You found me on
                    Sailing ships,
                    shadows of morning,
                    fading sunsets
                    and grain of stars
                    on sand;
You loved me on my misadventures.

From all that I had  sought
in distress
should I digress a stress
that you may be distraught
or it would taught you
to see, or to feel
as I stay up with you
'till dusk, 'till dawn.

A ghost you see
a reflection that keep
coming back
lurking in shadow and dust
no matter what the cause,
it wouldn't consume.

"Imagine, they all fade in just one night,
I remember the time when the collision was chasing after you."

They told me, it's not the end.

"As if I was gone away, too far not to yearn from the distance."

The sound of home away from home
is a wake up call on a dismal Sunday morning. It keeps telling me that I have to go but you are still lingering on every corner of this room, you are the faintest light through a window pane as it kindles me out of the dark (somehow).

I wonder how the traffic jams and
the hums of people on the street would bring you home, the crevices of the floor memorize the gaits and creaks of your footsteps, as if it's a map to our place. And how the furniture recognizes the shape of you as your memories are carved on it.

But I wonder why the sound of home away from home is telling me that it's time to go.

Words came out
in mind and soul,
they aren't out of
nowhere.
It is an interpretation
of belonging.

Our words
are mind's guide
to a wandering soul.

I had a desolate knowingness—
a chrysalis of storm to despair,
a home of ashes and old haunts.

They are all smoke and mirrors.

They say I am the girl of luck; tossing coins as if I am expecting everything as I plan, shifting cards as my thoughts are paid by the seven hearts.

We couldn't define luck as we wait in a grocery line or is it just because of our lucky stars traced into constellations, that the universe ruled every inch of our existence.

I was wondering if I could bet for another star and wish it would be you.

Winter,
the decaying of life

Light;
sheer and lustrous

that's how your eyes glisten on the first fall  of snow

Cold is the night as it nestled on the nook of my neck; a familiarity
though, a sun-warmed skin mended the aching cold.

You were all what is left; a hope I keep when I wonder if there is a place for us among the ruins.

Hope;
an anticipation.

You:
the gift of winter.

I grew up as the bed grew bigger than me, underneath there were the roots of a dream that I used to forget; I lost in the card game and you still have a lot of tricks under your sleeve.

And I will yearn if I was still the one in your anticipation; you wear it like a Sunday best and wear it out when you don't feel like yourself.

And I'll follow the traces of your footsteps crawling as vines. What all my words worth if they are a noose entangling my limbs? honey, the roses scented faintly of blood, too.

And I will carry the weight of this spineless home.

This is a warfare;
                               we keep  it in photograph,
                               we keep it in pages,
                               we keep it a secret.

                              I thought I was a keeper

and then everything is heavenly
                                  You are beautiful at daytime,
                                  and shining bright at night.
                                  "You are ethereal"
                                                       ­          the distance is an animosity
                                                       ­          though, we keep on
                                                                ­ reaching  
                                                    ­             It is not about the
                                                             proximity
                                                                ­Yearning; we were still
                                                                ­looking at the same sky.

I thought I could keep you (as I keep everything about you)

you wouldn't  be able to held the sky as it was meant to be ethereal

today I’m gonna make it

getting done with the stuff I left for days or a week, reading a book once again that I excitedly flipped every page, losing a grip on a string of a blue balloon, today I’m gonna spend all of my pennies to my unrequited wish, similarly to a black hole that keeps gnawing my heart; this is what it cost.

Today I’m gonna find out why they are calling us “black swans”. I will make their blood drain, we will dance at them until their eyes glow green. Today I’m gonna make it, but not the girl who cried wolf at night.