Forget Paris

I'll never see Paris in 1920.
I'll never visit with my great grandmother at her kitchen table, or run with her through the hillside villages on the Amalfi coast.
I'll never get to say goodbye to that little boy who said... "I wish you were my mother."
Because he was killed a year later.
I'll never get my virginity back.
I'll never be sixteen again.
I'll never kiss him for the first time.


But I can write myself there. All those things can be done and undone. I can write myself anywhere.

A Wednesday Sonnet

Wednesday is a day of woe
when flowers bow their heads to cry
and birds cease their singing so
you can hear your own heart sigh

The clouds sink deep into the mind
and the rain keeps crashing on the soul
Wednesday is the day you find
that life is not worth the heavy toll

Wednesday is a day for crying
even if the sun shines bright
because there's really no use trying
when nothing's really worth the fight

So if you're always sad and blue
then Wednesday is the day for you

I would

I would rather hear your voice than hear her say yes
A sorry would do
Yes means nothing to me
Without you


I hate love

On my way to where?

In the air. Set free. Unchained.

On my way to... Where?

*photo credit*