i once came across a bottle of thoughts.
opening it, not knowing what it lies,
only to realize it's yours.

both happiness and despair can be read,
warmth and isolation can be felt.
every thought was accompanied by a tone,
but one melody after another,
it felt a lot more melancholic
than i expected.

there was a sense of longing,
a somewhat cry for help.

and for a little while,
you made me forget loneliness exists.
so as a sign of gratitude,
i'll empty out my happiness,
and put them in the bottle,
—for you.

breathe in.
breathe out.
nothing but the
silence of the
trees
are present.

its deep serenity
trying to take over
your system.

it's knocking on
the door.
you open it,
just to close it back
again.

the subtle wind
whispers into your
ear.
simultaneously caging
you from the outside
world,
but exposing you
to your own.

i always told you
i'd fall for you like rain
in a september afternoon.
how my love is an embodiment
of a blooming red tulip,
basking in the sun's ever lasting
warmth,
like the first ever smile you threw my way.

they would tell me
that the universe is saying
we aren't meant to be.
how can't we,
when the stars that night
when we mutually tried escaping reality,
says otherwise?

you once asked me
what we are,
and i remember not answering.

but if i had the chance again,
i would tell you that
you make me feel like
the first snow of winter
and simultaneously,
the last.

so if i asked you
if you felt the same,
would you say yes?

when the
weather
is
good enough,

i will
run
back home
to you.

to your warm hands
and your flushed
cheeks.
to your worn out pants
and clumsy feet.
to your lowest points
and even your peaks.

it is you that i
have been longing for.
wait for me
and you'll see how
a writer misses
their once
'mon amie'.

i learned how to read,
at the age of three.
learned how to make friends,
at the age of five.
started to top my classes,
at the age of seven.

but when i turned nine,
my parents started to crave for
my academical success
more than their own child.

when i turned eleven,
i started to feel like i was drowning
in an endless sea of
self-doubt and self-hatred.

so at the age of thirteen,
unfortunately,
i realized that the blade
from a pencil sharpener
can be used
for something else.

the cold breeze never hugged
my body like this
before.

this is new. intoxicating.

looking at my hands.
empty.
there's this
tiny pang of pain subtle enough
to be noticed.

i didn't, at first.

now it's like the daily newspaper,
thrown onto my freshly mowed lawn
of self-judgement,
waiting
for someone to pick it up.

i never do.

maybe if the sun came back,
this wouldn't have happened.
but it didn't.
you didn't.

but it was alright.
you were like the summer
without the overbearing
heat.
you reminded me of
melted ice-cream and
sticky hands.

you are nostalgic.

sadly,
you can't force the sun to
come out
when it's raining.

you passed by
like a storm roaring with rage,
seeking for revenge.
but now,
you were like the last snowfall,
hugging the warm ground
you once called home.

for years
you've trapped me inside an eternity
of both bliss and bane.
but now,
with a smile,
you finally bid good bye.

to the person
who first taught me how to love
and to the person
who first taught me how to let go.

--this is for you.

the pitter patter of
the raindrops
falling
from the sky
is different
from
the pitter patter of
the blood
falling
from thy wrist.

yet, both sound so
calming,
so beautiful.

and to say,
that the rain
didn't stop
that night.

i've never once liked it
whenever you tell me
that all first loves
never work out.

because i know that after all
these years of
suffering and pain,
you still make me want
to rest eternally,
yet continue this forsaken life
and live again.

close your eyes and hear my call.
let your body be at peace,
let it feel nothing at all.

listen to me and pull over,
let me drive for a while.
so you can drown yourself in slumber,
from mile,
to mile,
to mile.

slowly pick yourself up,
and calm your heart.
this is my way of helping,
before you completely
break apart.

there are days when i remember you.

your smile that kept me prison for years,
your eyes that drowned my every insecurity,
your hands that grounded me onto reality,
and your voice i've always longed to hear.

but on days like this,
when i just walk beside the wind that brushes past my fingertips,
a cup of coffee in one hand,
and a book with the other,
it's like you didn't even exist at all.

the light from
the sun
is no match
for the
light that comes
from you.
i need to cherish
its warmth
before
it runs out.

o thou who dwells
inside thy heart
take care of it for
it is fragile
and broken.

my soul will continue to
wander,
alone and numb as i
embark,
for i know
along the road,
i will somehow befriend
the dark.

it'll bring forth
fake warmth,
similar to hand in hand
friction,
—heat
that i know
will try to
fool me,
yet will still act
like it's an
unplanned intrusion.

forgive us not,
and by us
i mean them.
for i myself,
am just standing
on life's farthest
hem.

deem yourself worthy
if you somehow
understand.
considering that
ironically,
i lived for years,
but i still cannot
grasp
the rules of
this land.