And I still remember every Christmas.
how I was hopeful, longing,
For what life had to offer.
I dreamed of love—
And how I would flourish in it.

Why should I know

Why the sky is blue ?

Why can’t I just enjoy the sunny day?

You get second-hand
updates
Of the way their hair looks
Piecing together glimpses
Of a parallel life
You hope next time
Some mutual friend shares their face
On a random Sunday
On that photos app
they look happier.

Maybe I'll be an eternal nomad,
Since my only home is in your arms.

A lo mejor sere una eterna nómada,
porque mi único hogar esta en tus brazos.

I write, I think, I write,
I agonise with the idea of my thoughts being heard,
I write again,
I let go.

I hovered above us
Trying to capture the whole scene
Legs trying not to shiver
While you’re planting kisses,
exploring soft, uncharted skin.
Out-of-body experience,
Floating right there,
I envied myself for a second,
But your anchor-like hands
Managed to drag me down there
Eyes meet again
Making me face them
My nonsensical thoughts—
My fear, my desire to stay—
The closeness of my thighs
To your lips.

Sundays are made for God and for poetry.
For they both can see us fully through.

You inspired me to arise,
to improve,
to survive.
I owe you nothing,
and
        everything
                           I have.

I thought you seem familiar—

I don’t know if remember you,

From another lifetime,

Where you also let me down—


                                        Just  gentler.