo.

HowIenvysothehalfofme,wholivedbeforelove’sdue,whowasyettoknowofyou.

AQuestion

ItwasaquestionIhadwornonmylipsfordays—likealoosethreadonmyfavoritesweaterI

couldn’tresistpulling—despiteknowingitcouldallunravelaroundme.“Doyouloveme?”Iask.

InyourhesitationIfoundmyanswer.

ADedication

Shelendsherpen,tothoughtsofhim,thatflowfromit,inhersolitary.

Forsheishispoet,Andheisherpoetry.

ADream

AstheEarthbeganspinningfasterandfaster,wefloatedupwards,handslockedtightlytogether,eyessad andbewildered.Wewatchedasour facesgrewyounger and realized theEarthwas spinning inreverse,movingusbackwardsintime.

ThenwereachedapointwhereInolongerknewwhoyouwereandIwasgraspingthehandsofastranger.ButIdidn’tletgo.Andneitherdidyou.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ihadmyfirstdreamaboutyoulastnight.Really?Shesmiles.Whatwasitabout?Idon’trememberexactly,butthewholetimeIwasdreaming,Iknewyouweremine.

FadingPolaroid

Myeyeswerethefirsttoforget.ThefaceIoncecradledbetweenmyhands,nowablur.Andyourvoiceisslowlydriftingfrommymemory,likeafadingpolaroid.ButthewayIfeltisstillcrystalclear.Likeitwasyesterday.

TherearePhilosopherswhoclaimthepast,present,andfutureallexistattheonetime.AndthewayI

havefelt,thewayIfeel—thatbittersweetachebetweenwantingandhaving—isevidenceoftheirtheory.

IfeltyoubeforeIknewyouandIstillfeelyounow.Andinthatbriefmomentbetween—wrappedin

yourarmsthinking,howluckyIam,howluckyIam,howluckyIam—

HowluckyIwas.

OdetoSorrow

Hereyes,aclosedbook,herheart,alockeddoor;shewritesmelancholylikeshe’sliveditbefore.

Sheoncelovedinaway,youcouldnotunderstand;heleftherinpiecesandapeninherhand.

Theodetohersorrow

inthelifeshehasled—herscratchesonpaper,thewordstheyhavebled.

TheProfessor

Astreakof lightflashesacrossthesky.Thickheavyraindropspoundtheunevendirtfloor, littered

with dried leaves and twigs. She follows closely behind him, clutching an odd contraption—arectangular device attached with a long, squiggly, antenna. “You were right about the storm,Professor!” she yells over the howling wind. “Yes, my assistant!” he cries, voice charged withexcitement,asheholdsup the long,metal conductor.She stumblesovera logashe reachesout tocatchher.

Theytumbleonthedrygrasslaughing.Hetossesasidethebent,silvercoathanger,wrappinghisarmsaroundherwaist.Thelittletransistorradiofallsfromherhands.

Thesunpeeksthroughthetreetops.

Shethinksoftheirfirstconversation.“Ilivebyaforest,”hesaid,describingitinsuchawaythatwhenshecametoscalethosecrooked,windingstairs,itwaslikeshehadseenitathousandtimesbefore.Asifit had always been there, waiting to welcome her. Like the pretty, sunlit room that remainedunfurnished,sittingemptyinhishouse,nowfilledwithherpaintsandbrushes.

ShewouldfondlycallhimherFrankenstein,thismanwhowasapatchworkofallthethingsshehad

everlongedfor.Hegavehersuchgifts—notthekindthatwereputinboxes,butthesortthatfilledher with imagination, breathing indescribable happiness into her life. One day, he built her agreenhouse.“Soyoucancreateyourlittlemonstrousplants,”heexplained.

Heshowedherhowtocatchthestraybutterfliesthatflutteredfromtheirelusiveneighbors,whowererumoredtofarmthemforcosmeticuse.Shewouldlisteninmorbidfascinationashedescribedhowthehelplessinsectswerecruellydismembered,beforetheirfragilewingswerecrushedandgroundintoafinepowder.“Yourlipswouldlookbeautiful,paintedwithbutterflywings,”hewouldteaseher.

“Never!”she’dcry,alarmed.

Theyspentmuchoftheirdaysalone,intheirpeacefulsanctuary,apartfromthelittlevisitorwhocameonweekends.Whentheweatherwasgood,thethreeofthemwouldventureout,pastthewornjettyandpicnic on their little beach.Hewouldwatch themproudly,marveling at the startling contrastbetween the two thingshe lovedmost in theworld.His sonwithhair of spungold, playing at hisfavoriterockpoolandchatteringanimatedlyinhissingsongvoice.She,withasmall,amusedsmileonhertinylips,ravenhairtousledbytheseawind.Shewasdifferentfromanythinghehadeverknown.

