Dear Sailor, You always liked the way her playful wind riffled through your hair. And then tore open all the knots of your careful navy shirt. You liked how she could take you places, breathtaking and new
And how she taught you that the sea can be so much more than blue. You couldn't get enough of the way her waves and curves caressed you. Then haunted you, warm lips and tender, every moment she was gone. Often she would scare you, when her storms brewed beyond her eyes. And how her corals, secrets, quartz and pearls made you forget the color of the skies. Sometimes you console yourself that you, my brave, have many mighty ships. Afraid to know that her depths have drowned even men who knew well how to swim. You paid no heed to the warning bells that all her wrecks have sung. You cannot claim to love the Ocean then curse when salt gets in your lungs.
Love,
The Blue

Blue Hydrangea

Blue Hydrangea

I saw the tiny, potted, blue hydrangea sitting on my desk and it stole my breath away. I felt my heart hurt a little as it seemed to pump slightly thicker blood out and through itself. There was a living, breathing flower on my desk. I blinked and looked around, asking others who owned it. They all told me it was mine since you put in on my desk. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Huh. You were actually paying attention.

You asked it in passing, and I answered in passing, off the top of my head. I like flowers yes, but I would prefer potted ones. So they wouldn't die after a week. So I could keep watering it daily. And think of the person who gave it every time I pay it any attention. And I love blue hydrangeas. And now there it was, staring at me with accusing eyes.

Months. I've been ignoring the signs for months. We've eaten every meal together for months. You went with me from one classroom to the next. You have walked me to my bus stop. You have always saved me seats to everything. You've even bought me soup that one time I had a cold. And now this. Does that mean they were all right? Did you like me romantically?

They were turning off the lights. I gingerly held the small clay pot and walked with the group out of the room. I was looking out for you. I saw you at the top of the stairs. It was easy to spot you since you were a head taller than everyone else no matter how much you try to hunch over. You waved at me and I gave you a restrained smile, not wanting to seem too eager.

"Hey, you left your flower on my desk." I opened, wanting you to say the flower pot was mine.

"Oh uhm, it's your if you want it." Not quite there.

"Oh, Where'd you get it?" I wanted you to tell me you got it specifically for me. Or that you saw it lying in some dumpster somewhere and somehow you remembered I wanted one. Something.

"Somewhere." You were not cooperating. Sometimes these things seem like pulling teeth. With my bare hands.

"Where?" I was persistent.

"Around." You were more stubborn.

"Did you buy--" Suddenly the pot was out of my careful grip... and it now lay in the appraising hands of a mutual workmate. I wanted to yell at her. Hiss and scratch her eyes out. Mine. That potted flower was mine. Outwardly I stayed calm.

"Can I have it Red?" She asked you. "I will give it to my mom. Maybe she'd allow me to go on that trip with you guys!"

My hands hurt from the effort not to turn into claws. And I looked at you, waiting for you to tell her it was mine. To say no. Something. You looked at me.

"Hey Blue, is it okay with you if she takes it?" No. Nooooooooooooo. 

"It's not mine to give is it?" I sighed inwardly in defeat.

The workmate walked away happily, leaving both of us there, staring into nothing. We walked home in silence that night.I felt more blue than that hydrangea.

Lighthouse

Dear Voyager,

I have learned that walking away is a deeper expression of love. Truer than pouring my ocean into your beautiful but unexpecting hands. You see, you cannot untaste salt. Nor can I unsay love. It will irrevocably bind you to me and in a way, anchor you to a shore you aren't sure is home. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You might feel burdened and these arms will then be nothing but cold iron shackles around your limbs.

So instead this flood within me will be the wind that fills your sails and sets you off to explore the vastness of all those breathtaking waves. Off to the world that for me has shrunk... into you, and the miles, the inches, the breath between us.

While you decide where home is, I already know that I want mine to be in your arms. But I will settle for this cliff and build myself into a great, tall light that will ever be searching and looking forward to your return. In the hopes that one day you will see me in relief, and finally recognize me as your always. The always that you will ever be for me.

