Maybe we’ll share coffee again someday
in our favorite cafe.
And maybe we’ll hold hands, we’ll see.
Just the thought of it makes me giddy.
Maybe I’ll stare into your actual eyes
and not the screen.
Someday I’ll wake up
and know you’re not a dream.
It might soon, but maybes lie
But I still hope, don’t ask me why
Or when or how
But when this is through,
I will see you.
You didn’t read how our story ends
Even though it was your hand that wrote it.
Maybe you pictured yourself a hero
and I didn’t need saving.
Maybe you saw yourself kind
and I didn’t need kindness either.
But someday, when you figure out
how to love in earnest,
You’ll open up our book and read til the very end
And know that I never said it was all your fault.
The trouble with me is that I trouble with you.
Who knew of the trouble the two of us could brew?
I didn’t have a clue of what trouble could ensue
when I add a bit of me and you add a bit of you
Oh the tangles I undo when its trouble I pursue.
Someday you’ll realize who pours the coffee when you yawn;
Or who always has a dry sleeve for you to cry on.
Who opens the door when you need a place to crash in;
Who cheers the loudest when you stand up to sing.
In time you will know this poem was for you;
And also this shirt, because I know you love blue.
But until them I am in this precarious state
I hold my heart by a string, awaiting its fate.
I deserve more than your kindness, but kindness will suffice.
When you do figure out where I stand, please be nice.
If I had met you
in our youth,
Oh the places
we would have roamed together
And how many changes of colors
and tastes and sights
we would have shared.
But still,
I am thankful to have met you
in my twilight
Where blurred lights make the lines
on my face softer
And your hands steady mine.
I am a wound ball of string, but with your slightest touch,
I fall and unravel.
A single slip and I am back to untangling
the mess that you make of my heart.
It was the same road,
But a different direction.
It was the same words,
But a different intention.
When I look back
I find myself in contention
If all that ever was
my mind’s own creation.
Make Room for Poetry 
How to Break Up During a Quarantine
She’ll soon figure out you’re a nonessential.