Love: Worth Every Last Drop

I want to share with you the end of a poem my friend Trevor Allred wrote.

Loneliness also proves intimacy,
The study of sadness will teach one love.
–For love felt and lost is love seen and known;
Negative space is a puzzle hole shown.

Once…I tried my hand in the game of love. I went all in and I’m glad I did. I lost, but I can’t wait to play again, even though I have been left with with a huge hole somewhere inside of me. The loneliness I feel now proves the intimacy I had. I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything. It was real, and I’m learning from it. The one thing I refuse to believe is that the risk isn’t worth it. You don’t not plant flowers because they are only beautiful for a while. You don’t avoid buying pet because eventually it will pass away. You don’t avoid having  a couple extra beers one night because you may wake up a little hungover the next morning. You live and learn, simultaneously sometimes. The experience of life is not organized like building a model airplane, no predetermined steps in the process to becoming perfect. You will never be perfect. Besides, you will be dead when people are actually standing around admiring the finished product, and by the time that comes no one is going to be impolite enough to bring up the spots where there are clumps of glue or a piece missing. There is too much reverence for the dead.

So, here are some poems. They are all about Love. Some of them capture moments from the game I played. Some of them capture my emotions, others my thoughts. But I was glad I got to try and love, because as a good consequence I was inspired. I was inspired to write about someone else and for someone else. I got to write about my hopes for me, and my hopes for another: my dreams, my pain, my fears, my desires, and I got to capture what I learned.

Feel free to comment on anything. Tell me what you liked or didn’t like. Tell me what you identified with, or felt, or even what I could change to make poems more powerful. Thanks everyone. Enjoy Love, get after it. It is worth every drop of blood you have got.


Remember when our eyes did the talking?


Remember when our eyes did the talking?

We looked out windows and watched

fat men walking tiny dogs,

or tall women kissing short guys.

We stole quick glances of each other in reflections

or peered into one another as

we stood the awkward distance

of just a kiss away.

Our eyes smiled, said something—

and moved on.


I met you in your eyes,

in the look that only we understood,

the one that said it all.

Even when I asked “what?”

and you said “nothing”

our eyes screamed “something”

But that echo of something didn’t

reach our ears in time and

even though we saw it

we never brought it up again.


But, it was there, floating in the air,

in between the glacier blue

and mossy green stare

that silenced us both,

until one of us turned away

and ignored what each of us

thought we may have heard.


Remember when our eyes

couldn’t stop laughing?

We were supposed to be quiet.

It was in the library.

I’m glad our eyes can giggle,

because that they can do endlessly.

Unlike our lungs,

our eyes never ran out of breath,

or cramped up and hurt like hell,

we just held each other in that gaze.


Remember when your eyes told me

I could be someone,

the man I want to be?

Remember when my eyes apologized?

Remember when yours forgave?

Remember when we thought we could read

the words that were in each other?

But we forgot to listen. Our eyes spoke

something that couldn’t be seen—only felt?


But maybe I was wrong though.

Maybe we speak different languages after all,

and always have?

Or just do now.


Yet, sometimes when our stare meets,

I can still feel the swell inside of me,

within the ocean of my eyes

the waves are crashing,

heavy breakers trying to swallow a black shore,

black sand that says nothing.

All I want is a single wave to escape,

to streak my face in the form of a tear

and say something you can hear.

Something I can never say.


Maybe I can destroy Babel with one wave.

Wash everything away,

finally say what I can never say.


Maybe that wave will remain a drop.

I will pretend that you need it

to water your eyes so

Something can grow inside of you too.

A forest as deep as the

empty ocean inside me.


It happened in reverse


We started in full bloom

and faded, a red petal a day,

or two—or more.


Slow wilting, at first,

as we began fresh

and fertile at the end of spring.


It was inevitable, I suppose.

So close to the heat of summer,

we should dry and brown.


But I didn’t expect an

irritated  “she loves me not”

to pluck the last half or

two-thirds of what was left.


We should have been a bud

and then bloomed.

