I've no plans to write tonight
but the sound of your voice lingers
at the back of my mind—

quiet, shy, baritone
like I have never imagined.

A humid day, the sky's tears fall
in little, thin drops
and there you were—

know that I try
to be as honest as possible, but

You didn't look perfect at all.
your eyes were tired, hair slightly tousled—
were you sleeping in class?

That thought makes me chuckle—
you looked like a child in confusion.

You didn't look perfect at all.
maybe it's because Helios wasn't
caressing your face.

For now, we make do with sunlight
peeking through clouds of gray.

Have I mentioned
you look good in blue?
Maybe I will soon.

Later when my heart is still
and I can admit you make my soul ache.

But for now, I wait and wait
and honestly, darling,
I wouldn't mind waiting—

for you.

—2:12AM, 3 13

My heart is itching

Itching

        Itching

                 Itching

For you you you you you

But no

No

No

I can't

Won't

Shouldn't

Love you

Hate you

We're just friends

Oh but how my heart itches

i wonder how would
your hands feel against my own

would they be cold
or would they be the type to
radiate warmth

would they be soft like a candle—
wax, unmelted, smooth—
or strong and rough, dependable

would you squeeze mine
as an assurance of love
or

would you be the type
to caress their lover's face
as you stare deep into their soul

but for today,
i'd be fine with how things are now

but i still wonder

how would your hands feel
against my own.

—12:21AM, 313 2

i thought i was special
i thought she went home and
            spent hours combing through my irises searching for
            colored flecks that match her own

i thought she was hoping so hard that i felt
            her wishes dissolved in tears
            seeping from her palms
                        when she cradled my cheekbones

i thought she always knew what i was thinking –
            that if i let her stare for too long,
            she would find the hopeless poetry
                                    brimming with bitter-tasting imitations
                        that i etched into my retinas
            and the thousands of tattered fading photographs
                        i plastered onto the walls of my mind
                        – a record of all the moments when she
                                    let me go

but really
i've always known she loves you more
i know because i can see your name
embroidered in the fabric of her spirit
and mine is
only
fading in temporary ink
it will be
g    o        n                e
soon

when i am faded and forgotten:
i hope you remember how special she is
i hope you
            tell her everyday ...

            while i cry,
                        missing her,
                        desperately clutching
                                    the skin she touched
                                                now peeled into open wounds
                                                burning in the cold
                        and waterlogged, bodiless papers
                                    covered only with
                                    bitter-tasting imitations,

i hope you
listen as her words melt through you
            as her laugh sparkles in the empty air
fill your cracks and gaping canyons with the gentle blue
            she pours from her irises in silky ribbons
etch the feeling of her delicate fingers through your hair
            onto your retinas
                        maybe you will be able to immortalize her
                        and everything you see will
                        glow
let your pained tears drip silently into her cupped palms
            as she holds you in her sweet rose-colored warmth,

and pin just this one moment
                        onto the blank walls of your mind
            the moment when she held you and
            when, inside, you knew
            that
                        she would
            never
let you go