For You.

PART THREE OF THREE.

i don't consider this a poem just a message of appreciation, listen to the song after reading.

your voice would fill my ears
before my focus met you across the table.
absorbing every feature in detail,
brown skinned girl, cushioned cheeks, dark hair...
the last feature always seemingly the beauty spot that rests on your face.
you have a wit about you,
sarcastic comments, intellectual thoughts.
mostly random facts but i'd listen.
i enjoyed hearing your childhood stories and trips to festivals.
but whenever you'd recall certain memories behind your smile that wasn't all.
that wasn't all. 
i'd slowly watch the corners of your mouth descend to their original place
with a sense of pain dragging them down.
i could capture more emotion in your falling smile than the stories themselves.
although you never said it yourself, your smile did.
that something was missing, whenever you told a story.
something was missing. 
i remember the moment i finally saw it
i felt stupid and guilty that i hadn't noticed sooner.
there was a reason you wouldn't speak about her much,
why within stories there was hardly ever a past nor present tense when you referred to her.
and even though at times it must've hurt and cut you inside,
you'd try your best to smile.
but i was never worried nor am i now,
that you aren't strong enough.
because i could see your strength every time you picked up pen and paper.
you are able to translate the foreign characters given to us into passion and truth.
i may never be as poetic as you,
but you've shared your gift with me.
and now through every pen stroke we can walk the same path.
although it's not enough, to show my gratitude.
i write these words for you.

happy birthday.

The Drive.

PART ONE OF THREE.

we drove and drove and drove and drove...

I'm not sure when but it was sometime after we passed Liv's old house with the creaky front gate and that milkshake place in town you took me to after I failed my english exam (miserably), my eyes soon became heavy. The stop at the petrol station where you bought me a bottle of ice tea without me asking, heavier, the long stretch of an endless motorway, heavier, the curse words under your breath whilst we reach the M6 toll booth because you believe £3.80 is just daylight robbery, heavier, it wasn't until the sound of your voice softly singing along to the words of Ben Howard did I begin to fall asleep. You must of thought I was already sleeping because you'd never sing to me. I loved it when you sang. It's only when the warmth of the sunlight began to rest on my eyelids did I wake and just for a moment, maybe even half a minute I forgot where we were. The feel of the rushing breeze wrapping itself around me, smothering my skin, sending a cool sensation down my spin. The two lane black top road with a cluster of towering tress surrounding us, I tilted my head as far back as I could. I slowly breathed in the air I so much craved, holding the air at the top of my chest, this was a moment I didn't want to let go. With your thumbs drumming away at the steering wheel along with the rhythm of the radio, I just looked at you. Your hair being embraced by the wind, the sunlight reflecting your Iris, your eyes have never looked so blue....

"hey...kid"
you laughed. "you still calling me kid? can we just get this straight, i'm older than you by two years so rea--"
"yeah yeah yeah I know the speech...why do you like me?"
you sighed. "uh, come on babe"
"what?"
"do you really need to ask?"
"...please".
and that's the day you said words no other has ever said to me, words so pure, so meaningful that I'm not sure I could ever share with another. words too precious to the ears I'll keep them a secret, a secret for as long as I can. Once you were done you looked on, straight on at the two lane black top road whilst the car filled with silence. You brushed your eyes against your shoulder leaving your lashes moist and at that point silence meant the world to me. silence and the sound of Ben Howard.  so we drove and drove and drove and drove....