Isn't that wonderful?

Over the course of your life there will be many people who capture your heart. They may be funny or smart or strong, they may tell interesting stories or they may even harass you constantly.
But there will always be a person. One person, and only one, who will see your essence, the very soul that makes you up. They will see it, and unlike any others that may accidentally catch a glimpse of it, they will be fascinated. They will be drawn to you, they will want to pick you apart, to lay you bare, to inspect each and every piece of what makes you, you. And do you know what they will do after they find out every last thing about you? Every last flaw, quirk, and imperfection? They will fall in love with you. Isn’t that wonderful?

A Poet's Muse...

An emptiness takes over me

Struggling to break free from its mould

This heart is mildewed with aches so old 

Desirous to be loved incredibly 

In a way that only a poet could love his muse

Deeply, painfully, passionately

But then again...a muse is a muse is a muse...

a fleeting thing of beauty that catches the eyes 

Spills of ink that changes hues,

until another comes along and changes his views....

Crashing Storms...

If I close my eyes, I can hear the waves crash against my ribs. You once told me my love, that I had an ocean in my soul, with dark depths, that no human could ever reach; but I think the real sea lies between us, in this cold, unforgiving bed.

I try to reach for you within my dreams, but the current sweeps me away. Pulling me farther, farther away from your glittering shores.

Each time I think of you I am blinded by the blazing sunset. I wonder if you ever try to swim to me.

I open my eyes and lightning flashes across my skies; I can feel the breeze of the oncoming storm. The ghosts of lost loves tell me that I should turn back, but I have come too far. I stand tall against the winds because you must know, you are the storm I am willing to be destroyed in.

No...

When she shattered the last dinner plate on the kitchen floor,
She stopped breathing, the question was a scratch in her throat.
She said, “Do you even love me anymore?”
The words were as sharp as the shards now hiding behind table legs and cabinets.
He looked at her, his eyes quiet and graceful, his mouth holding the answer like a prison holds a murderer, afraid That releasing the sound would break much more than the silence.
He could hear her heart pulsing, every beat like another whisper of the conversation they hadn't had, and with Every contraction another swallowed scream that she buried into her heart.
And he wondered how a chest could hold a broken heart and how could the eyes hold so many tears and how could the mind hold such an emotional hurricane.

Without looking at her, he said, “no.”

She didn’t break like the silence...
She didn’t shatter like the dinner plates...
She didn't cause destruction like the hurricane...
She just closed her eyes, let the tears flow out and walked away with her broken heart...