Not started as a hot sun and collapsed


Except that, I care about you


I don’t know what I’m doing,

Except that, I care about you.

I’m not sure why I believe,

that trying is still an option,

Except that, I care about you

I’m not sure what I am saying,

Except that, I care about you.

You tell me you don’t want be loved.

You tell me you don’t want men,

You tell me you don’t need anyone,

Except that, I care about you,

So, to me, even though I hear all of those things,

They go in one earand ricochet

inside of my skull and sometimes

The Pain is indeed like pulling teeth

But it is happening inside my brain

Because I am trying to hold back

the pushing out of tears from my eyes.

Except that, I care about you,

So, what is a little hurt?

What is a hundred sleepless nights?

What is million little moments lost

to thoughts of you instead?

I promised myself this morning,

And the morning before and before,

And I will make the same promise tomorrow,

Today, I will stop…caring so much…

Except that, I care about you.

More than just care like a friend,

Or any of those other men,

Who said, “love” but were just there to pretend

But I know, because I more than just care

and so, I wish you could

Accept that I care about you.


The Chronicles


I’m a fool,

a wandering one,

hoping to happen upon a


That single, solitary detail,

to stumble through and

gaze enchanted on the

gentle unfolding of a fantasy land.


I want to part the hidden costumes,

the cobweb covered coats.

I’m drawn by a mighty creature on the

other side. Something precious,

formed in heaven, eternal,

its golden mane and wild growl,

are the golden rings

buried in your eyes.


God, I hope I don’t go blind.

I’m bound by your spell, seeing only

that which is splendid and bright.

I pray your eyes to see

the happily ever after

that this daily walk can be.


No portal, I believe, is as


to fight through and into,

to unlock and unlatch,

and with one foot forward,


break through and forgo

the notion of fairy tale and

show you—true


truer than fact is true.


And, the truth is, all I want on this

side—or the other,

of this magical world,

is you.


One-sided conversation


If I told you I was falling in love with you

it wouldn’t change anything.


I won’t—say it, I mean.

I’ll still fall in love with you

No matter what I don’t say.


What do you say?




It happened like lightening.

Electric impulses in our eyes.


Magnetic tension, opposing forces,

until one slips and they collide.


Positive. Meet Negative.

Electron. Meet Electron.

faster than the speed of light.



Now, something different,

One and One entwined.


Then split apart.


The Hydrogen bonds tightly tied.

Unbreakable—with one exception—

and consequences.

A million burning suns

burning everything in sight.


In a flash, a great cloud,

this world lives—

and dies.




I’m a rubber band

of flesh and soul,

the smooth unscathed skin

the band will snap.


You stretch me out

to the point of ripping apart

until you let me go

and I crumple into myself

so fast I can’t be seen.


All evidence of us

is the slight slash,

the sliver of plasma

seeping, staining the

twisted and tortured rubber

that can never return to its tight form.


You do it again.

Stretch and Snap.

Again, until tiny fibers lose

elasticity and tear.


I split. I was one with no edges

or loose ends,

but now am one with two endings

The end of you.

The end of me.


It Never Happened


I’m not sure anymore

if I want to pretend we never

happened. In the kitchen

when we went too far—

or not far enough. I wanted

to say it then, but I waited.


You didn’t wait—

you had nothing to say

except, yes, then, no,

then, one more time,

then the next day,

pretend we never happened.


So you did, and

I—pretended I did.


One response to “Love: Worth Every Last Drop

  • katrinathomas

    Paul, I loved the intro to this. Sometimes I don’t feel like it was worth it to love because it failed and the repercussions of it failing hurts like hell. The line “the loneliness I have proves the intimacy I had” makes it all sound worth it.

    I loved the poem about eyes talking. My mom always tells me that I talk with my eyes and so I could relate to the way that you experienced complete intimacy and dialogue simply through the use of your eyes.

    I have also had experiences that were triggered when reading “Except That I Care About You”, I think more on the receiving end–me pushing another away, but also in my inability to force my will to let go when I really care about someone.

    Thank you for sharing!

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