I'm painfully aware that you cannot dam the sea so please forgive the smile that I give in return for the ever searching, yearning, question in your eyes. For now my love, I will be your beacon, not the fire to chase the cold, the song, that one day, I pray, calls you home.

I have learned to walk away, to show you what is love.

Hoping,
Lighthouse

You Are Always

You are the great advise that I never listen to.
The perfect full rainbow that I couldn't capture.
The beautiful, freezing, blue sea in winter.
The blue moon on the night of a storm.
You are the peaceful dream I somehow can't remember.
The melody I hum for weeks but never the words.
The decadent dessert I can't have because of the peanuts.
You are always my almost.

You are my favorite oscillation
The unforgettable maybe.
The longest wait.
The sweetest heartbreak.
The deepest sigh.
You are my three am lonely thoughts.
The salt on my pillow
You are the yearning that haunts me when it rains.
You are always, only, my someday.

But then you are the sudden smile when I am alone.
And somehow that makes it all worth it.
Even if
You are always never mine.

Dear Hopeful Heart

Dear Hopeful,

Stay away from a man with a broken heart.
He will be needy and more than ready to cling.
He will be vulnerable and you might always mistake it for a soft side
And be wrongfully impressed because he is in touch with his feelings...
Or worse, see his raw wounds as intimacy. It isn't.
All animals cry out when they are struck.

You will feel the swing of his moods but will choose to be patient.
He leaves you reeling but you will never fail to make excuses.
You keep thinking one day... one day.
So you white knuckle it through the pain of the cuts made on your hands
when you tried to piece together all his broken parts
And hope that they will heal. Later.
When his jagged, shattered parts are back in.
Love, what if its his skin that's abrasive and not his broken heart?
What if he was born with thorns?

You will be the lifesaver.
The driftwood he clings to.
As he fights his way to shore.
You will mistake the way his arms are wound tightly around you for a loving embrace.
Instead of simply a desperate bid at survival.
And once his toes touch sand and he heaves and lounges, wobbles at the shore, he will see himself finally safe and whole.
Then he will see you too.
But what use has an inland man for you when he no longer drowns?
It is rare for him to keep you.
Some will be grateful and thank you but always, leave you by the shore.
Some will push you back into the waves, with a noble tbought for you to save more lives.
Most will never look back. And leave you to drown in an angry bitter sea of your own making.
Don't say I didn't warn you.

Love,
The Mending

Eight Months

You have the broadest shoulders. 

I love laying my head on them.

And resting my slightly open lips

on that quiet juncture of your neck.

You say it tickles and I smile.
Then kiss it again for fun.

I breathe your clean scent in.
Interlaced fingers and rough skin.
You idly run your hand through my hair
Then rest it on my waist.
Our typical Tuesday dates.
The doorbell rings.
And my whole world shrinks
To desperation, guilt and panic.
For a moment I can't breathe.
You never seem to notice.
Honey, pizza's here.
You leave the room whistling.
Its been eight months since I left him
But with you I still feel like I'm cheating.

Singing on Thursdays

Yesterday, I put up a booth, of both balloons and kisses
By the third bench, of that park, a few steps from the well of wishes.
That became, the place where I, puckered up for many strangers
Instead of, the fateful place, where we first met each other.

I visited, that scarlet shop, to change the way I looked
I asked for bangs, to hide the spot, you kissed when I was blue.
I let them cut, my lengthy curls, to inches, two or three,
In hopes that I forget, the gently way, you tucked behind my ear.

I bring with me, always a book, that needed to be held.
So my hand, won't look for yours, like a hollow empty shell.
And I have bought, a dozen scarves, to wraparound myself
So I won't miss, your arms, your breadth and the spicy way you smell.

I quit the smokes, and lost the rasp, you say you always liked
So when I speak, I will not hear, my voice calling you mine.
Always at night, I fall asleep, right down the very center,
So if I wake up, maybe I'll forget, how you held me during winter.

I sang alone, under that lightpost, while onlookers dropped their dimes,
That became, my first performance, instead of, our last goodbye.
Now I can barely, recognize, this girl that plays my part.
Its all a waste, despite these ways, I could not change my heart.