u/ParadoxicalSimpleton

She was loud,
she was crass—
Goooodlawd,
you shoulda seen dat ass.

She walked by,
shot me the eye—
my heart went
boom-boom-boom.

A wiggle in her hips,
those ruby-red lips—
fuck me,
she was spicy.

She gave a grin,
I was sucked right in—
don’t worry,
I can play it cool.

She flicked her hair,
I fuckin’ stared—
Goooodlawd,
I looked a fool.

She took one step,
I caught my breath—
I knew damn well
what she wanted next.

She was trouble
wrapped in curves—
a filthy little connection
between two pervs.

And

we

only had

one thing

on

our

minds.

a couple days later
and i was headed back to work.

i had time to think.

reflect.

process.

i thought about her.

of course i fuckin’ did.

i don’t know
if our story has been written,

or if this is the volta…

the place where everything
changes direction.

maybe we find our way
back to each other.

maybe we don’t.

maybe she was only meant
to open my boxes.

to remind me
there was something inside them.

something worth knowing.

maybe i was meant
to love her

just long enough
to learn how to love.

fuck.

that sounds sad.

but it isn’t.

it’s beautiful.

it’s whole.

it’s pure.

because whatever happens next—

it happened.

her.

me.

us.

nobody gets
to take that away.

because before her,

i thought not hurting
meant i was strong.

not needing
meant i was independent.

not feeling
meant i was fine.

then this fuckin’ chick
walked into my life

and quietly proved
i didn’t know shit.

she didn’t fix me.

i wasn’t broken.

she just showed me
a version of myself

i hadn’t met yet.

and now—

she’s gone.

but he isn’t.

that matters.

i don’t know
what happens next.

with her.

with me.

with any of it.

for once,

i don’t think
i need to.

maybe our story
gets another chapter.

maybe that was
the last page.

either way—

i won’t tape
the boxes shut again.

and i’m not leaving this
with regret.

i’m leaving
with a smile on my face,

warmth in my heart

and all those ridiculous,
beautiful little memories

that made us—

us.

i overheard someone once say—

“if you can overthink
the bad shit,

why not overthink
the good stuff?”

huh.

ya know—

that actually
makes sense to me.

so maybe that’s
what i’ll do.

i’ll overthink the laughs.

the late nights.

the good mornings.

the stupid jokes.

the moments
nobody else would understand.

i’ll remember
what it felt like

to be known.

to know her.

to love her.

and to have been loved
by her.

because maybe
life-changing love

isn’t always the love
that stays.

sometimes—

it’s the love
that changes you enough

that when it leaves,

you don’t.

fuck.

what do i know?

i’m still taking notes.

life changing—

that kinda love.

oh…heli’s here.

gotta go!

~fin~

i couldn’t get charlie
outta my head.

i couldn’t think
with her in it.

every question about love
somehow became
a question about her.

do i feel too much?

her.

am i better this way?

her.

should the boxes stay open?

her.

fuck.

even when i tried
to understand myself—

there she was.

not because
she put herself there.

i did.

and then things
started changing…

i started wondering
what she thought
before asking myself
what i did.

how she felt
before figuring out
how i felt.

somewhere between
good night
and good morning…

learning to love
became tangled up
with loving her.

and maybe—

that’s a problem.

because if i’m really
trying to understand
who i am now,

i can’t keep using her
as the answer.

or the reason.

or the proof.

charlie made me question
whether feeling
made me weaker.

she made me believe
it made me better.

but maybe neither
gets to answer that.

maybe i need to.

and fuck—

i barely know
this version of me.

i spent years
ignoring him.

then months
discovering him
through her.

maybe it’s time
i meet him alone.

not leave her.

not love her less.

just stop asking
who i am

while looking
through her eyes.

because maybe
i need to learn
something i somehow
skipped entirely.

how to care about myself
without needing someone else
to make me worth caring about.

how to sit quietly
with the boxes open

and not immediately
reach for her.

maybe love isn’t only
about who you let in.

maybe some of it
is finally learning

to stay—

with yourself.

i don’t know.

i’m still figuring
this shit out.

but maybe—

before i can understand
what loving her means,

i should probably learn
what loving me means.

humbly.

quietly.

without looking at her
to see if i’m doing it right.

fuck.

that one hurt.

so…

fuck.

that kinda love.

Love’s a spark.
Love’s a flame.
Love’s a wildly
stupid game.

