so you can live happily
with her on your hand
as I cry myself awake
from any sort of sleep
so you can know peace
taking the easy route
as I cover myself
in a chaos of complications
so you can be loved
unconditionally by her
as I never could
offer you something
so simple
By: Kyle Freelander
I fold the brown napkin in half two times
to make quarters out of paper,
eager for any sort of change
as you look at me
from across the table
that divides us,
far enough to stare
but close enough to have to fight
the urge to hold hands
by poking at the food on our plates
that we never intended to eat.
We pretend not to be uncomfortable
here, in the wooden booth
that pushes my bones and prods my back
while we bask in each other’s quiet company
of friendship gone awry
as we try to repair it and make things right,
but the silence tells us what we already knew:
there is no fixing this; there is no fixing us.
I unfold the napkin,
revealing stains and creases
in the fibers that make the napkin complete,
flaws in the foundation
that folding could only hide,
but never change.
Photo from here
I wake up in the morning
and you’re the first thing on my mind.
Your scent fills my nostrils,
my thoughts, and my dreams.
You, love, are my everything.
It was just yesterday
when I held you last
and let the world know
that you were mine;
that I wouldn’t give you up
without a fight.
I replay all the days
that brought us together
over the past several years,
moments blurring together
in my sleepy mind.
Hot days, cold days,
weather can’t keep us apart
no distance, no measure of time,
is an inconvenience
when it comes to you.
I crawl out of bed,
dutifully going to you
before my morning class
so we can spend an hour
or so together -our quality time.
You’re late again
and I’m, as always, on time,
waiting for your arrival
wishing you’d wait for me
sometimes.
You make your grand entrance,
looking better than I remember.
I lick my lips in anticipation
for the kiss I have been craving
since my alarm woke me.
I grab hold of you,
my love,
my waking thought,
my everything,
but I have to let go
‘cause you’re too hot
for coffee.
There were a lot of butterflies that day,
the one when you left,
pouring out from inside of me
where they had been cleverly hiding,
where no one could watch them grow
but I could feel their budding strength.
Our interactions their sustenance:
words for food,
kisses for cocoons,
as they morphed from caterpillars
into colorful butterflies
quivering inside of me.
But one day the clouds came
and never left us alone,
they knew better than we did
that it was time to fly
away. The necessities for life
I could no longer supply:
the shelter became too dark,
too cold and too jaded
for something so bright.
The butterflies flew away
that day, realizing the sun
wasn’t coming back.
Not for them and not for me.
