In the echoes of your silence,
I found a universe—
full of the words you never said,
the tears you never cried,
and the longing that hung heavy in the air.

I called out to you,
my voice cracking with hope,
but all that returned
were desperate echoes
lost in the space between us.

You stayed distant—
unmoved,
untouched by the storm
that raged inside me.

We were tangled—
in missed chances,
in words that came too late,
in love that never quite found its way.

I gave you everything,
poured it out like a river that couldn’t stop,
but you stood still.
Unaffected.
Unwilling.

In the end,
it wasn’t the things we said
that broke us.
It was the silence—
so loud,
so final.

Now we’re here,
still tethered by hearts too scared to speak,
stranded in the quiet,
held apart by all the things
we never found the courage to say.

Oh, the guilt—
it sits heavy in my chest.
I carry it every day.
Do you?
Or did you slip away
untouched
by the wreckage you left behind?

I’ll never know.
You hide your heart
like a locked door.
But I remember how you came
not with kindness,
but with something to prove—
a twisted belief
that girls like me,
soft-spoken,
faithful,
could be broken
if pushed just right.

But don’t you see?
It was never about me failing.
It was you—
your hands,
your choices,
your violence.

I was whole.
I was safe.
Until you burned through
what I was.

You called it a test.
I call it a wound.
You called it truth.
I call it cruelty.

You proved your point,
if that’s what you wanted.
But what did it cost?
A piece of me I’ll never get back.
A soul scarred by what you called proof.

Mi Cielo—my heaven above.
The words were foreign,
but the feeling was always home.
That’s what I called him—
softly, lovingly—
even when our languages
couldn’t quite hold each other.

But I held onto what mattered:
the meaning.
Because in my heart,
he was never a stranger.
He was part of me,
the part I couldn’t let go of,
even when nothing made sense.

I never imagined he’d drift—
become someone I couldn’t reach.
He was mine in the only way that mattered,
a light I thought would never dim.

I didn’t want him to feel far,
didn’t want silence
to be the loudest thing between us.
I just wanted closeness—
always.
I wanted forever.

Things are different now.
But still, in the quiet parts of me,
you’ll always be Mi Cielo—
my heaven,
my heart.

In the quiet of the night, I felt it—
his pain, pressing heavy on my chest.
He didn’t say a word, but it hung between us,
thick in the air like unshed tears.

I was supposed to be his joy,
his first love, the light in his days.
But my words—careless, sharp—
cut him where I couldn’t see.
And I didn’t know, not really,
how much I’d hurt him
until I felt it echo inside me.

A silent ache—mine and his—
wrapped around my ribs like regret.
That night, I finally saw it:
what love can carry,
and how easily we break the things we hold dear.

Morning brought clarity,
gentle and cruel all at once.
And as the light crept in,
I saw my mistake not as a moment,
but a wound that lingered.

He was my first love,
the one who held my heart so gently.
And now, all I could do was watch
as he carried the weight I gave him.

If I could go back, I would—
unsay, undo, unhurt.
But love doesn’t always forgive
just because you finally understand.
And I’m left with this truth:
that love is fragile,
and words, once spoken,
can last far longer than we ever mean them to.

I wait.
I open my screen, and there I see
a notification—
not from you,
but from Duolingo, urging me to do my Latin lesson today.

I hear a ring.
I look at my screen,
and there it is—
a notification,
not from you,
but from my best friend who needs me to select a dress for her.

Then I see a blink.
I look at my screen,
and there it is—
a notification,
not from you,
but from the group chat I’ve been a member of since 2023.

And I finally tuck my phone away.
Then I hear a ding.
I look at my screen,
and there it is—
a notification,
yet not from you.

In the quiet of the library’s hush, he sits,  
A mind so sharp, a focus that never quits.  
His parents, pharmacists with dreams so high,  
Pressure to excel, to reach for the sky.  

He studies like the world depends on his gaze,  
Romance and relationships seem far away in his maze.  
Yet I gathered my courage, stepped forth with a plea,  
"Can we be friends?" I asked, hoping he’d see me.  

He nodded, a simple sure, a spark in his eye,  
Then I asked for his Insta, to catch a glimpse or try.  
But his feed is dry, almost as if he’s aloof,  
Like he doesn’t care, like he’s missing the proof.  

His friends call me "bhabi," a sister in law, a kin,  
They talk of me, but does he harbor within?  
Does he like or just talk about me in jest?  
Or is he simply focused, doing his best?  

Supportive chem teacher, she sees a spark,  
Encourages us both, brightening the dark.  
She told him to be kind, to treat me with care,  
And cheered me to talk, to show that I dare.  

Wednesday, he sat opposite, a moment so rare,  
I overheard a friend ask, "Is that her?" in the air.  
He speaks of me to friends, but the question remains —  
Does he like me, or is he just caught in his strains?  

In his silence, in his focus, is a story untold,  
A boy under pressure, ambitious and bold.  
Yet maybe, just maybe, beneath that steady guise,  
There’s a hint of a feeling that quietly lies.

Your skin is cotton soft
And your lips is jellybeans