Just you alone is home, my home-- I'm sure you already know that. I still see you in places, specific ones, like my kitchen: I picture you rummaging through the fridge and the overhead cabinets for random ingredients of a potential cook-up. Or maybe you'd be seated at your favorite place in the adjacent dining room, at the head of the table, looking over at the kitchen where I would be making your favorite dish.

I see you adjusting your coat by the hallway mirror, and you'd grab my hands, asking for my help as I'd walk by. On nights you are framed by the sheets on the bed, smoothing out a pillow and patting the spot by your side for me to get in. Some nights, you sit up against the headboard and whip out a book from your literary collection. On mornings, you live so well in the living room, with the news on, while having a newspaper on hand as well.

You've become my definition of home. But now that you're gone, I am lost on finding a new place to move my heart into.

I see your figure hunched over the old grand piano; I see your worn fingers slowly graze the keys which once locked our promises when you used to play me songs.

Now, I only feel the warmth of you as I sit on the piano bench, and when my fingers touch the keyboard. I have never felt any more monotonous and monochromatic than the notes and keys which I effortlessly hit.

I'm playing right, but why do I feel like I'm playing the biggest mistake of a song in my entire life?

What, exactly, is a star? It's made up of so many things. Scientifically, it's a body of gases rubbing off against each other to create friction and heat, thus turning into a ball of bright red or blue light. And as for airplanes, they're the only mode of transportation in the air; once a man's dream, now everday's reality. The airplane can travel to any corner of the world-- how cool and sweet is that?

I see you in airplanes. I imagine them as shooting stars, with me wishing for you. I also see you in the stars, also imagining them to be airplanes which are frozen in time, with who knows where they have traveled to in the past, or where they're bound to fly to.

I love you as the stars, and I love you as the airplanes. I love you either way. No matter how far you are or how far you will go, I know I can always find you out there, free in the skies.

A source of light in the dark. You were there every night, peeking behind the clouds, awaiting my return home from school or work. You may think you're a dull gray color but you shine brightest in the dark, to me.

I wish it was always night so that I'd get to see you in your fullest form-- the last thing before I close my eyes. Even when you're the invisible new moon, I know you're always watching me, giving attention to every big turn I make when I am restless in bed, and down to the tiniest movement under my eyelids when I am deep in a dream.

I want you to know that even if the dark pits of the night swallow you up and you feel like your light is burning out, I will always be here, looking up, looking for you. And looking towards the day when you show yourself and return to my sky again, as the moon that I've grown to love.

Two shooting stars.
Two wishes.
Two chances.

I saw two shooting stars tonight.
First, as usual, I wished for you,
for me, for us to become true.

Then, I wished for me to stop
wishing for the impossible--
that I'd stop wishing for you.

i know we're in the same book.
but yet to be on the same chapter,
waiting for the other
to be on the same page.
i'll wait for you.
not like a hopeless romeo,
and definitely not like a juliet.
i'll wait for you.
even if it takes us
volumes,
sequels,
prequels,
and even a different author,
for us to meet.

other people like to pretend that airplanes are shooting stars in the night sky, destined to fulfill wishes as they dance about the air.

as for me, i like to imagine that stars are airplanes suspended in time, frozen in travel, bound for a place across the expanse of the atmosphere.

more than anything, you're either the airplanes or the stars to me.

how can i
****
drain
erase
you away

when you are the
life
blood
ink
in my veins

every night
i sing a song
to the man
above the sea

every night
i long to reach
the lone moon
of which is he

every night
i wait to hear
the sailor
call out for me

every day
i hope by the bay
for we,
that cannot be