TheKeeper

Youwerelikeadream,IwishIhadn’tsleptthrough.

WithinitIfelldeeper,thanyourheartwouldcaretoletyou.

Ithoughtyouwereakeeper,IwishIcouldhavekeptyou.

You

TherearepeopleIwillneverknowandtheirliveswillstillensue;thosethatcouldhavelovedmesoandI’llneverwonderwho.

Ofallthethingstocomeandgo,thereisnooneelselikeyou.

ThethingsIneverthinkabout—andtheonlythingIdo.

Us

Ilovehimandhelovesme.

Wespendeverymomenttogether.Whensleeppartsus,weoftenmeetinourdreams.

Iliketotakenapsthroughouttheday.Likeacat,hesays.Heisacatperson.

Hethinksmyeyesarebeautifulandstrange.Hehasneverseeneyeslikemineupclosebefore.

Hesaystheylookathimwithdaggerswhenhehasdonesomethingwrong.Likewhenheforgetstoorderolivesonmyhalfofthepizza.

HethinksIamespeciallycutewhenangry.

WeargueoverwhoseturnitistoputtheDVDintheplayer.SometimesnoonewinsandweendupwatchingbadTV.Whichisneverreallyabadthing.

Heneverimaginedhewouldbewithsomeonelikeme.

Now,hesays,hecan’timaginehimselfwithanyoneelse.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

We’rekids,aren’twe?Yes,kidswithgrown-uppowers.

SwanSong

Herheartisplayedlikewell-wornstrings;inhereyes,

thesadnesssings—ofonewhowasdestinedforbetterthings.

DeadPoets

Herpoetryiswrittenontheghostoftrees,whisperedonthelipsoflovers.

Asalittlegirl,shewoulddriftinandoutoflibrariesfilledwithdeadpoetsandtheirmuskyscent.She

heldtheminherhandsandbreathedthemin—wantingsomuchtobepartoftheirworld.

Itwasn’t longbeforeEmilybeganspeakingtoher, thenSylviaandKatherine; theirvoices rang inunison,hauntingandbeautiful.Theytoldheronedayherpoetrywouldbewrittenontheghostoftreesandwhisperedonthelipsoflovers.

Butitwouldcomeataprice.

Thereisn’tathingIwouldnotgladlygive,shethought,tojoinmyidolsonthosedustyshelves.Tobeimmortal.

As if reading hermind, the voices of the dead poets cried out in alarm andwarned her about the

greatestheartacheofall—howeverystrokeofpenthereafterwouldopenthesamewoundoverandoveragain.

Whatisthecauseofsuchgreatheartache?Sheasked.Theyheardthekeenanticipationinhervoiceandweresorryforher.

Thegreatestheartachecomesfromlovinganothersoul,theysaid,beyondreason,beyonddoubt,withnohopeofsalvation.

Itwasonhersixteenthbirthdaythatshefirstfellinlove.Withaboywhobroughtherredrosesandwhitelies.Whenhebrokeherheart,shecriedfordays.

Thenhopeful,shesatwithapeninherhand,poisedovertheblankwhitesheet,butitrefusedtodrawblood.

Manybirthdayscameandwent.

Onebyone,shelovedthemandjustaseasily,theywerelosttoher.Somewhereamidstthecarnations

andforget-me-nots,betweenthelilacsandmistletoe—sheslowlylearnedaboutlove.Littlebylittle,herheartbloomedintoabouquetofhopeandecstasy,oftendernessandbetrayal.

Thenshemetyou,andyoubroughtherdandelionseachday,soshewouldneverwantforwishes.She

lookeddeepintoyoureyesandsawtheverybestofherselfreflectedback.

Andshelovedyou,beyondreason,beyonddoubt,andwithnohopeofsalvation.

Whenshefeltyourloveslippingawayfromher,shekneltatthealtar,beforeallthegreatpoets—andshebegged.Shenolongercaredforpoetryorimmortality,sheonlywantedyou.

But all the dead poets could dowas look on, helpless and resignedwhile everything she had everwishedforcametrueinthecruelestpossibleway.

Shelearnedtoolatethatpoetsareamongthedamned,cursedtocommiserateovertheirloss,toreach

withoutstretchedhands—handsthatwillneverknowtheweightofwhattheyseek.

