Why would I ever love you? How could I? Certainly not because of the way your humour fits itself into every situation.
And definitely not the slight creases beside your eyes when you smile. Your secured confidence is the least of it.
There is no way I would fall for the way you get a rush of laughter when you're nervous.
And I would be the last person to become entranced by your eyes that are so deep... dark... captivating... haunting...
That jawline of yours - it could cut like a knife. And the music you listen to could scare away the older folks.
The way you sing along so innocently to songs about human entrails being ripped apart. You know all the words.
And the way you tease me and flip me off with a smile on your face... why would I ever love you?


If you hate him, do you hate the part of me that you see in him?
Do you see my fathers blue eyes when you look at me? His freckles? Does my smile reflect the happiness you once shared?
Does it hurt you as much as it hurts me? To know you hate the same blood that runs in his veins?
The same birth mark we both share on our neck?


I had a dream about you.
A dream that felt like a scene out of a Tarantino movie.
It was you and I, against all odds.
We had a getaway car, an old Pontiac that we picked up from a gas station about 300 kilometres back.
We were driving double the speed limit down Highway 1.
It was a dark, cool, fall night in the rockies.
On the run. Bounty's for both, dead or alive.
We had not a care, not an ounce of worry. Two most wanted in the country, yet here we were.
Living the life we had dreamed of. Letting go of who we pretended to be for so long. Embracing who we really were.
We drove into a national park.
Rolling up the windows, driving into a shaded off area, we eased our seats back and I crawled onto your lap, making the bench our bed.
The windows fogged, and we embraced one another from inside and out. Our bodies, fused together by the heat of our breath.
We had everything we wanted, right there. Just us.
Against all odds.


When pictures of my father as a child start to crease and fold under the weight of sorrow.
I wonder if, deep down, that same child was watching on the evening when I took off my training wheels for the first time,
hoping he could have a turn. Or when I ran off to the playground, did he wish he could come with me and take turns on the swings?


The cool autumn sky greets the sun at dawn, just as I greet you.
I lie next to you, our hands locked and legs intertwined.
Your face is buried in my neck, and I can feel your soft breathing.
You wake up and tell me, "I'm so tired."
and I whisper, "Go back to sleep." And I hold you tighter as you do.