Across the room,
Your piercing gaze met mine.
It felt divine,
It was like coming home
After being away for so long.
It was like watching a sunset,
Over and over again.
Painting the skies orange,
Taking away all the misery and blues.
It was like the smell of rain
In the dry concrete floor.
Petrichor, that’s the word for it.
But what’s the word for,
But loving it at the same time?
And I know how you hated
The color orange,
‘It looks absurd’ You used to say
But how can you love
Sunsets and falling leaves
But hate its color?
I wish there was a word for that.
When you said you loved me
How I still felt lonely,
Even when you hold me.
I wish there was a word for that,
When you hate the parts
But love the whole.
Because that’s what it felt like
When you left
Love is when I hear your voice,
Rebounding in every corner of the room
yet still managed to find its way to me.
Love is when you touch my hands,
Sending jolts of electricity
As if you’re keeping me alive.
We could’ve survived anywhere.
Love is when I go to sleep,
And I know that you are somewhere
In this world, breathing and living
And the mere existence of you,
Makes the darkness worthwhile.
Love is when I touch you,
My hands in your breasts,
Your lips on my neck,
Our souls intertwining, like deep roots
I feel most alive when I’m with you.
Love is when I know you are smiling
even though I’m sure as hell I can’t see.
It’s not your attractive facade
Nor your arousing figure.
Love isn’t something you can see.
I awoke to the sound of the morning breeze
The wind brushed against my face
And I wondered if you felt it too
Across the ocean,
from thousands of miles away
I like to think that you did
I like to think that even though the world scattered us like seeds,
The winds connected us.
It’s as if the winds felt my longing.
I long for your voice,
A music that used to resonate
Inside this hollow body.
I yearn for your touch,
Our bodies pressed together like the pages of a book,
We were part of a whole.
But you’re not here now.
You’re across the ocean,
From thousands of miles away.
A pen in your hand,
And another man’s hand on the other.
Sometimes I wonder if you still write about me,
Sometimes I wonder when I’ll stop.
“I want you always to remember me.
Will you remember that I existed,
and that I stood next to you here like this?”
– Naoko (Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami)
I remember it like it was yesterday
As lucid as the light that used to flow through me.
I remember the voices,
Screams that passed through endless thick walls
I remember the flying splinters of broken marriage,
Its fragments cut through my hands,
The wounds never healed.
I remember the tears,
I didn’t understand why it wouldn’t stop,
I always thought that the tears will wash away what’s hurting,
But I’ve been crying a river.
And the wounds never did heal.
Some nights I forget,
Some nights I laugh.
Some nights I even feel like I’m truly happy.
But some nights,
I just want to leave everything behind.
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
Why do I allow you to keep on destroying me,
just as I finished taping bones in my sunken body.
Why do I never get tired of building myself up
just so you could tear me down.
Why does the idea of you and me
(photo not mine, credits to the owner)
We are all so small, she told me
as she pulled the hem of her shirt,
to adjust the folds of her stomach.
I nearly laughed but I didn’t
as she told me how the stars placed in the sky
were so massive in contrast to us.
it’s as if we are specks
seen only by the rays of the sun