LostandFound

Asunkenchest,ontheoceanground,toneverbefoundwaswherehefoundme.

Therehestirred,myeverythought,myeveryword,sogently,soprofoundly.

NowIamkept,fromdreamsIdreamt,whenonceIslept,sosoundly.

Entwined

Thereisaline

I’myettosever—itgoesfrommetoyou.

Therewasatimeyousworeforever,andIamcaptivetoitspull.

Ifyouwerekind,

you’dcutthetether—butImustaskyoutobecruel.

SoulMates

Idon’tknowhowyouaresofamiliartome—orwhyitfeelslesslikeIamgettingtoknowyouandmoreasthoughIamrememberingwhoyouare.Howeverysmile,everywhisperbringsmeclosertothe

impossibleconclusionthatIhaveknownyoubefore,Ihave lovedyoubefore—in another time, a

differentplace—someotherexistence.

TheMost

Youmaynotknowthereasonwhy,foratimeIwasn’tI.

Therewasamanwhocameandwent,onhimeverybreathwasspent.

I’msorryIforgot

allelse—itwasthemostIeverfelt.

SundayswithMichael

Iholdmybreathandcounttoten,Istandandsit,thenstandagain.Icrossandthenuncrossmylegs,theplanesareflyingoverhead.

Thedialturnswitheverytwist,aroundthewatch,aroundhiswrist.Restingtherewithpeninhand,whocouldeverunderstand?

ThewayhewritesofallIdream,thingskindyetcruelandin-between,whereunderneaththosetwistedtrees,aprettygirlfallentoherknees.

Whocouldknowtheworldwe’vespun?Ishrugmyshouldersandholdmytongue.Iholdmybreathandcounttoten,Istandandsit,thenstandagain.

ForYou

HerearethethingsIwantforyou.

Iwantyoutobehappy.Iwantsomeoneelsetoknowthewarmthofyoursmile,tofeelthewayIdidwhenIwasinyourpresence.

Iwantyoutoknowhowhappyyouoncemademeandthoughyoureallydidhurtme,intheend,Iwasbetterforit.Idon’tknowifwhatwehadwaslove,butifitwasn’t,Ihopenevertofallinlove.Becauseofyou,IknowIamtoofragiletobearit.

Iwant you to remembermy lips beneath your fingers andhowyou toldme things younever toldanothersoul.IwantyoutoknowthatIhavekeptsacred,everythingyouhadentrustedinmeandIalwayswill.

Finally,IwantyoutoknowhowsorryIamforpushingyouawaywhenIhadonlymeanttobringyoucloser.AndifIeverfeltlikehometoyou,itwasbecauseyouweresafewithme.Iwantyoutoknowthatmostofall.

Amends

Iwonderiftherewillbeamorningwhenyou’llwakeupmissingme.Thatsomeincidentinyourlifewouldhavefinallytaughtyouthevalueofmyworth.Andyouwillfeelasurgeoflonging,whenyourememberhowIwasgoodtoyou.

WhenthisdaycomesIhopeyouwilllookforme.IhopeyouwilllookwiththekindofconvictionI’d

alwayshopedfor,butneverhadfromyou.BecauseIwanttobefound.AndIhopeitwillbeyou—whofindsme.

AWayOut

Doyouknowwhatitislike,tolieinbedawake;withthoughtstohauntyoueverynight,ofallyourpastmistakes.

Knowingsleepwillsetitright—ifyouwerenottowake.

DeadButterflies

Isometimesthinkaboutthefragilityofglass—ofbrokenshardstearingagainstsoftskin.Whenintruth, it is the transparency thatkillsyou.Thepainof seeing throughto somethingyoucanneverquitetouch.

ForyearsI’vekeptyouinsecret,behindaglassscreen.I’vewatchedhelplesslyasdayafterday,yournewgirlfriendbecomesyourwifeandthenlater,themotherofyourchildren.Thenrealizingtheirony

inthinkingyouweretheoneunderglasswheninfactithasbeenme—apinnedbutterfly—staticandunmoving,watchingwhileyourotherlifeunfolds.

Lullabies

Ibarelyknowyou,shesays,voiceheavywithsleep.Idon’tknowyourfavoritecolororhowyoulikeyourcoffee.Whatkeepsyouupatnightorthelullabiesthatsingyoutosleep.Idon’tknowathingaboutthefirstgirlyouloved,whyyoustoppedlovingherorwhyyoustilldo.

Idon’tknowhowmanymillionsofcellsyouaremadeofandiftheyhaveanyideatheyarepartofsomethingsobeautifulandunimaginablyperfect.

