If stars were wishes
I'd trade a whole galaxy
Simply to have you

Line up my sins like bottles on a shelf
The tinkling sound of breaking glass in every little white lie
The worst untruths are the ones you tell yourself

would that I could be
deep below the water's surface
or far above the spinning earth
because if I were dancing on the sandy ocean floor
or skipping through the stars
nothing could touch me

Stasis

Still, though?
After all this time?
Some might call it romantic. Others, pathetic. I just call it bothersome.
Twelve months and seven-hundred miles didn't do the job
How can I possibly be expected to?
I just want to know
How many weeks, how many miles is it going to take me
To stop feeling this way?

On some days, long exhausting days--only the little things can improve a mood.
The cold snout of a puppy jabbing persistently into ribs.
Warm biscuits and sweet jam.
A snatch of "Rhapsody in Blue" hummed into the open air.