i am a visitor.

a visitor here. a visitor to your story, a visitor to mine, a visitor to this world. a visitor of my past, a traveller to my dreamt future.

so,
i am a martian. a martian to everything. a martian to all.

hence,
i am perpetually foreign. i am consistently uncomfortably foreign.

when would i be home? i'd often wonder.

when would i stop being a collector? collecting new experiences. collecting novel items. collecting temporary resources. collecting coins. collecting grains.

when can i place a welcome mat on the floor?

i was nervous.

my fingers trembled slightly
as i lifted the cup to my lips.

the piping hot liquid touching my tongue
burnt me
but the sensation felt akin to a physical expression of my
incorrigible thoughts

i did not dare look up, so
i kept my head down for as long as i could

perhaps i lifted my head because my neck felt too tired
or as my skin pricked under the keen eyes of the pretty barista that circled my table 5 times

but i looked up
with bated breath

the empty seat across me greeted me first
the people around me never ceased their conversation

the pubescent teenager sat diagonally across me never paused his incessant chatter
the elusive woman looking to be a tortured artist in her 30s had her eyes glued to the book in hand

i turned to my right

the pretty barista was at the furthest end of the cafe
she had her back against me.

it has been 8 years
since the union
since i've called you dad

so far, every year remains the same

i'll pass you a handdrawn card on father's day, a warm smile on my face
i'll write the words i love you over and over again for years

'you are the best,
  thank you for staying,
    thank you for not leaving
     thank you for taking care of us'


but the next day,
when the teacher asks us to write down a deep, sentimental reflection on our parents and our love for them

without hesitation,
i'll write about my mother
and then pass it up without a second thought

within the far depths of many sleepless nights,
i'll still cry,
whispering
i don't have a father

then i'll ask myself
how cruel i must be

how when its convenient,
you aren't a father, not to me.

a subtle brush-back of my hair, a glance there, a shy look-up and a soft smile as i read an intellectual book-
i adjust my blouse, absentmindedly stirring the iced coffee between my fingers decorated with polished acrylic nails-
as my eyes stray beyond the reading material-
they linger on the couple engaged in an embrace on the sidewalk with grinning faces.

my lips curled into a ghost of a frown, eyes dropping back down

my narration stops
my internal monologue begins
as i question for the hundredth time that day
what i was doing wrong
to not be in that place

here i am, once again,
sitting on my bed,
wishing desperately to the 11 11 on the clock.

'as much as i know how you feel,
i want this so desperately to be real.
can you like me?
can you feel how i feel?'

if this is all some mythical tale like the ones my mom used to tell me before bed,
can you grant me a wish like that genie did?

there's no need for a true love's kiss.
all i want is time,
all i want is you,
that all
will do.

back then, a young girl often found herself holding hands with another girl similar of age, as they braced storms and met with trees, watching the leaves turn with age

an adventure that didn't begin with the sunrise and didn't end when the sky became an ebony that matched their hair

one girl thought they would be friends forever and

maybe they were in an alternate reality, far away from their present

so she still believed.

but, the girl began to worry more as the calender flipped pages

she had thought maybe memories weren't meant to hurt so much,

"Maybe my heart was in my body but was never mine,

maybe i lost my best friend,

my everything,

in a stormy sea one day,

when the forecast showed nothing but clear skies for the future decade,

maybe the loss did not hurt more than the knowledge that she didn't love me."

and for a minute
the world is illuminated by a thousand stars, where each
seemed to shine fondly down on you

you turn to your side
your smile widens, to an extreme you didn't know was possible before

you finally knew
what they meant by 'friendship'
you finally knew
what they meant by a 'friend'

you finally felt like
when sitting in a cold cinema,
the only source of warmth is no longer from the overheated projector

and now you know
warmth could come from a person too.