Twenty Two Years

Twenty two years I have lived.

I have grown. 

Have felt. 

Twenty two years I have not found love, 

I have not received love,

Have not made love.

Twenty two years my heart has waited.

My heart has ached.

Has yearned.

Twenty two years of being polite.

Of being supportive.

Being patient.

Twenty two years of suppressed words.

Of suppressed feelings.

Suppressed desires.

Twenty two years without your eyes on mine.

Without your hands on mine.

Your lips on mine.

What will the next twenty two bring?

(b.m.)

Which?

Which is worse?

Never to have loved,

or

Never to have b

                              e

                                   e

                                                     n loved?

Which is worse?

A hollow heart,

or

A f

       o

         r

             s 

               a

                  k

                     e

                                      n heart?

(b.m.)

Ghosted

you had become a ghost,

a distant memory, slightly faded,

the words written in my journal.

i remember the night i told you goodbye.

when i yelled and screamed,

and promised that was the end of it. 

the nights that followed were cold.

too empty in the darkness, too alone,

the silence echoed. the tears whispered.

i learned to hear your name without crying. 

learned to smile at other men again.

 no longer searching for your face in theirs.

then i ran into you on the street one day and 

everything came pouring back. i hid it quite well 

behind the smile i had practiced. 

your smile. that smile that shook the ground

i stood on. the smile that i fell in love with. 

the one i tried so hard to forget.

i'd never felt love like what i had with you.

 it was indescribable. my heart ached from 

how hard it beat for you every day. 

i was a forest and you were a god damn match. 

carved from the same tree but you burned like hell 

and i was flammable.

you were ignited by our love. i was struck by 

the beauty and danger and raw power of your flame. 

until one day it burned out. 

and all that was left were ashes. dust left over from a 

wildfire. beneath, the embers still glowed with 

an unwavering passion.

i almost lost it. i almost broke like that god awful day. 

all of the pieces i glued back together, 

threatening to fall apart. 

but i didn't. we talked. mindless chit chat about

 how we've been. formalities. and then we parted. 

yet another goodbye.

i was left standing there in the street. processing. 

was he as broken as i was before? 

was he glued together like me?

i like to think so. that's the thing about love. 

it's excruciating. when you have it and after it's gone.

 a blessing and a curse. 

but it stays with us until we die. 

a score made on our hearts like tattoos of the past. 

they fade but never truly go away. 

we might have gone our separate ways, 

but we'll always have that. the love we shared. 

the kind they write books after. 

so once again you're a ghost,

a distant memory, slightly faded,

the words written in this poem.

always there, forever. 

-b.m.

Blind Courage

Good Evening, Moths. 

It is 1:30 in the morning. A time when one would normally be sleeping, refueling their body with tender sleep to prepare for the coming day. I, unfortunately, am not one of those lucky people. My soul calls for writing, and so I am here.......writing..

You see I have the mind of a highway at rush hour. Bustling with the noise of honking horns, or in my case, thoughts. Thoughts with the intention of arriving at some destination, but getting jammed with countless others, left to sit, rather impatiently, and fester. A traffic jam of the mind.

The only way to clear a traffic jam is to allow the cars to flow. And so shall my thoughts.

Metaphors aside, I do have one such thought that has earned the subject of tonight's post. And that thought is romanticized......well, romance. Let me set the stage:

It is a time before Facebook and Twitter and even the mighty Google. A time before a couple of clicks told you everything you needed to know about a person before even speaking a word to them. Bookstores were alive and visited often. (Yes, they used to have actual stores filled with actual books you could hold in your hands, as opposed to the electronic versions available on your kindle using one-click shopping on amazon that can be bought without so much as leaving your bed. Imagine that.) In order to truly get to know someone else, you had to talk in person. Take walks in the park. Get coffee together.

In this long lost world, there are two people talking to each other via online chatting. Neither know the identity of the other, they simply speak to one another willingly. They feel as if they truly connect with each other, despite never having met in person. They speak about books that make them feel some kind of way, thoughts they have over the course of a day, and so on. The woman owns a neighborhood bookstore, one she had inherited after the passing of her beloved mother. The man, quite ironically, is helping to open a big-chain bookstore across the way that inevitably leads to the downfall of the woman's dearly cherished store. Neither of them know how pivotal a role the other plays in their lives, and they even cross paths and interact on multiple occasions (with little warmth for another, of course.) The man finds out first who she is, he comes to the realization that she is everything he wants in his life, and fights to earn her affection. In the end they finally meet, and she simply says "I was so hoping it was you," after which they have the long awaited first kiss.

Some of you may be thinking, this kind of thing only happens in the movies. Well, you're absolutely right. I'll give you two big hints: the woman is Meg Ryan and the man is Tom Hanks.......

You've. Got. Mail.

The quintessential recipe for a classic romantic comedy, or rom com. As if "Sleepless in Seattle" wasn't enough, they had to go and make another one. If there's anything you need to know about me, it is 1) I am a utterly hopeless romantic who is convinced was born in the wrong decade, and 2) I am an absolute sucker for the sappy, predictable yet heart-wrenching movie genre known as rom coms. Nobody likes to admit they're a sucker for this stuff, but deep down we all are, don't lie to yourself...

Anyway, what was my point in all of this? Yes, the basis of this movie is totally cliche and probably unrealistic, but the idea that falling in love with someone's words rather than their looks is something worth delving into. It is such a foreign concept in today's technology driven world. There are apps where we "swipe left" or "swipe right" based solely on a person's image. We first judge a person's appearance before deciding whether they are worthy enough to start a conversation with, never have knowing whether they have a wealth of knowledge to share or a story worthy of telling. How many people have we passed on throughout our lives that may have been able to say the words you wish you could speak with someone else or discuss something you too are desperately passionate about? We'll never know the answer to that, but I can guarantee there have been a few.

We go through life thinking we know what we want in a person. We have an image ingrained in our minds early on of what our perfect match would look like and how tall they would be and how the story of how you two met would play out. We're so set on finding these attributes that a person who may be everything you'd hoped for is overlooked because they're a few inches too short or they're not what your parents envision for you. How can such minuscule infractions cause us to pass on even the tiniest chance of being with someone that gets you? Someone that understands you and all that you believe in? Someone who may love you?

I know, I know. Someone's been watching one too many romances lately. I'll try to tone down the dramatics.....In essence, love may be presented to you in many different forms. We just need to gather the courage to set aside our expectations of what it's supposed to look like, and deeply cherish having even the slightest chance of tasting what it is to love and be loved.

Have the courage, moths. xoxo