Imaynothaveaclueaboutanyofthesethings,butthis—sheplacesherhandonhischest—thisIknow.

AllThereWas

Mygreatestlessonlearnt,youweremineuntilyouweren’t.

Itwasyouwhotaughtmeso,thegraceinlettinggo.

Thetimewehadwasall—therewasnotamomentmore.

Nostalgia

Doyourememberourfirstday?Thefogliftedandallaroundusweretreeslinkinghands,likechildrenplaying.

Ourfirstnight,whenyoustoodbythedoor,conflicted,asIsattherewithmykneestuckedundermychin,andsmiling.

ThenrainbowsarchingoverandthemostbeautifulsunsetsIhaveeverseen.

Howthewindhowlsastheseawhispers,Imissyou.

Comebacktome.

BeforeThereWasYou

WhenIusedtolookabove,allIsawwassky;andeverysongthatIwouldsing,Isungnotknowingwhy.

AllIthoughtandallIfelt,wasonlyjustbecause,

neverwasiteveryou—untilitwasalltherewas.

ThatDay

Irememberourhighsinhues,likethecolorofhiseyesasthesunwassetting;thepaleofhishandsinmine,andtheblueofhissmile.

Irememberoursorrowsinshades,likethegrayoftheshadows,whichloomedthatday,andthewhiteinhisliewhenhepromisedtostay.

LettingHimGo

There is a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater thanyourself.Atendersacrifice.

Likethepainedsilencefeltinthelostsongofamermaid;orthebentandbrokenfeetofadancingballerina.ItisineveryconsideredstepIamtakingintheoppositedirectionofyou.

ForgetMeNot

Thechoicewasonceyourchoosing,beforelosingbecamemyloss.Iwastherein

yourforgetting—untilIwasforgot.

ThePoet

Whydoyouwrite?heasked.

SoIcantakemyloveforyouandgiveittotheworld,Ireply.

Becauseyouwon’ttakeitfromme.

Always

Youwereyou,andIwasI;weweretwobeforeourtime.

IwasyoursbeforeIknew,andyouhavealwaysbeenminetoo.

ABadDay

Whenthoughtsofallbutone,arethoseIamkeeping.

Whensorethoughthereisnone,forwhomIamweeping.

Acurtaindrawnbeforethesun,andIwishtogoonsleeping.

Reasons

IwishIknewwhyheleft.Whathisreasonswere.Whyhechangedhismind.

Foralltheseyears,Ihaveturneditoverinmyhead—allthepossibilities—yetnoneofthemmakeanysense.

AndthenIthink,perhapsitwasbecauseheneverlovedme.Butthatmakestheleastsenseofall.

Thoughts

Dawnturnstoday,asstarsaredispersed;whereverIlay,Ithinkofyoufirst.

Thesunhasarisen,thesky,asadblue.

Iquietlylisten—thewindsingsofyou.

Thethoughtsweeachkeep,thatareclosesttoheart,

wethinkaswesleep—andyou’realwaysmylast.

Jealousy

Itwasthewayyouspokeabouther.

Withanimosity,regret,disdain

andunderneathitall—justahintofpride.

SadSongs

Oncetherewasaboywhocouldn’tspeakbutownedamusicboxthatheldeverysonginalltheworld.Onedayhemetagirlwhohadneverheardasinglemelodyinherentirelifeandsoheplayedherhisfavoritesong.Hewatchedwhileherfacelitupwithwonderasthemusicfilledtheskyandthepoetryoflyricsmovedherinawayshehadneverfeltbefore.

Hewouldplayhissongsforherdayafterdayandshewouldsitbyhimquietly—neverseemingtomindthathecouldonlyspeaktoherthroughsong.Shelovedeverythingheplayedforher,butofthemall—shelovedthesadsongsbest.Sohebegantoplaythemmoreandmoreuntileventually,sadsongswereallshewouldhear.

Oneday,henoticedithadbeenaverylongtimesinceherlastsmile.Whenheaskedherwhy,shetookbothhishandsinhersandkissedthemwarmly.Shethankedhimforhisgiftofmusicandpoetrybutaboveallelse—forshowinghersadnessbecauseshehadknownneitherofthesethingsbeforehim.Butitwasnowtimeforhertogoaway—tofindsomeonewhocouldshowherwhathappinesswas.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Doyourememberthesongthatwasplayingthenightwemet?No,butIremembereverysongIhaveheardsinceyouleft.

Acceptance

TherearethingsImissthatIshouldn’t,andthoseIdon’tthatIshould.

