he had a special place in my heart, though he had it all.

As a kid, I admired all the celestial bodies that I can put in pages, I can see how the constellations are connected to my veins and how the moon is shaped like your eyes.

The more I grow older, the further I learn to wander in the garden, a wilderness where the islands haven't been named, parallels have intertwined and orbits that have once collided.

Oceans were calling me to test its depth— the calmness of it reminds me of you, the stillness of it brought terror as the deep waters are not moving. you're a scenery in a post card that I could receive but not enough to love me.

"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.

Should I be proud of myself, having a triumph in my life, eagerly tossing and standing straight for a toast in the crowd even if it means to lose you?

It'll be a great disaster, a fiasco.

Little did I know that I've forgotten a lot how ardently melancholic the scorching afternoons were.

those afternoons, where it consisted of sweet reeks of cotton candy and lollipop, those afternoons that I don't have to beg just to rest, not to measure the time approximately and counting how proximate the distances are, like how I trace my digits on things to know if they're adjacent;

this afternoon, it's like I'm coming home to you.

I'm jealous of everything—
maybe because of how your life just goes by without any traces of me on it, I couldn't even get a chance to say how I love your hair falls perfectly on your face.

maybe, I'm just a moon, without your light, I'm nothing. You're everything like the sun.