Sunday, September 8

Thank You.

I remember that I first text you gibberish. Remember that I didn't want you to know who I am. Little did I know that when you gave me your number, it would be that death of me. How many you gave your number to I'll never know, but I know that I was one of them, the fortunate one. It was through Facebook.  You were playing volleyball; it was a Friday night, league night. Why I remember every aspect, I'll never know. One once said that you're in love, but it's just not with me. To you I say that I tried. I wasn't good enough or deserving enough. In all honesty, I never let go without trying to proceed, and I couldn't apologize enough. I never wanted to admit it until now. For that I am sorry to any test of faith, but in my heart she'll always be faithfully. I'm a big believer in faith. I hurt a little, just a little. Just a little too much because I never knew how much you'd mean to me. I place you on a scale, a scale that anyone following you would have to surpass you or equivocally match you. So far, I've had not luck. I was once lucky, I'll say, lucky enough to have found just a glimpse of heaven, an ethereal being only God could create in his own vision. At this particular moment, I don't care who reads this. For this is for you, for me, for anyone preceding. Everywhere I go I try to perpetuate to play out these scene that could be. No matter what, it all ends the same. It hurts, just a little. Just a little too much it hurts. I wonder if she's forgotten me, but somehow I think she'll might. There's a photograph I fall back on. I don't know if it's fiction or not. It's you falling asleep in front of a camera, my favorite picture to be. I don't mean to embed any insecurities to anyone reading this, but, instead, help you realize where I'm coming from. Maybe it's where I've been. Where I've been is in the past, nostalgic enough. I've always suffered from nostalgia, a better time. One time, I had it all. All I know is that I've lived, because of you I've lived. I never knew what living was until you. That sounds clique enough, but I died before, only to be reincarnated by the act of love. My priest once said that love is an action word, so for you I write. My soul thanks you though, for leaving a mark that shall never be tainted by any other human being. The sand is still on the bed, the bed which I've made. I don't want to haunt you with every memory I succumb to, but know that you're thought of, in the highest manner. I'm babbling long enough, so to you I say goodnight, sweet dreams. May your dreams come true, because mine has already. Thank you. Sincerely your, Travis.

Post Script: I come home drunken to write this because I promised to. Not too many can get me to blog, but, hey, I'll try. It's almost 4 o'clock and I'll write this to reach you. Maybe it's goodbye, but they'll be no sweeter goodbye than this. Love always.

Tuesday, September 3

Nevermore Neverland


Sometimes I can't put myself in the right place to write. Other times, I'm in the place to write but cannot. My emotions and writings shouldn't work together; it's a conflict of interest. This one is all over the place, but I sort of like it. It's all disheveled and shit. I'm confident that it won't be that popular, but I sort of like it. Welcome September and good night all.

Nevermore Neverland


We used to get lost together,
Like really lost together
Like we didn’t have any purpose, but each other we had
We fought our demons and wants
Found any safe haven and settled there
But somehow we weren’t together
I never had direction; you never knew of self-worth
I was lost; you were lost
So there we were two beings being lost together
But then I got lost in you
I found cause in you and because of you
You became the only one lost
That was until I lost you
Now were just two lost entities not together