It’s a stained glass window—that’s what life is.

Only mine’s in the dark—there’s no sun shining in.

The beauty is there, in every color and shape…

It’s just, hard to see—lacking radiance.

Of Course, it has its moments—when the sun hits it just right.

Each pane of glass stands out as it captures the light.

Those are the moments when things fall into place—

When I know life’s too beautiful to ever replace.

But. My window’s in shadow—usually missing its glow.

In the dark, it’s quire dreary—no Vincent Van Gogh.

I’m in a state of confusion, but selfishly so.

My preference is clear, but I go with the flow.

At first it appears as if I’ve beaten the odds, but if we continue there will just be facades.

There’s this perfect thing in-front of me.

It’s mine, if I want it; I have the guarantee.

I can’t pick out any flaws—there are no hidden faults.

Yet. When I start to think, my mind stops— abruptly halts.

It’s a feeling in my gut that tells me, “Not all is well.”

As if my mind is playing tricks on me, while my heart has more to tell.

I set out to ignore it—in hopes that it will leave.

Because. It’s perfect. Truly perfect. Sometimes I wish I was naive.

Sometimes I wish the world had a definite track.

That my life was set up on a permanent path.

Is that choice good or bad?  Will I end up with strife?

I’d just be nice to know where I end up in life

Trapped in one moment—living in one song.

Press play and repeat—feel as if one belongs.

Grow to know every note—every pause, every break.

Close your eyes, float away— there’s no need to wake.

For right here, right now—everything’s known.

Familiar, with comfort—at peace, all alone.

At times I’m rather blunt, if you didn’t already know.

And I expect the same from others, though—from them—it doesn’t always show.

I like to speak my mind.  Avoid confusion. Rid of the doubt.

But I guess not everyone’s the same.  Some would rather hold it back than spit it out.

I can take a hint. I’m not completely blind.

But come on. Be bold and state your mind.

There are no regrets. And I’m not here to scold,

But I have a future note for you: next time, tell her before you fold.

Dependency. I hate it—the whole sense of the word.

Knowing I can’t do it alone, makes me feel like I need to be cured.

I am independent.  But we all have moments of need.

And in a significant relationship, I can’t always lead.

When two grow to be close—their lifestyles are transformed.

They grow dependent on one another.  A bond is then formed.

And sure, it’s all jazzy—having someone to love,

One to be dependent on. Until it all ends…once again bringing hate to the word mentioned above.

So, I wrote you a letter—you don’t know who you are.

But I wrote it regardless. Your presence left a scar.

Now this letter is mine, and that way it shall stay.

It’s not like passing it on will change things anyway.

Just know, in my mind, you were given a name—

A classification. Because once I met you, not all was same.

Letters of elegant script by mail.

Hold an unopened envelope—breathe in then exhale.

Whisper wishes and prayers in hopes of good news—

The wait has been long, and one can’t help but muse.

There’s just something about a hand written letter;

No matter the message, it’s personal—it’s better.

I don’t cry in public. I cry all alone.

For this way I don’t have to listen to “The Tone.”

—the hushed, “Is everything well?” or “Are you alight?”

Yeah—these tears on my cheeks mean I’ve had a great night.

See, crying in public means that one has to lie—

To tell the “concerned” other that I’ll somehow get by.

We respond with “I’m fine.”

And to questions of help, we must repeatedly decline.

Gaining attention from others, does one no good;

So, have a cry with yourself and move on as you should.

One fleeting moment. One memory. One touch.

It’s replayed in my mind, perhaps a little too much.

Despite what came after, or rather, what came before—

It’s the first instant I have such fondness for.

Do you realize the hate I have for you now?

All I wanted to do was back out with a bow.

The drama, emotion, deception, and lies—

It all wasn’t worth it. I walked away with sore eyes.

And now here I am, in a world entirely new.

I’ve finally been able to forget about you.

I like someone. I could be falling in love.

But it’s different then the feeling I used to write of.

I hold many regrets from the times that we shared.

I know now that it’s over. I really have lost all that care.

It’s starting again. My eyes always stay peeled.

As I turn every corner, I hope that your face is revealed.

Captivated by the thoughts that you share,

I’m given genuine laughter—which I find quite rare.

I won’t do anything drastic; I’ll see where it goes.

I have no trouble waiting—in hopes that new things will transpose.

People. They’re funny. They do stupid shit.

They convey fake emotion to hide things they don’t want to admit.

There are phonies and fakes that feel the need to “play nice.”

When it’s clear all they say are lies coated with sugar and spice.

If your friendship with me is one where you’re not true,

Then why do you bother? I bid you adieu.

I am the fire, you are the flame.

We’re ever so different, yet one in the same.

If I make a left, then you make a right.

Yet we’re still on the same street, in the same line of sight.