to write and send a million letters to you,
then being returned back to me unread,
is like wishing on the stars in the sky,
which, in reality, are people who are dead.

wishing on falling leaves or feathers,
why must i use those things
if they themselves have fallen
from branches of life and free wings?

why would i believe in the luck of a penny,
when money can't buy your love?
the colorful palette will revert back to gray,
no matter how many rainbows are above.

there's one more thing i can wish upon;
they told me the moon's a way that's sure.
but how will my wish come true,
if it's you i'm wishing for?

He was a blanket, covering all of me. Fabricated by the most delicate hands, he kept me warm on cold nights. And one of my favorite parts of him is that one string attached to the right side of his neck; it was as if his life depends on it. Because that very string diverged into tiny threads which spread out to his hands and feet, and converged with four other strings that lead to his heart. They are rich in color, and I wonder how just those strands of life sustain him. But sometimes his strings would loop, link, twist and turn, and I would get so tired of being pulled along; every fiber in me started to turn into a knot of uncertainty.
...
He tugged on my heart strings that night though, as soon as I was about to cut the twine we had made with our fingers braided together. That's when I realized I can never really untangle myself from him and from the cross stitch of our crossed fates. Because for us to live, we need all strings attached.

maybe i will learn to love the moon again when it's far away. but i swear, i loved you so much to the point where even my words loved you. and i could see your craters of flaws where you got from absorbing my negativity, only to radiate positivity. and the gray skin under your eyes where you got from watching over me all night, only to make sure i was asleep safe and sound in your arms. even if i don't see you on some nights, i know you're there, quiet in the dark sky. you may have left me for now to continue orbiting the world, but I'm your astronaut and I'll always continue to watch and love you.

we both had two different painting styles. he was into calligraphy, the bold and gentle strokes of black ink on white paper; i was into watercolor, the translucent colors slowly spreading to a gradient on a Canson. we were two painters with brush styles of stark contrasts.

three objects. a flower arrangement, an antique vase and grecian sculpture. we were asked to pick the most eye-catching one out of the three, paint it in our of style of representation. and so we began.

him: what will you be painting?
me: i can't tell, you might judge me for it.
him: alright, but promise me you'll show it to me once you're done.
me: okay. same to you too, then.

hours passed, and while i often discreetly glimpsed at him, he caught my eye sometimes and would make funny faces or just softly smiled at me. i could not deny that my hands were shaking as i dunked my brushes into the watercolor jar and continued to finish my painting.

him: i'm finally done. this is a masterpiece.
me: i believe it's the same for me too.
him: should we count down as we turn our boards to each other?
me: nothing better than a surprise of what's the most beautiful thing out of all the objects before us.

we flipped our boards to each other's viewpoint, and we were both shocked to be looking at ourselves, a painting of ourselves, one done by the other. he painted me in black and white, a figure-ground influenced painting, strong in lines, simplicity in its finest state, rendering me bare and raw. i painted him in pale colors, a positive reflection of him lighting up life, and soft shadings to give depth to the meaning of his existence.

after knowing this and scrutinizing our works, his cheeks turned pink as the pink on my palette, while i covered my eyes with my hair as dark as his ink. we burst out laughing and blushing at the fact that the most beautiful object before our eyes was each other.

sometimes, i wonder if he's my muse, the art or the artist. and i felt like a watercolor jar at that exact moment, as if brushes soaked with different colors were being dipped into me all at once, the tint, hue and vibrancy bleeding into the clear liquid, getting murky. it was like those colors are my emotions, and with every emotion mixing, my thoughts get murky. i guess this is how it feels to be in love with all forms of art at once.

It was a rainy night. He took out his umbrella, opened it, and it soon engulfed the both of us. "Hey, you're getting wet," he said. He pulled me closer to him, his arms like the umbrella protecting me, protecting us from the drizzle.

I snapped out of my daydream to find him weirdly staring at me, and asked him, "What, do I have something on my face?"

"No, it's just... why are you staring into space?"

Our footsteps made little splashes, puddles reflected a thousand images of us. These pictures from nature will not last for a lifetime but the rain was our witness, as if the skies were crying at a matrimonial ceremony.

I took a step away from him to let the memory of him soak in me. He stands there in the rain innocently, with umbrella in hand, waiting for me to respond. Breathing out, I told him: "Ask me what I think of you right now."

"Wait, what? Are we going to play a game?" That usual what-is-going-on look still stupidly plastered on his angelic face. "Well, what do you think of me right now, then?"

I didn't hesitate and the first word that automatically left my lips were 'umbrella'.

"Umbrella? Do I look that thin to you, really?" He said dryly as he gave me an uninspired look. He shook his head in disbelief and pouted. "And I thought you'd relate me at least to the rain."

"Umbrella: definition for a protecting force or influence," I told him as I stood in place. I side-glanced at him to find a spark lighted up in his eyes as his shoulders loosened. "You're my umbrella because I need you in rainy days and sunny ones. Literally because of your stature to block the sun or cover me when it rains," I laughed. "And it's not because you're thin like one, silly. But how you comfortingly stretch out your arms to me when it's a bad day for me. How you guard me from others' icy remarks. It feels like a need to have you around wherever I go."