Sometimeswewant

whatwecouldn’t—sometimeswelovewhowecould.

Wallflower

Shrinkinginacorner,pressedintothewall;dotheyknowI’mpresent,amIhereatall?

Isthereawrittenrulebook,

thattellsyouhowtobe—alltherightthingstotalkabout—thateveryonehasbutme?

SlowlyIamwithering—aflowerdeprivedofsun;

longingtobelongto—somewhereorsomeone.

ATimeline

YouandIagainstarule,setforusbytime.

Amarkerdrawntoshowourend,etchedintoitsline.

Thebriefestmoment

sharedwithyou—thelongestonmymind.

Angels

It happens like this.One day youmeet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feelmore

connected to this stranger than anyone else—closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps

becausethispersoncarriesanangelwithinthem—onesenttoyouforsomehigherpurpose,toteachyouanimportantlessonortokeepyousafeduringaperiloustime.Whatyoumustdoistrustinthem

—eveniftheycomehandinhandwithpainorsuffering—thereasonfortheirpresencewillbecomeclearinduetime.

Thoughhere isawordofwarning—youmaygrowto lovethispersonbutremembertheyarenotyourstokeep.Theirpurposeisn’ttosaveyoubuttoshowyouhowtosaveyourself.Andoncethisisfulfilled, the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life.Theywill be astrangertoyouoncemore.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It’ssodarkrightnow,Ican’tseeanylightaroundme.That’sbecausethelightiscomingfromyou.Youcan’tseeitbuteveryoneelsecan.

HeandI

Whenwordsrundry,hedoesnottry,nordoI.

Weareonpar.

Hejustis,Ijustam,andwejustare.

LosingYou

IusedtothinkIcouldn’tgoadaywithoutyoursmile.Withouttellingyouthingsandhearingyourvoiceback.

Then,thatdayarrivedanditwassodamnhardbutthenextwasharder.Iknewwithasinkingfeelingitwasgoingtogetworse,andIwasn’tgoingtobeokayforaverylongtime.

Becauselosingsomeoneisn’tanoccasionoranevent.Itdoesn’t justhappenonce.Ithappensoverandoveragain.IloseyoueverytimeIpickupyourfavoritecoffeemug;wheneverthatonesongplaysontheradio,orwhenIdiscoveryouroldt-shirtatthebottomofmylaundrypile.

IloseyoueverytimeIthinkofkissingyou,holdingyou,orwantingyou.Igotobedatnightandloseyou,whenIwishIcouldtellyouaboutmyday.Andinthemorning,whenIwakeandreachfortheemptyspaceacrossthesheets,Ibegintoloseyoualloveragain.

TheThingsWeHide

Andso,Ihaveputawaythephotographs,everytraceofyouIknow.

Thethingsthatseemtomatterless,aretheonesweputonshow.

Tsunamis

Becarefulaboutgivingyourhearttooquickly,Iwastold.Boysonlyhaveonethingontheirminds,theycautioned.

Idon’tknowifhetrulylovesme—howcanIbesure?Ican’tsaywithanyconvictionthathewon’t

breakmyheart—buthowcouldIhavestoppedhimfromtakingwhatwasalreadyhis?

Hesweptinlikeatsunami,waveafterwave,andIdidn’tstandachance.Allthosewarnings,allthe

thingstheytriedtopreparemefor—lostinaninstant—totheenormityofwhatIfelt.

AlwayswithMe

YourloveIoncesurrendered,hasneverleftmymind.

Myheartisjustastender,asthedayIcalledyoumine.

Ididnottakeyouwithme,butyouwereneverleftbehind.

MorethanLove

Lovewascruel,asIstoodproud;heshowedmeyouandIwasbowed.

Hedeftlydealt

hisswiftestblow—Ifellfurtherthan,Iwasmeanttogo.

Andheashamed,ofwhathe’dcaused,knewfromthen,thatIwasyours.

Thathe,anecho

andyou,thesound—Ilovedyoumorethanloveallowed.

FirstLove

BeforeIfellinlovewithwords,withsettingskies

andsingingbirds—itwasyouIfellinlovewithfirst.

ThatNight

It was one of those nights that you are not altogether sure really did happen. There are nophotographs,noreceipts,noscrawledjournalentries.

Just the memory sitting in my mind, like a half-blown dandelion, waiting to be fractured,dismembered.Waitingtodisintegrateintonothing.

