A Day Too Beautiful for Endings

I tried to speak
More than once
but her tantrums swallowed the air,
drowned out every word with baiting noise.

So I stayed quiet
Not out of fear—just clarity
I knew there was no room for truth in the storm.

She reached for the classics—
Ugly. Broken. Small.
A narcissist. A killer.
You’re the reason I don’t trust men.
It wasn’t true
Just spitfire, catching on whatever’s dry.

I didn’t bite
Not once
I let it pass through me like wind through tall grass.
After a while, it felt like watching from the bank
as the current carried us—
her words moving in their own direction,
me still in the boat,
measuring them against the storms I’ve survived,
waiting for the water to slow.
Not because it didn’t sting,
but because I know now—
some battles invite you back into who you used to be.

She tired herself out
Eventually, storms do

It was a beautiful day—
that rare kind of weather where the sun had weight,
but the air cooled the edges of the light.

A family fished nearby—
kids laughed at tangled lines

Below us, two otters tumbled in the shallows,
like children unscarred by touch.

Above, hawks coasted on warm air,
circling, patient,
waiting for the right moment to strike.

The last time, I thought I needed you.
This time, I was seeing
if you fit my life.

That was it
No fight—no apology—no storm
Just the stone weight of truth
settling into the silence she left behind.

Haiku for the Bench

hawks above the bend—
one voice held back until still
the river moved on

I didn’t raise my voice when I left her—
not because I was calm, but because I was finished.

Sit long enough and silence will say
what you weren’t allowed to.

I used to leave because I was hurting.
This time, I left because I wasn’t.

The Room You Left Me In

 companion to “Haunted House”

I was never hiding.
I was waiting.
For the door to creak
the right way.
For the footsteps
that knew my name
without flinching.

You left the light on
once.
That was enough.

Dust kept me company.
Spiders spun lullabies.
Even the shadows
learned not to scare me.

I listened to the walls grow old.
I counted winters
by the way the wind changed
its tone.

I forgave you
before you even turned the key.
You were just trying
not to disappear.
I get it.

So take off your shoes.
I swept the floor.
And when you’re ready—
we can go play.

Peripheral

She’s cute— 

exotic one moment,

girlish the next.

Her eyes do the talking— 

shy, 

with sparks tucked deep.

A jawline curving 

into a lean neck 

that speaks of quiet strength.

Passing, 

she glances just enough— 

smiles, 

tucks hair behind one ear.

Her scent lingers, 

braided with whatever makes her 

hard to ignore.

Then the door shuts.

I stay, 

feet leaning forward, 

just to 

talk 

to you.

The Night I Left

Just a flicker of myself
caught in the subway glass—
blurred by speed,
almost real.

Wondering—are we
to be observed with cold eyes
of forgotten lovers?
People we used to discover,
who followed for a
short time into the darkness, still left
straddling a see-saw of desire.

Just another story in a life,
a million stories tall—
and only get'n higher.

Not one true love.
Not one unconditional moment of compassion.
Not one game left un-played.

All of us, slaves chained to
oars rowing the same direction.

The rhythm of whips and dreams
screams lessons of half-eaten apples,
brief, blinding commitments—
burning hotter than thirty suns,
and gone just as fast.

And in the death throes of this
rejected union—this collapsed mass of used-up feelings—
what is left that is appealing?

Finding some inner strength.
Some soulful healing.

Wishing for youthful rapture,
when the only pain came
from scraped knees and iodine stains.

Even then, all was forgotten with mother's breath,
hushed words, and a soft finger to wipe the tears away.

People always seek out what pains them.
Bliss comes only in flashes—
moments, flickering
in the dark glass
of a city that never looks back

Haunted House

I left the boy of my youth
kneeling in a closet—
knees to cold floorboards,
breath shallow as dust.
The world outside
was too ultraviolet,
too loud with its living.

I sealed the windows
with hours and silence,
let survival
nail the door shut.
The house fell still,
as years creaked overhead.

But you—
you were never alone.
I heard your hush
in every room I entered,
felt your shadow
curl beneath my spine.

Now I’ve come home.
The lock gave easy.
Your eyes are still soft,
though rimmed in cobwebs.
Let me sweep.
Let me sit.
Let me remember
how to live
in a house with open windows.