#26.

and you're there for me when i needed you,
with smart comments ready to fire,
or silly anecdotes of romantic nothings, nobody cares.
but always sitting/waiting/standing
with a free shoulder,
listening ears,
and open Heart.
never has the name 'asshole' been so endearing.
i love you.
(thank you)

#25.

click the button.
i dare you--
do it.
say sayonara to the past;
"we" are no longer
relevant
in present and future.
goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
but the ghosts of "we" cry from pictures,
with the flowers in our hair wilting,
and the ice cream cones in our hands melting.
i guess we should move on
now.

#24.

here's the thing: i know you're there.

but i can't see you, and you can't see me. it's like we're both part of some complex scheme that can't unfold until every bit and every piece is in place. we're putting together an thousand piece puzzle, you and i.

and, i hate puzzles and am terrible at them.

but i have faith you exist--i'm sure of it. as cheesy as it sounds, i can feel you there; in the way my Heart moves when i hear a particular phrase of music, when i read a familiar line, and when i feel the warmth of the sun beat down on my bare shoulders... you're everywhere and also, nowhere to be found.

but i think it's good for us both, because i don't think i'm ready to meet you yet. there's too much to do, too much to learn, and too much of me that needs to grow. so, here's a promise: one day, we'll find each other. and we'll love each other. and when we do, it will be wonderful: the kind of love that people write novels about or base movies upon.

one day.

#23.

i try, sometimes, to be a bigger person--
to forget bad memories by coating them with sugar.
(can't lie anymore; things are exactly what they seem.)
but after everything, the artificial sweetness still hangs about,
like the bad aftertaste of lemon drops in my mouth.
it ruins me sneakily, all the while pretending, pretending, pretending
to be for my well-being.
(cos you're never what you say you are.)
oh my, you're tricky.
(but it's so much easier being mean.)

#22.

"woe is me,"
is a popular diction.
many agree, but i must reconsider.
woe, to me, comes in form of chili bowls,
and crusty bread crumbs,
all adjoining, together, with soggy connections.

i do not wash dishes.

#21.

july, my sister, wore only white lace dresses and heart-shaped sunglasses. she tied her messy hair neatly into pigtails and smelled like freshly mown grass, rainfall, and sunshine. she liked picking dead dandelions and blowing away their fuzzy parts--sometimes, she would let me join in this mysterious and intricate ritual: "close your eyes," she whispered, while gently entrusting the frail flower into my small hands. closing my eyes, i would hear her mutter a little something and then, i felt a warm breath brush the tips of my fingers. when i opened my eyes, the air around me was encased in beautiful, mobile bits of white and heather grey. she said that they were made of pixie dust, like all things beautiful in the world: daisies, bubbles, dust bunnies, and music notes. at that time, she looked so pretty that i thought that maybe she,too, was made of this ethereal substance. july, my sister, disappeared when i was seventeen. sometimes, i think i see her out of the corner of my eye: she wears her white lace dress and heart-shaped sunglasses and is holding a bouquet of fresh yellow dandelions. and i think she sees me too, because sometimes we'd catch each other's glances and she waves a sad little notion. july, my sister, went back to her beginning, when i was, but, young and tender Seventeen.