Trapped In Wonderland

 Here are some of my favorite places to be. 

I want to believe that when we met we were just right for each other at that point in time. If we'd met sooner, we never would have worked out.  If we'd met later, we never would have felt that pull toward each other. 

You were the song I used to listen to on repeat, knew every beat by heart. I felt every high and low, every key and note, every word and tune and I could tell when you'd end and begin. 

The thing most heartbreaking about it all is falling in love again. It's insanity wanting to repeat the process, taking chances and trying all over again despite the failures and pain, now that, that has to be heartbreaking. 

Morning sun blazing through the window panes, curtains that flutter against the summer breeze, butterflies settling on my sunflowers awaiting a dehydrated death as the climate and my forgetfulness; both, deteriorate at the worst possible time.

If one day you don't love me anymore, please don't hesitate to tell me up front.     Dont wait.     Don't procrastinate or draw it out. Be open and tell me honestly like always.    

It is so curious the way certain people just resonate with you. It is an endless flow of energy that adds to yours, takes you higher than ever before. How flawlessly they blend; there is nothing to adjust! So comfortable you feel, there is no fear to be  fully you. 

I write this in hopes you’d understand one day, I write this because I cannot speak my mind. I fail to express myself in the right way, I plan to say a million things but when I speak with you, somehow I seem to lose all sense. 

Time is defined as an indefinite continued progress of existence and events of the past, present, and future regarded as whole. How wonderfully ambiguous is that? 

All my life I was told that love was a feeling. 

I can't erase the traces of you, they'll forever be there.

The heat is stifling even though night falls with a breath of grace made cool breeze. 

When someone asks me how I loved you.

I could keep waiting for that perfect inspiration to strike but there would always be something I could have written better, some words I could have used instead of others or maybe an entirely different poem altogether could have been written but there is only so much I can blame on inspiration.

People are like seeds. Throw them out there in an open field. See then which one will tend to adapt the climate, arouse with the kind of soil and grasp to survive, and grow a life.