We are suppose
to be walking out of
the house together
but he left earlier than ussual
today.

I spent the whole
dinner time alone.

The first time
after six or seven years?

I can't barely remember.
He even forgot about the
seventeenth.

He was suppose to be
home by now
but the tail of his shadows
wasn't even here.

I did the ritual i've been doing,
we've been doing for the past years.
I took his bag
Like he walk me out of the house
earlier this morning.
I gave him his neatly folded
white sando
Like I did not spend dinner time
with myself.
I run my hand through his hair
like he did not went home late.

Something has changed
we both know it.

I put my lips on his nape
like he remembered seventeenth

Something sweet lingers
A stain of red on his collar
Seems like he settled for a better perfume
and a better brand of make-up.

He said that it was worth
the fight.

All the wounds that he got
were on the exact place where
they should be

"In time those wounds
would turn into scars, and you'll
never get rid of them"
I said not looking into his eyes.

These scars may appear
as a glitch on my skin to others
but  it's a perfection to me and you
but they'll never understand
because they don't know


That these scars speak
of a language that
only you and I know.

And all the fats started
to
f
a
l
l
from my body.

Most of them are coming from my
brain.

I started to feel lighter.

A coin in a sweater.
more like a change from
a more important
transaction in a grocery store
kept, just kept away from the sun
forever.

Still a coin in a sweater
used in winter
as the weather gets colder

he puts his hand in his sweater

still a coin in a sweater.

"He'll probably need me when he needs a coin
to buy an ice cream on summer"

but no one wears a sweater
in the middle of summer.

"have i ever crossed your mind?"
he asked

"ctrl H" i said

and hand him down
my laptop.

you're like a first attempt painting
on a canvass

i may not undo you;

but i could always scrape you off
and start all over again.

I pressed my face on the bus window
Leaving the oil from my face
Making a clouded vision.
I wiped the glass window
As I stare at the pitch darkness.
There wasn’t a stir,
Even a bit.
Not a single movement.
Just as they say
“It’s the always the darkest before dawn”
Before I knew it
I’m finally home.