Love’s a rush.
Love’s a race.
Love’s a grin
you cannot place.

Love gets loud.
Love gets low.
Love says stay.
Love says go.

Love gets twisted.
Love gets tight.
Love gets wrong
then feels so right.

Love will trip.
Love will fall.
Love will swear
it knows fuck all.

Love gets bruised.
Love gets bent.
Love makes dollars
outta cents.

Love gets weird.
Love gets wild.
Love makes grown-ups
act like children.

Shit.

That didn’t rhyme.

Give me time.

Love goes tick.
Love goes tock.
Love kicks doors.
Love picks locks.

Love goes bip.
Love goes bop.
Love says—

Fuck it.

Never stop.

Love gets fast.
Love gets slow.
Love knows shit
we’ll never know.

Love ain’t smart.
Love ain’t planned.
Love just reaches
for your hand.

Then—

Boom.

Bang.

Heart goes clang.

One dumb look
and there you hang.

No defense.
No retreat.

Just two hearts
with one damn beat.

Bip.

Bop.

Tick.

Tock.

Fuckin’ love.

Don’t make it stop.

Moon’s lit.

Dutchie too—

I know exactly
what to do…

Imma write.

Fuck sleep—
that shit ain’t happenin’ tonight.

Got a beat in my brain,
and I know what it’s sayin’…
my thumbs tappin’ screen,
so my words can be seen.

Dark Man is talkin’
and his shit be knockin’.

Bark in the beat,
bass rockin’ floor,
one little rhyme—
then I’m writin’ four more.

Imma bip.
Imma bop.
Imma scribble till I drop.

Imma rhyme fuckin’ orange
if this beat doesn’t stop.

Wait—

Em did that.

Phew.

Fuck it—

Imma cook these words,
let ’em simmer then spit,
dash of some smart,
two cupfuls of bull shit.

Stop—

Drop—

Nope.

That’s his.

Stay in my lane
while I’m losin’ my mind,
beat in my ears,
next rhyme right behind.

Tick.

Tock.

Bip.

Bop.

Ya know what?

I ain’t need no clock.

Imma write till it’s stupid.
Imma write till it’s tight.
One more fuckin’ poem,
then imma call it a night.

That’s a lie.

We both know that.

One becomes three,
then three becomes six—

Man…

What time is it?

3:03.

Ok Sleep,

Come get

me.

this sucks.

my boxes are taped shut,
stacked neat and tidy.

but these feelings
won’t leave my gut.

i did everything right.

love—

box.

fear—

box.

grief—

way fuckin’ back.

even put her—

…

well.

tried.

but apparently
once you feel something,

you can’t just
unfeel it.

that’s bullshit.

i liked the old system.

feel nothing.

need nothing.

hurt—

nothing.

simple.

but now i know
what love feels like.

and worse—

i know what it feels like
without it.

fuck.

nobody mentioned that.

you can close the box.

tape the lid.

stack it away.

pretend you’re
the old you again.

but once somebody
teaches your heart
how to feel—

apparently,

the stupid fuckin’ thing

remembers.

fuck…

that kinda love.

love doesn’t come with instructions.
i wish it did.
i’d read every word, memorize every diagram—
remember every graph.

i’d study the footnotes,
highlight the warnings,
learn every little thing
that could possibly go wrong.

i’d know when to speak.
when to listen.
when to hold tight
and when to give space.

i’d know which words heal
and which ones leave scars.
i’d know how close is too close
and how far is too far.

but love is kinda fucked like that.

no manual.
no map.
no little red arrow saying—

you are here.

just two people
trying to find each other
without losing themselves.

so i’ll get things wrong.
you probably won’t.

i’ll misunderstand.
you’ll clarify.

we

overthink.
get scared.

and sometimes
one of us might need
a little more time
to find the next page.

that’s okay.

we have time.

maybe one day
i’ll finally understand
why love never came
with instructions.

because if it did—

if somewhere on the first page,
in bold letters,
it told me exactly
how this would end,

how much i’d miss you,
how long it would hurt,
how many nights
i’d spend wishing
i’d done something differently—

i’d still turn the page.

i’d still choose you.

every. single. time.

so…

take your time.

we have it.

and if you need me
somewhere between
this page
and the next—

i’ll wait.

I love my life.
I always did.
The places I went.
The things I hid.