AsIclosemyeyes, thepicturesplay likeablurrymontage.Icanseeusdrivingforhours,until the

streetsignsgrewlessfamiliar—theflickeringlamplightsgivingawaytostars.Thensittingacrossfromyouinthatquiet,littleItalianplace.Yourhandspushingtheplatesaside,reachingacrossformine.

Theconversationswehadabouteverythingandnothing.Andkissingyou.HowIrememberthat.

Itwasoneofthosenightsthatmymindstillcan’tbesureof.ThatwondersifIwaseverthereatall.Yetinmyheart,itisasthoughI’veneverleft.

DéjàVu

Isawitonce,Ihavenodoubt;butnowcan’tplaceitswhereabouts.

Itrytothinkit,timeandtime;butwhatitis,won’tcometomind.

Aword,ascent—afeeling,past.Itwillnotshow,thoughmuchI’veasked.

Andwhenitcomes,

Isoonforget—thisishowitfelt,whenwefirstmet.

AStranger

ThereisaloveIreminisce,likeaseedI’veneversown.

OflipsthatIamyettokiss,andeyesnotmetmyown.

Handsthatwraparoundmywrists,andarmsthatfeellikehome.

IwonderhowitisImiss,thesethingsI’veneverknown.

Signposts

Whatifcertainpeopleweresignpostsinyourlife?Representationsofgoodorbad.Likeanoldfriendyou see across a crowded street,oneyouwavehello to,beforehurryingon.The last timeyou sawthem,thingstookaturnfortheworseand,assadasitmayseem,theyhaveunwittinglybecomean

omen—aprecursorofbadluck.

Orthatonepersonwhomyourarelyspeakwith,whocanalwaysbefoundrightwhereyouleftthem.

Youcarrytheirsmilewithyoulikeatalisman—forwhateverreason,theirpresence inyour lifewillalwaysbringthepromiseofbetterdays.

Thenthereistheboyyoucanneverstopthinkingabout.Wheneveryouseehisname,ittripsyouup.Evenifit’sonethatbelongstomanyothers,evenifhebelongstosomeoneelse.

Youknowheisasymbolofyourweakness,yourKryptonite.Howherushesinlikewildfireandburnsthrougheverythingyouworkedsohardtobuildsincehelastleftyouinashes.

Soyoudotheonlythingyouknowhow—youputasmanymilesasyoucanbetweenhim.Asmanyroadblocksand traffic lights asyoucangather.Thenyoubuildabold red stop sign rightonyour

doorstep,knowingallthestopsignsintheworldcouldneverholdhim—theycanonlyaskhimtostayawhile.

Clocks

Hereintime,youaremine;myhearthasnotsunglouder.

Idonotknow

whyIloveyouso—theclockknowsnotitshour.

Yetitisclear,toallthat’shere,thattimeistoldbyseeing.

Eventhoughclocksdonotknow,itisthereasonfortheirbeing.

NoOther

ThereissomeoneIkeepinmyheart—Ilovehimandnooneelse.Itisalovethatwillonlydiewithme.

Youmay ask,death could be some time away—what if from now to then, you lovesomeonenew?

WellIcantellyou,thereisonlyonelove.Ifanypersonclaimstohavelovedtwiceinalltheirlife—theyhavenotlovedatall.

WishfulThinking

Yousaythatyouareoverme,

myheart—itskips,itsinks.

Iseeyounowwithsomeonenew,Istare,Istare,Iblink.

SomedayI’llbeoveryou,Iknow,

Iknow—Ithink.

Soundtracks

Heoncetoldmeabouthisloveforlyrics.Howthewordsspoketohimlikepoetry.

Iwouldoftenwonder abouthis playlist and theghostswho lived there.The faces he saw and thevoicesheheard.Thesoundtracktoathousandtragicendings,realorimagined.

ThefirsttimeIsawhim,Inoticedhowhauntedhiseyeswere.AndIwasdrawntohim,inthewayamelodydrawsacrowdtothedancefloor.Pulledbyinvisiblestrings.

NowIwonderifIamoneofthoseghosts—ifIamsomewhere,driftingbetweenthosenotes.IhopeIam.Ihopewhenevermysongplays,Iamthere,whisperinginhisear.

TheEnd

“Idon’tknowwhattosay,”hesaid.

“It’sokay,”shereplied,“Iknowwhatweare—andIknowwhatwe’renot.”

BeachBall

Doyouknowthatfeeling?Whenit’slikeyou’velostsomethingbutcan’trememberwhatitwas.It’sasthoughyou’re trying sodesperately to thinkof awordbut itwon’t come to you.You’ve said it a

thousandtimesbeforeanditwasalwaysthere—rightwhereyouleftit.Butnowyoucan’trecall it.Youtryandtrytomakeitappearanditalmostdoes,butitneverdoes.

