she gave you a wave,
but you're worth
all the oceans in the world.

she gave you a seed,
but youre worth
gardens and gardens of flowers.

imagine how
you were deeply happy with portions.
well i am here, willing to give you completion.

perhaps the worst thing to realize,
is that you still prefer parts of her,
than the entirety of me.

You and I are
the written words on a book's back cover,
the two-minute movie trailer,
the first sip from a cup of earl grey.

We’re a beginning,

a preview of what might happen,

of what could possibly occur
if the stars ever align for us.


But for now, I’m satisfied with

coincidental blurs of sojourns,
occasional tastes of your lips,
with hopes that perchance we shall meet again.

you are
the cold December breeze
on a warm April summer.

you are
the random, surprise present
on an ordinary, uneventful day.

you are
the risen moon even if the sun
is still there, in broad daylight.

what i'm trying to say is that
you are unexpected, unforeseen.
you caught me off guard,
but you make me happy anyway.

someday,
my eyes will forget
how to search for you.
my ears will forget
how to listen to you.
my lips will quit
craving for yours.
and my hands
will no longer reach for you.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
She can make you realize
how bare and naked your soul is,
stripped into words,
inked on pages,
read by everyone,
but only appreciated by a few.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
You'll see how she holds hurricane
and tranquility
in the same pair of eyes,
but never learned
to find beauty within herself.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
She can make you realize
how calm chaos can be.
You will see how
she has constellations
streaming down her mind
and somehow, she has created
a space for you among those
cosmic clusters,
being a part of the galaxy
she held within her.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
Because even after
everything is over,
once things did not work out
between the two of you,
she'll still write about you
and your legacy will always
live through words and pages.