And I don’t think I’ll ever be the same

after watching the sun rise over the horizon

of your cheekbone, how could I watch

the night fall over that face

and expect the stars to remain familiar.

Words that were written one year ago,

and I still so vividly remember

falling in love with you, and maybe I

remember it so well because

I do it over and over again, with every

sunrise and every dusk, even

in this winter when the night comes so

soon and you know I cant’t

stay awake in the dark, so thank you for

never letting me sleep alone.


from all the gaps between

all the planets, all the spaces

between fingers and between

universes, there is nothing

further apart than this moment

from the moment that came

before and maybe this is why I

miss you so much. Not because

you are far from me, no, I see

you over my shoulder in all the

quiet moments, I smell you on

the shirts of friends and on the

hands of my grandmother, but

because the moments after you

have suddenly burst back in to

life, a fireball of memory, the

cornucopia of a childhood,

adolescence and brief adult

life that I was so lucky to share

with you, the moments that

come after these remind me

that there is nothing further

away, nothing in this world, in

this life, than the moment once

it has passed.

one day you’ll wake up

and you’ll realize that

when you sleep, the two

of you breathe in time,

like tides of the ocean, he

is the moon that guides 

the sea and you are the

sun that governs his days

and nights, inhale for the 

sunrise in reds and yellows,

exhale for the dusk, purples 

and blues, he likes every 

shade of you, and will 

love every color to come. 


How long has it been

since arms have felt 

this much like home,

since hands on waists

spelt out so many words

with every morse code 

tap of finger tips, since

kisses on cheeks made 

so many promises in

so few days, I have my

fingers crossed for his 

promises of tomorrow. 


How can you be so heartbroken

over someone you never loved,

people you never lost, those who

you saw but never found. Words

on a page in cursive so poorly

written that no love can come from

them, with a form so contorted

that no kind word could be spoken

but the phrases pour like water

out a glass so full but still so empty,

paradoxical and naïve, the vaguest

emptiness, the promise of forever

in a day that couldn’t last.


the fact is that 

it was always you, you know.

who else could it ever
be? in this world of

blacks and whites my love you were

technicolor vibrancy,
you were and always

will be the moon when it rises 

and the stars when it


Please try to not forget that

I see you, each and every day. 

In every armchair I see all of

the stories you told, in every

teacup is the scalding brew 

you drank, in every outdoor 

endeavor is your disdain for the 

cold, but love of walking dogs,

of your breath in the air on frosty

mornings and the lights of the garden. 
Every television plays

a loop of Westerns and reruns 

of Irish standup comedy, on

every plate sits biscuits, every 

microwave is always set to two

minutes, for how could anything 

ever be warm enough until it

burnt through two towels and some

In every pair of hands 

I can’t help but see yours, 

turning newspaper pages, 

finishing crossword puzzles,

and perhaps what frightens 

me the most are the unfinished 

ones, that will now wait 

forever to be finished, always 

a piece missing, 
how desperately appropriate.