January 15th, 2019


what a fool

and all the secrets you were to scared to share
were things i knew and loved.

and all the things i liked about you
you thought i never knew.

and when you finally said goodbye,
i loved you.

(no subject)

down by the flowerbed,
you were always trapped inside your own head.

i kissed your lips and you questioned everything,

the seasons turned and you questioned everything.

you loved your life and you hated your life and

the things i thought you said i guess you never really said.
(i heard them)

the day i met you i became an optimist,
and i never really needed anything else.
your words pierce the veil
and illuminated life for me

and i never needed anything again.

(no subject)

so my journal says that before this year, the last time i posted in january was back in 2011. which i guess isnt saying much because most of these recent years there are plenty more months that i did not post in than i did. an aside, having children is one of the brightest ways i've ever found to be poignant. all the bittersweet of life can be spent just giving them the sweet.

still, i cant help but wonder if january scares me. what... what kind of month comes after december? i'm pretty sure i posted once that 'december never ends', and in some ways, i've never really left that month.

all the happiness and the sadness that lives within me and fuels my need to live.. is winterborn.

sure, ive grown happy (and even plump) in the summer. but i never dont remember.

all the novembers and decembers follow me around.

A great sadness of mine was the death of Stieg Larsson, author of the Millennium book series. He died mid series and - for me - his work will ever be unfinished.

And I find my life filled with these unfinished stories, stories of brilliant love that were never let be told. All of these secret authors with their passions and their hurts swirl around inside my head and speak to me.

And it is so beautiful, but....

.....i miss them all so much.
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