November Again

i could never write
a novel
’cause it would only be
cheesy romance
my only real depth
is in the short lines
of my poems
always about you
even when they’re not

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Written

Nothing yet. Just November.
Older now. Cooler somehow.
Losing light. Ends tied.
Love present. Bright fluorescent.
Study me. Poem written.

*Note: This is an old poem from November of 2009 or 2010, not positive on the year. It started as an uninspired Facebook status and grew into a poem that I count as a favorite.

November Something

You are in every breeze,
every sunrise,
every ripple of the water,
every falling leaf.
Every second whispers your name.
It’s simple and
it’s been written before.
But it feels like the truth.
With every breath, I miss you.
You’re my heart.
Always.

 

*Note: I wrote this poem back in November of 2015, but I neither dated it nor titled it, which is weird for me. So November Something seems like a fitting enough title, especially since the person who inspired the poem has a November birthday and I was most likely thinking about said birthday when I penned this.