when the word that once meant "nothing," begins to mean "paradise," you can safely say the world's gone mad.

Nineteen hundred miles and two weeks and four cartons of cigarettes and forty five cups coffee and sixteen gas station trips had brought him back to the one roof that he'd never slept right under. He sat on the bed, what was their bed. He walked to the dresser, which still held the clothes that he hadn't been able to put in a suitcase. He looked at the picture frames that were now empty and the fridge that had always been empty and saw which lamps had been replaced and which windows were cracked and if the kid's rooms had changed. He sat the counter and waited for the crack of the door and the footsteps of a woman he'd never given a chance to. Ignoring the surprised look in her eyes, he stood and closed the space between them, touching her forearm to ensure that she was real before clearing his throat and speaking.

"I spent my whole life trying to get close to you, and once you let me in I realized that I'd only cared so much because it seemed unattainable. I knew nothing about you except that you liked watching birds and traffic and anything but me watching you. Once you finally looked my way, I realized that we had nothing in common and didn't really want to get close enough, but it seemed too late. We got wrapped up in expectations and you wouldn't just let me push you away. Anytime I ever wantd you to go right, I steered you left. I set you up for disappointment so I could set myself up for leaving and set us both up for ache. I thought if I set the kids up for college that the rest of those things I lined up so flawfully wouldn't quite matter, but I realize that they do. You don't have to respond to any of this, I just wanted to apologize."

Despite the way that he'd prepared himself, his heart cracked when she had nothing to say. Looking him up and down, she tilted her head to look away from him and stepped around him, walking to her kitchen. She set her sights on tile and wallpaper and anything but him, just as it had been and as it would be from now on. She didn't even need the first time, but she wouldn't let herself be fooled twice. He stepped out, closed the door, and headed to his car while he tried to figure out what exactly he'd actually expected from the trip.

heaven's not a place you go when you die. it's the moment you touch him and finally feel alive.

smile for me, sunshine, and cast your worries aside. you're my silver lining and i'm the streetlamp lighting the way. there's something better on the other side, so keep your perfect chin upward and head towards my arms.

i'd walk on broken glass to get to you.

the fairy godmother had to perform another abortion today.

i'm the broken pieces on the pavement in your way, and i'm the wind that blows them along the sidewalk and makes it impossible for you to sweep me out of sight. i'm the underdog with no cheering section. i'm the joke with no punchline, yet you hear it all the time.

there's too much attention in being broken and that's not what i've aimed for. i'd rather be out of sight; out of mind; out of the way.

well darling, you've got me in stitches.

It seemed as though the gravel had become his home, covering his feet and weighing him down. He was convinced that he would no longer move from this spot, staring in to a home that had never been the bearer of his heart. The silhouette of his father moved slowly across the curtains, and the light turned on in such a swift motion that he knew it was his mother, always concerned for the eyesight of his father when he tried to read in the dark. He imagined their gentle banter and the way that the house would feel quiet despite conversation, and he found a part of himself stepping forward and yet no part of him moved. Was it his mind, urging him to rebuild previously severed ties? He thought of the way that their quiet conversation had turned so hostile when they were displeased with his own input. The way that their voices iced over and their eyes became a glaze of nothing more than forced dreams from one generation to the next. He'd chosen love and they'd labeled it lust, demanding that his bank account carry more weight than he was allowing. He thought of the way that their fireplace was always going and how the crackle was supposed to sound like home and growing up, but all he felt was a cold chill when he heard the rocks beneath him. Movement, finally. He allowed his feet to lead by the pull of his heart, and ten minutes later placed him down the block and away from the roof that had nothing but shield him from all that he'd wanted. He'd chosen love, and he wasn't willing to accept the labels that anyone else could place upon it. Perhaps he was young and far too hopeful, but something about the way that a December night could feel so warm gave him the impression that he was doing something right.

whatever happens from here, know i'll always go to bed with hopeful thoughts for your journey home.

Lost in the brownish tint of beer bottles and the chorus of drunken peers, she stepped over the bodies and made her way out the door and down the steps and in to the streets. Hugging her arms close, she travelled along the road and watched her shadows grow and fall in the different street lights. She felt like she was running and coming in the exact same step, just as she felt like multiple people in the light of something ten feet above her and guiding her step.

It wasn't until she reached the bridge that she realized the weight of the situation. It was the summer, and it was supposed to be the most important summer of her life. "Freedom and forever and the possibility of love and something better." Wasn't that what her best friends had always promised each other for this summer? Not quite sure, but she figured that her old yearbooks would confirm. I can't believe I'm validating myself in lines on a page that weren't ever quite thought through. She thought to herself, before realizing that she wasn't quite okay with the thought of not mattering, and chose to validate herself in things that didn't mean shit instead.

