I have tried to imagine all of the moments that I could bump into you.
As if I could compel corny, casual encounters that are made explicitly for the cinema into existence.
Maybe it's during a late night trip for cereal at the grocery store, an early morning stop at the gas station, or a mid-afternoon pill pick up at the pharmacy.
Maybe we reach for the same box, we arrive at the same time, or we stumble into the same softly lit aisle.
But maybe within each scenario something inevitably goes wrong.
All the shelves in the cereal aisle are completely empty, every fuel pump is forlornly flagged as out of service, and somehow I completely forgot to refill my prescription.
I have tried to imagine all of the moments that I could bump into you, but it just never works.
How could my mind ever create a place that will never exist for a person who is no longer there.
Tag: You
Unremarkable
In reality, too many people are simply a disappointment.
They live without passion.
Waking up each day solely to fulfill the mindless routines and mundane expectations that society prompts them to accomplish.
They simply exist to exist as they strive to subsist and survive.
Appeasing a world built purely around predictability, profit, and political propaganda.
How can people be at peace with knowing that their life will end as unremarkably as the day they were born?
Perhaps because mediocrity offers comfort.
Perhaps for many it is easier to die unremarkably than to risk the consequences of ever truly living.
Unworthy
I am unworthy of your warmth.
I deserve the solitude and loneliness that lives inside me, not the comfort of being between your arms.
I am not meant for contentment, I am meant for failure.
I am perpetually reckless, selfish, and stubborn.
I have damned and doomed myself.
Found
There are thousands of variations to each situation I've placed myself within.
Each moment I've experienced could have been changed and every encounter slightly altered. Yet, I do believe that each and every outcome would have inevitably led me to you.
Somehow I still would have found you.
The Hedge
It's getting harder to notice where you hit the hedge with your car.
It took a few years, but it's branches are beginning to burst and bloom.
It's sharp pine needles finally flourishing and filling in the gaps that your hood had left.
Now even the scarred foliage seems to be smirking at what you did.
It's triumph much more than just another act of nature.
Picture
One of the best pictures I've ever taken is one I struggle to look at.
At one point I even framed it, but I had to take it down.
It was more than just an image.
It was a melancholy memory that I mistakingly forced between wood and glass.
It was a moment in time that should always remain just that. Nothing more, nothing less.
Unreliable
I'm an unreliable narrator.
My stories are missing timelines and their details have been diluted by either drugs or depression.
Although that's probably for the best.
Why repeat what I'm urged to remember,
but compelled to forget?
Him
One night split my life
into two separate eras.
Before him and after him.
Still
He knows everything
and he still loves me.
He knows everything
and he is still here.
Enabler
You were my enabler.
You provoked and praised
the most pitiful, pathetic
parts of me.
Letting go of you meant more
than letting go of bad habits.
It meant escaping a version of myself
that I never desired to know.
AO Poetry 
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