The After

Someday –

I will find you here, in the place where
you now stay and will remain forever.

The after, and the before.
the accessible and the invisible.
You appear to me
and I am reminded that you
are a figment of my heart
willing your presence to be
as tangible as you always were.

This is the after.
I’ve yet to become acquainted with it,
still feeling the vacancy
of the before.
The place I can never again visit.
I will not find you there
no matter how desperately I long to.

I would like to stay awhile in
the memory of you.
So that I might take with me
all we once were able to see
in that place.
You’re here now,
but I think I choose not to see you.

My heart breaks a thousand times
in just one moment spent
here – in the after.
You have moved on.
I am struggling to join you.
You have departed this world,
and yet it is me who feels like a ghost
unable to embrace
the reality
of a life that goes on
after you.


Soaked in Sorrow

Moments encroach upon us in which the peace slips away. Just as swiftly as the quiet engulfed the senses – like a rush of fresh, crisp air – it escapes our consciousness, leaving behind the stale shadows that follow us around so adamantly.

These bouts of lament are not welcome, yet are ever so comfortable to sit with – like a loyal old friend. As if this is the state in which we were born; aching to the core, soaked in sorrow, drifting in and out of contentment like a dream we are unsure we have woken from.

Moments pass, and we are again consumed by a sense of serenity as the calm returns and the sorrow sleeps for a spell. We can only hope the darkness will keep away for just one moment more than it chose to stay. Standing still, we watch as the moments swirl around us, the coming and going of shadows and peace – passing before our sleepy eyes.


My intentions
land softly upon
the top of your head –
like freshly fallen
snow, on a dark
December night.

They are for you.
Reach out your
palm and
catch them
before they melt away

like snowflakes,
each with a
unique identity
melting on the tip
of your nose.

Can you hear what
the cold air is saying?
Whispers, sharing
secrets carried down
from clouds we cannot



Spoken Melody

I want to take your words
and spin them into
something sublime.
A kind of art that is
so breathtaking
the tourists who walk by
will have to look away.
Music more transcendent
than your favorite song
or mine.
Your words.
They sit on the edge
of my memory,
always so close to falling
from me.
If I don’t make them
into something I can hold,
I fear there will never
again be art or music
worth experiencing.
Oh –
those words of yours.
Even the words that don’t
belong to you
the words of others
whom you admire or despise,
coming from your mouth
they’re all exquisite to me.
To my ears as they fall
from your lips
to my eyes as your teeth
and tongue work together,
making everything else I
have ever thought beautiful
completely insignificant
in comparison.


The Ordinary


Musical Movements

Most will accredit music as the moving force in all of us (except for maybe my big brother who will tell you he’d rather play the Batman movies in his head than any tune, melody or lyrical ensemble). In my personal experiences, music is what gets me from point a to point b; it’s a portal into myself that comforts, aids, heals, stirs and shakes, and in both simple and complex ways – makes the world make sense. We find identity in the genres and artists that we claim as “our” music. We either bop our heads to the songs on the radio, or discount them as repetitive and bland. We hear a new song and fall in love with it and want to share that feeling with the world, in hopes that we are able to connect to someone else through the emotion that was evoked within us.

Whether or not music simply does nothing for you, we all have a very personal connection to the nostalgia accompanied by a given sound. A line, a beat, or a specific song has the power to carry us to happy, sad, memorable or not so memorable moments in our lives that we shared with someone else. Any and every song by Van Morrison will always remind me of my dad making breakfast in the morning, the music moving through the entire house while everyone else is still sleeping. Hootie and the Blowfish songs that immediately take me to Wednesday nights out with my best friends in college, singing out the words at the top of our lungs over a pitcher of Shocktop. The soulful ballads of John Legend that evoke the long ago memory of love, loss and a broken heart. Music moves us. It guides us. It dwells inside of us, but no matter what – it connects us to each other.