The dumbass jokes.
The late-night talks.
The winding roads.
The aimless walks.

Then you showed up
and changed the view—
not where I was,

just who
I wanted there too.

Now songs sound better.
Food tastes new.
Mornings mean
I talk to you.

Goodnight means,
“Find you in my dreams.”
Love, it turns out,
ain’t what it seems.

It isn’t extraordinary.
Fate.
Or signs.

It’s wanting you
in ordinary times.

It’s laughing hard.
It’s feeling seen.
It’s you somehow
inside my routine.

It’s one more joke.
One more thought.
One more—

Babe,

I almost forgot.

And if you asked
what loving you
has really done
to me—

Fuck.

That part’s easy.

I loved my life
before there was we.

I just never knew
how much better mine
could be—

with she.

so.

we tried feelings.

love.

empathy.

vulnerability.

all that healthy shit
i was apparently missing.

turns out—

i wasn’t missing it.

i’d packed it away.

for a reason.

then she came along

and somehow

the boxes opened.

fuck.

i liked it.

being known.

caring.

feeling something
while it was happening.

then came the part
nobody advertises.

fear.

hurt.

grief.

turns out they were
in the same fuckin’ boxes.

and apparently,

you can’t put grief back

without packing love beside it.

i tried.

couldn’t make it fit.

so—

fuck it.

love.

box.

empathy.

box.

vulnerability.

you too.

put the lids back on.

tape ’em shut.

the old me wasn’t broken.

he knew where
to put things.

assess.

think.

act.

feel later.

hopefully never.

there.

better.

k…

that kinda love.

I love the way
you say my name,
I love the way our
weird’s the same.

I love the way
you read every poem,
and somehow make
my words feel like home.

I love your brain,
your nerdy wit,
the way you know
a lotta shit.

I love your sass,
your stubborn streak,
the softer side
you let me peek.

I love our mornings,
late nights too,
how ordinary things
feel new with you.

I love your laugh,
your gentle heart,
the way I miss you
when we part.

I love our jokes
that make no sense,
our little world
without pretense.

I love that you
just let me be—
this strange-ass man
you somehow see.

I could keep going
endlessly…

but I think…

Ya.

Imma just go
tell her the rest

~fin~

So, she…
the one who loves me,
asked if I’d write her something deep and reflective.

An emotional piece,
maybe something internal…
perhaps my own raw perspective.

So I sat and thought for a spell
and wondered what to tell—
and this is what I came up with…

I looked deep inside,
past ego and pride,
through thoughts I don’t usually mention.

I wandered around
to see what I found,
and gave myself my full attention.

I examined my fears,
some shit from the years,
the pieces I normally hide.

I searched every part
of my head and my heart,
and really looked deep inside.

I reflected on life,
on struggle and strife,
on who I have grown up to be.

And after all that,
where my memories sat,
every piece of my history…

I found something profound.

Something raw.

Something undeniably true.

Apparently…

even when I look
deep inside myself—

I still
find
you.

Fuck.

I was supposed to write
about me.

Something simple, maybe sweet,
I feel like writing to the beat.
Boom boom boom
echoes in my chest,
that chick of mine,
she is the best.

She makes me feel
ten foot tall,
like I can do anything,
big or small.

She makes me laugh,
she makes me grin,
she makes my butterflies—
all fluttery again.

She makes me feel
super smart—
while she gently holds
my beating heart.

She sounds just like
my favorite dream.
When we’re done the dishes,
we have ice cream.

She makes my day
so much better.
I feel so lucky
that we’re together.

She showed me herself
and let me be me.
That’s probably why
we’re now a we.

Now look at me,
all smiles and shit,
completely gone
and loving it.

Boom boom boom,
there goes my heart.

She loves me.

That’s the best part.

There once was a goose,
who fell in love with a moose,
they didn’t need luck…

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

Aight…

I’m done with this schtick,
it’s makin’ me sick.
A goose and a moose?

Bro what?

I tried being funny,
I tried being clever,
I tried writing something
that wasn’t her—whatever.

I tried something new,
something stupid and light,
but somehow that chick
still sneaks in when I write.

A moose finds a goose?
Of course they find love.

I could write about dirt
and the clouds up above,

a fork,
a shoe,
some old rubber glove…

and somehow I’d still
make the damn thing
’bout love.

So…

Enough with the goose
and the moose
and the trying to
write something new.

