I still find myself asking "What happened to us?"

Every day passes, some tolerable, others less. Days go on, but they don't go un-noticed. Days have their ups and their downs. Days come seven times a week, but we don't always attend. Days rarely pass go, and never do they collect two hundred dollars. I can fill my time with things to do; work, school, friends, little projects, anything. It doesn't ever make the day shorter. It seems the only thing that does is the thing I need to learn to live without. I feel complete these days, except the one thing that I want most.

Everyone dreams of the day they fall, few anticipate the day they've realized that the feeling is no longer there. One day I will fall in love, and with my best efforts, I'll stay in that hole. Because when that day comes, that hole is where my day goes by fastest. When I get in that hole, I'll build around it, not only to shield the rain, but to block the bitter nights cold. Everyday I find myself analyzing our relationship. Wondering where the hell you went, and what day it was that you left.

Maybe tomorrow will be nothing like today. Maybe tomorrow will come, and this day will end. Tomorrow will be like yesterday, where everything is wonderful (na na na na). Today has been too long, this day has been around for too long. Call on tomorrow, call on the night. I'm not going to wonder what happened that day you left me, I'm not going to wonder why. I am going to focus on tomorrow and the happy days it brings.

Goodnight dreadful today, lets meet never again.

Jacques Error

If all the world is a stage, and all the men and women merely players, then who is responsible for the casting? We've all got our entrances and exits, but it seems like all these lousy players that come into my play just use their exits. Without so much as a goodbye, they're gone in nothing more than a blackout—leaving us to try and make what is happening on stage work. All the world’s a stage, and all the scripts are merely conditions to which the players have to improvise. When one player leaves the realm, not always does another enter. Not always is the set complete, leaving no window for more conditions. Not always is there applause at the end of an act. I bow not for those who do not participate. A thrown rose does not make up for the loss on this stage.

Not So Bad Ass

When you told me you were dying, I cried.

I lay in your arms and I let my feelings out in tears.

You asked me to stop crying,

but you never wiped away my sorrows that were running down my face.

Even though you lied to me,

broke my heart, and never looked back,

I still feel that misery on my cheek every time I hear your story in someone else’s words.

It hurts to remember what they’re going through.

Of all the things I have,

with all the strength I had,

I am still no bad ass.

And when you told me you were dying, I cried.