Leaning over the bridge, she allowed wind to whip around her face and remind her that she was cold. That she was lonely. Cold and lonely and standing above water where fish were getting more action than her that night. More laughter, more affection, more worthwhile conversation. She'd spent the night speaking to wallpaper and laughing along with slurs she didn't understand. She'd spent the night walking to a bridge, talking to pebbles, and trying to make up for the lost conversation that the fish weren't having to go through.

With a heavy sigh, she turned around. Swallowed up her pride and her past and the lack of forever in her life; lack of freedom and validation. She swallowed up every expectation and hope that she'd had for herself and this summer, and chose instead to walk back. Instead, she took a step and found herself in the grasp of something tall and strong. Glancing up, her eyes fell on brownandorange, perfect eyes with a face covered by the street light. She'd never spoken to him, and when he stepped back to let her pass, she realized that she may never again. But he was watching her, and he was interested. She would walk home that night and he would stay on that bridge, but he would hope to God that she'd gotten home safe.

And for that summer, that was enough.

"sorry, kiddo, but you're going to have to answer that one on your own."

"let's say the same thing at the same time." what was originally supposed to be the inward thought of a cynic on their third strike came out, instead, in a muffled admission.
"you can't plan that sort of thing." was the only retort given by foresight.

cast your hopes to heaven in the form of prayer and wishful thinking. it's the only thing to do besides watch the clock and hope that luck's working in the name of God for miracles or something like them.

"let's run in to one another's arm at the end of a winter spent alone and with out heat (love)."
"you can't plan that sort of thing." casting your wishes doesn't promise you a damn thing.
"what am i allowed to plan, then?"
"which part of the yard you're going to bury your pride when your heart's shoved back in your face by someone who didn't deserve it in the first place."
"there's no hope to cast away, is there?"

when it's time to go, it's time to go; these hearts were made for beating, not breaking by day.

"alright, i'll bite. what's your game and how exactly have i been losing?" his words came out harsher than he really intended them to, but at this point he knew that she was long gone anyway.
she shook her head, managing to entice and frustrate him in the same moment. "all it will do is hurt you." was all that she could give him.
"hurt me." he said after only a beat. "you know i'll forgive you by morning anyway."
staring at him, she felt her heart swell with appreciation and then deflate with realism. "you're a fucking disappointment."
"well cast away, princess. you've always been what i've always wanted."

she should've held him closer or begged for forgiveness, but the next thing that she knew, his left cheek was flushed and it wasn't from blushing. she felt the sting in her palm, and the ache in her heart. a moment later, she felt a wave of emotion wash over her as his eyes registered with forgiveness. she turned on her heel and walked away, doing what he should've done for himself long before.

running through the streets like we're heading out of style.

we throw rocks at windows we do not wish to break, and cry over broken pieces we do not plan to mend. we spin in circles, searching for an answer to a question we never asked but demanded results from. we inquire about things that do not change, yet remain ignorant to things begging for reform. we step out of the way of flowing disappointment and allow the waves to crash over others, yet push constantly against walls of integrity and positivity. we color outside of the lines and wonder where our silver sign of brighter days has gone. we have umbrella's for sunny days and dance through rainfall.

my father always said that the world is heading to hell in a hand basket, but i always thought it was simply off it's axis. see, the blood is rushing to our heads. we're not thinking clearly, and all we need is for the clouds to clear and give us a moment's peace.

a moment's peace, and this could all be fixed. but humans are humans, and we strike the faces that always turn back to our needs.

let's pretend it's earth day and we're cleaning up your act.

"Love me if you dare, but I've got no heart to give in return." It was at first a challenge, and then slowly became an epiphany. He stared down at the ice beneath his skates, and he wanted them to crack. He wanted to sink in to the water and freeze over in the way that her ability to care for other human beings had been hardened. Lifeless seemed to be in style, but he couldn't shake the blood from his veins. He was still breathing and hoping and he'd be damned if his heart wasn't beating a thousand times a minute out of all the love that he had to give. The ice wasn't going to crack, of this he was sure. So instead, he allowed his heart to. Swallowing down everything he'd allowed himself to feel, he shook his head. "You had me at dare, Sweetheart. I was always one for truth." He packed up his bags and his stomach and his expectations; hit the road and hit himself for ever thinking things would work out for him.

Let's lose the manual and put it together anyway. Let's take shots in the dark and to the heart.

I'd like to be twirling around in my kitchen at midnight, in a frenzy of flying flour and toppled eggs. I'd like to throw it all together on the walls instead of a bowl and watch the room become the oven. There's a thousand things that I'd like to do; all scream chaos and poorly done indie films. But at the end of the day, they all scream laughter and breathin' easy.

What's the point of livin' easy if all you've ever done is follow instructions?