I know what I’m gonna do.

Imma tell

YOU

Why I

Love

You.

There once was a goose,
who fell in love with a moose,
they didn’t need luck…

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

Aight…

I’m done with this schtick,
it’s makin’ me sick.
A goose and a moose?

Bro what?

I tried being funny,
I tried being clever,
I tried writing something
that wasn’t her—whatever.

I tried something new,
something stupid and light,
but somehow that chick
still sneaks in when I write.

A moose finds a goose?
Of course they find love.

I could write about dirt
and the clouds up above,

a fork,
a shoe,
some old rubber glove…

and somehow I’d still
make the damn thing
’bout love.

So…

Enough with the goose
and the moose
and the trying to
write something new.

I know what I’m gonna do.

Imma tell

YOU

Why I

Love

You.

Well this is nuts,
I’m writing like a fuckin’ putz.
I know what I want to write,
just struggling to see the light.

Look at that first stanza,
me thinkin’ I’m the Boss like Tony Danza.

Pfft…

I just wanna let loose,
write something stupid about a moose.
Or maybe a duck
who ran outta luck
and fell in love with a goose.

See?

That’s more like me.
No hidden meaning,
no metaphorical tree.

No feelings to find,
no digging my mind,
no wondering what it all means.

Just words that rhyme
and waste a little time
with whatever pops in between.

But…

There’s something I’m trying
real hard not to say,
’cause I’ve written about it
a thousand fuckin’ ways.

Her smile.
Her mind.
The things that she does.
And how this one woman
turned me into us.

Ah, fuck it.

Forget the damn moose,
the duck and the goose,
I know what I’ve wanted to do.

I don’t need something clever,
or something brand new—

I just wanna keep
writing
about you.

From bees in trees,
to nerds with words
and
sentences big and small.
Sabbatical enjoyed,
no longer annoyed,
I’m here to finish them all.

From chefs and poets,
to lovers who know it,
and flowers and spirals and rain.
Those three a.m. thoughts,
the battles I fought,
and finding some beauty in pain.

A magnetic connection,
warmed with affection…
A little story that started it all.
From smiles tucked inside,
to ego and pride,
I’ve written through every damn wall.

Some happy, some sad,
some fuckin’ mad,
some written with nothing but hope.
Some clever, some crude,
some painfully nude—
just me learning how not to cope.

So bees, take your trees,
and Nerd, if you please,
there’s plenty more ink left to fall.
Sabbatical done.
I’m back having fun.

Time to finish them all.

Mike was already nodding when Dan leaned over and said, “I sure hope he’s finally gonna tell us he’s gay, so we can say, ‘So what, Bud, we love you.’”

I like the way
you start my day.

The little things
you always say.

The clever thoughts
inside your head.

All the words
we’ve ever said.

I like your wit.
I like your sass.

I love that you let me grab your…

You like my—
Ya.

I like your—
Indeed…

I adore the way
you take the lead.

—

I like your laugh.
I like your mind.

The little ways
you’re always kind.

I like the pauses
in between.

The parts of you
I’ve never seen.

I like the way
one little thought

of you—

can make me smile

an

awful

lot.

I like our weird.
I like our fun.

I like whatever
we’ve become.

And maybe “like”
is not quite true.

Because somehow, Babe—

I started loving
all of you.

So…

No clever ending.
No grand debut.

Just one small thing
I need to say to you—

I had a two-guesser
on Wordle this morning…

Eat it!!!

Loooove yoooouuuu😘

I like the way
you start my day.

The little things
you always say.

The clever thoughts
inside your head.

All the words
we’ve ever said.

I like your wit.
I like your sass.

I love that you let me grab your…

You like my—
Ya.

I like your—
Indeed…

I adore the way
you take the lead.

—

I like your laugh.
I like your mind.

The little ways
you’re always kind.

I like the pauses
in between.

The parts of you
I’ve never seen.

I like the way
one little thought

of you—

can make me smile

an

awful

lot.

I like our weird.
I like our fun.

I like whatever
we’ve become.

And maybe “like”
is not quite true.

Because somehow, Babe—

I started loving
all of you.

So…

No clever ending.
No grand debut.

Just one small thing
I need to say to you—

I had a two-guesser
on Wordle this morning…

Eat it!!!

Loooove yoooouuuu😘

The first night after her funeral, Walter lay there not knowing where to put his hand.