TherearetimeswhenIthinkitcouldsurface—whenIsenseitatthetipofmytongue.WhenIfeelitstrugglingtoburstfrommychestlikeabeachballthatcanonlybeheldbeneaththewaterforsolong.

Icanfeelitstirringeachtimesomeonehurtsme.WhenIsmileatastrangerandtheydon’tsmileback.WhenItrustsomeonewithasecretandtheybetrayme.WhensomeoneIadmiretellsmeIamnotgoodenough.

Idon’tknowwhat it isorwhatIhave lost.ButIknow itwas important, Iknow itoncemademehappy.

AfraidtoLove

Iturnaway

andclosemyheart—tothepromiseoflovethatisluring.

Forthepasthastaughttonotbecaught,inwhatisnot

worthpursuing—

ToneverdothethingsI’vedonethatoncehadledtomyundoing.

Time

YouweretheoneIwantedmosttostay.

Buttimecouldnotbekeptatbay.

Themoreitgoes,

themoreit’sgone—themoreittakesaway.

Wounded

Abruiseistenderbutdoesnotlast,itleavesmeasIalwayswas.

ButawoundItakemuchmoretoheart,forascarwillalwaysleaveitsmark.

Andifyoushouldaskwhichoneyouare,

myansweris—youareascar.

LostThings

Doyouknowwhenyou’ve lostsomething—likeyourfavoritet-shirtorasetofkeys—andwhilelookingforit,youcomeacrosssomethingelseyouoncemissedbuthavelongsinceforgotten?Wellwhateveritwas,therewasapointwhereyoudecidedtostopsearching,maybebecauseitwasnolonger

requiredoranewreplacementwasfound.Itisalmostasifitneverexistedinthefirstplace—untilthatmomentofrediscovery,aflashofrecognition.

Everyonehasone—aninventoryoflostthingswaitingtobefound.Yearningtobeacknowledgedfortheworththeyonceheldinyourlife.

IthinkthisiswhereIbelong—amongallyourotherlostthings.Acrumplednoteatthebottomofadraweroranoldphotographpressedbetweenthepagesofabook.IhopesomedayyouwillfindmeandrememberwhatIoncemeanttoyou.

TheGirlHeLoves

TherewasamanwhoIonceknew,formetherewasnoother.Theclosertolovingmehegrew,themorehewouldgrowfurther.

Itriedtolovehimashisfriend,thentolovehimashislover;

butheneverlovedmeintheend—hisheartwasforanother.

Patience

PatienceandLoveagreedtomeetatasettimeandplace;beneaththetwenty-thirdtreeintheoliveorchard.Patiencearrivedpromptlyandwaited.Shecheckedherwatcheverysooftenbutstill,therewasnosignofLove.

Wasitthetwenty-thirdtreeorthefifty-sixth?Shewonderedanddecidedtocheck,justincase.Asshemadeherwayovertothefifty-sixthtree,Lovearrivedattwenty-three,wherePatiencewasnoticeablyabsent.

Lovewaitedandwaitedbeforedecidinghemusthavethewrongtreeandperhapsitwasanotherwheretheyweresupposedtomeet.

Meanwhile,Patiencehadarrivedatthefifty-sixthtree,whereLovewasstillnowheretobeseen.

Bothbegintodriftaimlesslyaroundtheoliveorchard,almostmeetingbutneverdo.

Finally,Patience,whowasfeeling lostandresigned,foundherselfbeneaththesametreewhereshebegan.Shestoodthereforbarelyaminutewhentherewasataponhershoulder.

ItwasLove.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Whereareyou?”sheasked.“Ihavebeensearchingallmylife.”“Stoplookingforme,”Lovereplied,“andIwillfindyou.”

SecondChances

Thepathfromyouextending,Icouldnotseeitscourse—ortheclosertoyouIwasgetting,thefurtherfromyouI’dwalked.

ForIwasmovinginacircle,

notalineasIhadthought—thestepsItookawayfromyou,weretakingmetowards.

Dyslexia

There were letters I wrote you that I gave up sending, long before I stopped writing. I don’tremembertheircontents,butIcanrecallwithabsoluteclarity,yournamescrawledacrossthepages.Icouldneverquitecontainyoutothosemessysheetsofblueink.Icouldnotstopyoufromovertakingeverythingelse.

