an anthology from the things left unsaid.

"I want to write a novel about Silence . . . the things people don't say." virginia woolf

                                                                                                     
i. I'm always drawing parallels 

between all the things I'm not 

and all the things you are.

darling, i’m a paradox, 
more in love with the idea of love than being in love

i'm a hurricane,
with a trail of shipwrecks left in my wake 

and you're metaphors that I can't seem to draw out. 

ii. i kept that text you sent me at fourth of july
and i was tempted to text you on new years
just to let you know i was thinking of you 
(and all of the things that might have been). 

iii. people have always told me that 

your heart is where your mind lingers 

during the 5 o’ clock dinner-making 

or the 2 o’ clock morning insomnia attacks. 

i never believed them until  

you started wandering into my dreams. 

iv. i like how we were awkward words toppling ungracefully 
one over the other.

you reminded me that real life didn’t always taste of poetry 

rather it was glances sifting crowded places, 

clutching, grasping onto familiar faces 

blunt remarks and mumbled “i’m sorry’s” 

learning. always learning. 

and feeling the moment's weight of being 

completely and incandescently happy.

v. darling, i'm at the crossroads

of heart and logic.
don't you realize

you're giving me reasons to smile,

you're giving a wanderer a reason to stop running,

you're giving a sojourner a reason to stay? 

i'm beginning to see you in my future

and that's the most dangerous thing of them all. 

vi. i’m learning to be patient with myself. 

because i strive to be lionhearted but 

most of my attempts end with a tangled mess 

of emotions and wondering where that leaves us. 

vii. 11 months. 
i saw you for the first time in eleven months:
you were taller. i was older. you were surer. 
i was bolder. 
when i left eleven months prior, 
i had convinced myself that we were all in love
with people we shouldn't be. and leave it at that.
when i saw you, i remember dancing our impossibles
and twirling our improbables.  
i guess i never stopped, long after the music had. 

viii. i keep chasing people away because i can never accept 

that we were meant to be happy. 
and maybe i blame it on my wandering heart, 

i'm always restless, and too flighty to be understood. 

there are stories on the tip of my tongue that i haven’t lived out yet, 

so for now, i'm taking too many naps

to keep sleep at bay for those midnight epiphanies. 

i leave cups half full of coffee and tea around the house, 

and my parents say i’m absent-minded. 

(but i think it's only because i’m thinking of you). 

a graveyard of my meandering, incoherent thoughts
on the ones i have loved.
xx