I was not able to
write again,
for you were the muse
and leaving me was the
decision you decided
to take
I thought it was about
the presence
of yours
I did not take picture
of you,
of us
I have no evidence
I am hurting
and I am fine with
the sorrow
because I am healing
for now I realised
it was all about
your existence
and I write again
for there is
the memory
of you
of us,
you exist,
we exist
because the memory
lives.

Tell me how to answer the question
of how the moon kissed
you goodnight
of how the stars hugged
you to sleep
of how the sky touched
you for a sweet dream
And I am still jealous
with the thought
of it
Show me the way out,
of the closed door
that you built,
of the crossed line
in all of the impossibilities,
of the unexpectancy
that I’ve been expecting
Is there any possible way,
for me
to undo
all of these feelings
I have for you?

When it comes to you,
it is not about
the word 'happy'
I am talking about
It is about how the
world turns,
or the night changes,
and the sun rises
It is about your hand
that keeps me sane,
or your smile,
and how it teaches me
about missing someone
It is not just happiness
you give
It is about how
grateful I am
to have the privilege
of loving you.

If I may talk
about wishes,
hopes,
and desires
Wanting comfort,
the feeling of
being loved
How one's arms
and their embrace
speak to you
about everything
you've been wanting
to hear
Dreaming of happiness,
mirth,
and pleasures
How one's existence
matters
and their presence
breathes life
to you
If I may talk
about wishes,
hopes,
and desires
I'd talk about you.