• moved my hair away from my neck
• spreading it on the pillow like flowers
• his ribcage is full of flowers too
• there were flowers in his thighs
• the flowers, i ripped out of my heart
• that garden was too, too sweet
• would kiss the purple bruises on his translucent soul
• ***** my mind
• he once touched to ease my aching
• gentleness to the ugliness of me
• wonderful riot in the air
• i would kiss him to stop the swelling
• a humming in my chest
• when he left, he took the splendidness of sun with him
• it’s easier to cry in pain alone
• it sinks into my body
• i slept with your memories
• scarred and tormented
• my baggage still carries your smiles
• old voicemails
• creak of the bed for someone leaving
• a chasm began
• get lost
• because you could only love me sometimes

what once touched my hands
would never be lost
what fevered my mind
would be remembered

the most vulnerably
intimate i can be
with someone is
to meet their eyes—
to dive,
drown,
weep,
reckon,
long,
surrender,
burrow,
sink
in the silent depth
of their
naked truth.
and surely,
i will be left too smitten
to ever
look away.

i am no fortune-teller but i always
fuse my sanity with anticipatory grief.
this is no magic, but to say
“i already knew”, “somehow, i expected it”
is a comforting script for my love’s
trajectory.

so even in the middle of the night,
while i load my clothes on the laundry machine, when i fix the messy table
from an all-night review,
during my silent walk to the cloud,
in the bath, as i eat and breathe and
live on my own, i would utter in
my mind like a ghost leaving my throat:

“i miss you” for the days we have fallen
back in silence; “congratulations”
for all your victories i won’t be able to celebrate; “take care” for your
travels i will not know about; “good luck”
for the things you will bravely do;
“i love you” for the years ahead where i will not feel it anymore; “thank you” for all your
warm gestures i am only left remembering;
“happy birthday” for your rebirths
that will be unbeknownst to me.

i fear i have been holding onto you
only for my grip to end up a muscle memory;
for my love to wither politely and silently in
tiny increments; for my grief to send postcards into my doorstep—
one mail at a time.
only to remind me to rehearse my sorrow,
write script for my heartbreak,
choreograph my departure, design the right
falling into silence; my numbing and losing.

happy birthday, just in case my prophecy crystallizes, and i won’t be around next year.

nu maburak man iti utek ko
a kas daga nga madin maiporma,
makita iti panunotko nga pudno
nga agtintinek panggep kenka.
isu nu damagem, a kasatnun tu
iti lubong nu kaspangarigan
nga mapukaw ka,
maikarik kaddua iti isem ken sirib ko
nga ibagak: agbiagak latta.

agbiag a situtured, agbiag a siraragsak
agbiag a siririkna, agbiag a sipapateg
agbiagak latta, agbiagak latta
agbiag a situtured, agbiag a
siraragsak. agbiag a siririkna. agbiag a
sipapateg. agbiagak latta
a kas mangiladladingit
iti pannakapusay iti ayat.
agbiagak latta ngem
inggana turpos lubong nga
kumla adda iti sarsarakek.

isu nga iyadadayo ni apo…
madik idawdawat…
ikatok ko iti kayo
(maminsan o maminpulo)
nga haan ka kuma
mapukpukaw.

i mourn us
in the form of
changing my beddings
weekly,
reading the books
i have long abandoned,
trimming my hair
once a month,
chewing food
that tastes bland,
fixing other people’s
lives as a job
while i shamelessly
write my silent
prayers in a notebook
where i have loudly
professed in the past
how i loathed god...
“oh please, keep him alive!”
so i keep repeating
things to make life
feel more familiar
even in the absence of
you.

when i say
i love you
it means i have
started
the procession
for the wake
of the wreckage
my heart has
tenderly chosen
to hearse your
ruins for