I loved first,

And I loved last,

And it kind of makes it feel

Like you never loved at all.

What is missing (excerpt)

Missing the silence and slowness of being a dreamer,

Inspiring me to write with happiness and pain and everything in between;

Something is wrong.

The fact that what is wrong can be more easily turned to poetry than what is right, may be something these words cannot properly express,

And yet,

I must find a way.

For something feels wrong. Something has changed ever since...

Why is all my poetry these days about doubt and fear and wondering, 

Instead of warmth and bliss and wonder?