He cleared his throat jokingly and added, "Might I say I also take you high like Mary Poppins' umbrella." He burst out laughing as I glared at him for his poorly done innuendo.

But right there and then as I rolled my eyes at him, he dropped the umbrella, grabbed me by my waist and kissed me as light as the raindrops kissing our skin. He broke off after a while and said, "Getting wet, are we?"

Before I could claw at him for his second pun, he released me as I chased him down, not caring if I would get a fever later. But sometimes I just wonder how did I come to like, fall in love, and love him-- basically feel every emotion with him. In all truth, he wasn't just my umbrella, but also my home whom I'll always return to at the end of all my days. Umbrella or home, he is my shelter.

You usually make breakfast,
But this morning you were in bed.
To find your arms around me,
On your shoulder lies my head.
You normally don't use perfume,
So I breathe in the human smell,
Your arms around me get tighter,
Longing, is what our actions yell.
I nuzzle my face to your collarbones,
Your face buried in my hair.
I pulled your ear and said,
"Make breakfast, I'm hungry.
We can just share."
But you laughed as you bit my ear,
"But I'm already having it.
You're my breakfast in bed."

i'll summarize the painting
of my life with him in it.
it's a priceless work of art,
only love is the profit.

i raged crimson,
for the time you had to leave.
out of my stubborn anger,
the truth, i couldn't perceive.

i splashed shades of blue,
for the time i spent alone.
to feel so sad from everything,
melancholy was monochrome.

i planted green,
for the growing bitterness
of hating and loving you,
simultaneously like this.

i shined yellow
for the murderous thought
of the both of us,
turning brown, it rot.

i built up gray
for the concrete walls
of my cold, bare heart
every time you called.

then to black it faded,
everything was gone.
but white invaded
because light has come.

the pinks and purples,
suddenly arrived.
you finally came
yet somehow i have survived.

but for you to leave,
or if it's me to go,
let's stop each other.
for an unfinished painting
we wouldn't want to know.

And in this summer heat,
I'm frozen like snow.
as soon as I fell like fall,
like spring, you had to go.

I wake up at daybreak,
but you were like the moon.
I tried to catch you like falling stars,
but night time left so soon.

In the waters, I'm a natural,
I can swim so I can't drown.
But you were my breath,
and I sunk without a sound.

Whenever you come around,
I know I'll never be spared.
You are my natural disaster,
and I'll always be unprepared.

The last thing i remembered
Was falling asleep on you.
It started with us talking in bed,
You were still in your white cap and i was still in my shoes.
And vaguely but imprinted in my mind,
i recall you taking off your pullover,
Putting on a plain shirt,
My eyes, i tried to cover.
But to see your arms, your neck
Sculpted with veins,
I know you're ontological,
Despite your occasional back pains.
Then you slipped under the sheets next to me, stared into my eyes and said:
"To see you last before i close my eyes,
to see you first before the sunrise,
To hold you in my arms this way,
Tell me, is it with me will you stay?"
I moved my head onto his chest
Your breathing was steady, but loud and bold.
And on your heart, my hand did rest,
My breathing, did i surprisingly hold.
"With you, I'll be, forever and always,
To sleep to your voice like a lullaby,
To wake up to it like an alarm on days,
To be your warm hellos and good goodbyes."
I feel your chin nod against my head,
Your exhale makes a few hair strands fly.
Before we knew it, we fell asleep to each other,
And we didn't even have to try.

it's better when the lights are off,
you shine brighter like the stars.
i feel you nearer, i see you clearer,
when we close our eyes in the dark.
to breathe in the scent of you and the countryside,
to leave our fears in the metropolis and city lights,
makes me love you and nature in its simplest form,
from it you came, that i could have sworn.

"Shh," she hushes me.

I watch her close her mouth, then her eyes. But her very soul, she exposed to everyone, to me, in the auditorium. The music begins, and I literally see the intro of the song sink into her skin. I notice her shiver; not that i didn't want to put my arm around her to warm her up because it wasn't the temperature of the room. It was the music. She was feeling it. She is it. Her breathing to the piano's notes, her heart beat rhythmic to the dancing fingers on the keys: I can see it all. Her shoulders rising and falling--

"Oh," she softly speaks, pulling me out of my melodic reverie. "Did i just-- A tear, how silly of me to cry."

But before she could wipe her cheek, I took her hand in mine and kissed the tear away. She had this confused look, but it soon melted as I neared her.

She was not only music, she was a symphony. And every fiber of me was in tune with her, and there wasn't anything else in the room which I payed attention to.

my eyes are like a camera,
clicking away at the view.
my heart is like a locket,
keeping a picture of me and you.

we don't need a filter,
to maintain model shots.
it's best when it's stolen,
like it is with our hearts.

the process will be long,
but we know it's worth the wait.
for the best pictures are the memories,
which we patiently create.