Iwroteyournameoverandover—onscrapsofpaper,inbooksandonthebackofmywrists.Icarveditlikesacredmarkingsintotreesandthetopsofmythighs.Yearswentbyandthescarshavevanished,but the sting has not leftme. Sometimes when I read a book, parts will lift from the pages in ananagramofyourname.Likeacodetoremindmeit’snotover.Likedyslexiainreverse.

AllorNothing

Ifyoulovemeforwhatyousee,onlyyoureyeswouldbeinlovewithme.

Ifyoulovemeforwhatyou’veheard,thenyouwouldlovemeformywords.

Ifyoulovemyheartandmind,thenyouwouldloveme,forallthatI’m.

Butifyoudon’tlovemyeveryflaw,

thenyoumustn’tloveme—notatall.

Metamorphosis

Iamsomebodyelse’sstory.Thegirlwhoservedtheirdrink,thepersontheypushedpastonacrowded

street,theonewhobroketheirheart.Ihavehappenedinsomanyplaces,tosomanypeople—theessenceofmelivesoninthesenuances,thesemoments.

Yet never have I been bolder or brighter than I am with you.Not once have I ever felt so alive.Whatevervesselwepourourselvesinto,mineisnowoverflowing,brimmingwithlife.Itistranscendingintosomethingnew.

Hands areno longerhands.They are caresses.Mouths areno longermouths.They arekisses.My

nameisnolongeraname,itisacall.Andloveisnolongerlove—loveisyou.

HerWords

Loveagirlwhowritesandlivehermanylives;youhaveyettofindher,beneathherwordsofguise.

Kissherblue-inkedfingers,forgivethepenstheymarked.

Thestainofyourlipsuponher—theoneshecan’tdiscard.

Forgethertatteredmemories,orthepagesotherstook;

youarehereverafter—theheroofherbook.

Closure

Liketimesuspended,

awoundunmended—youandI.

Wehadnoending,nosaidgood-bye.

Forallmylife,I’llwonderwhy.

Acknowledgments

ThankyoutoAlZuckermanandWritersHouseforyourongoingguidanceandsupport.

ToKirstyandherteamatAndrewsMcMeelforyourpassionanddedication.

ToOllieFaudet,thelittleoracle.

Tomyfamilyandfriendswithallmylove.

Tomyreaders,wordscannotexpresshowmuchyoursupportmeanstome.

AbouttheAuthor

TheworkofpoetandartistLangLeavswingsbetweenthewhimsicalandwoeful,expressingacomplexitybeneathitschildlikefacade.

LangisarecipientoftheQantasSpiritofYouthAwardandaprestigiousChurchillFellowship.

Her artwork is exhibited internationally and she was selected to take part in the landmarkPlayboyReduxshowcuratedbytheAndyWarholMuseum.

Shecurrentlyliveswithherpartnerandcollaborator,Michael,inalittlehousebythesea.

IndexPartI-HereandNowAftertheStormALoveStoryAPoemAWriter’sMuseAWriter’sPleaBirthdaysCollisionDearLoveFaithHappinessHerHomeHopeInLoveIntheEndLanguageLoveMemoriesNewLightNowandThenNumbersPiecesofYouPoetryReachingOutRevelationSheStardustStowawaySundayBestTheNightTheRoseTheSaddestThingTheStrangerVirtualLoveWaiting

PartII-RememberWhenABadDayAbouttheAuthorAcceptanceAcknowledgmentsADedicationADreamAfraidtoLoveAfterYouAllorNothingAllThereWasAlwaysAlwayswithMeAmendsAnArtistinLoveAngelsAQuestion

AStrangerATimelineAToast!AWayOutBeachBallBeforeThereWasYouBrokenHeartsClocksClosureDeadButterfliesDeadPoetsDéjàVuDyslexiaEntwinedFadingPolaroidFirstLoveForgetMeNotForYouHeandIHerWordsIndexInTwoPartsJealousyLettingHimGoLosingYouLostandFoundLostThingsLoveLostLullabiesMetamorphosisMorethanLoveMyHeartNoOtherNostalgiaOdetoSorrowPatiencePretextReasonsRoguePlanetsSadSongsSadThingsSeaofStrangersSecondChancesSignpostsSomeTimeOutSoulMatesSoulsSoundtracksSundayswithMichaelSwanSongThatDayThatNightTheEndTheGirlHeLovesTheKeeperTheMostThePoetTheProfessorTheSeventhSeaTheThingsWeHide

TheWandererThoughtsThreeQuestionsTimeTsunamisUsWallflowerWishfulThinkingWoundedYou

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