a seven-seven-seven freighter lands down at a runway
as I watched it unleash its landing gear
touching the ground after a long airtime.

I waited in forlorn as I sat at a nearby Starbucks
with my mocha and several granola bars
that I’ve been eating since I started
to distrust the image
I see in front of the mirror.

you caught my eye; with badges cladding
your tight suit, and the way you fiddle
that hat of yours while looking sharp.

the café was empty; as was my heart, as I sit along
the table that spreads across the center
you came inside, alone, dazzling
but your eyes are saying
that you've come a long way from here.

I was drowning myself with thoughts
as I wait for someone whom I didn't know
I would miss this much
when suddenly a tray landed
near the vicinity of my rented
personal space; it was you
smiling, along with your thick brows
and tired, sad eyes, asking me
if I would mind sitting with you.

I said no.

your voice; raspy yet pleasant
as if you've fought in countless rallies
but still manages to fight on for
another day
as if it echoes your masculinity
yet wanting some company.

you offered me your bread in which
I gladly refused, then you take a hearty bite
while asking, "what are you doing here alone?"

two a.m. it was, when we started talking.

I can't hide the fact that it was
charming, the way you talk
as if you were listening to someone
endearing but in reality
I looked like a *******, sitting at Starbucks
drinking coffee at two a.m.

I told you I was waiting for someone
and you told me that someone is that lucky
to have me waiting.
I let a soft laugh because it was funny
funny to a point that I didn't even knew
why I was here in the first place.

you told me you fly planes.
that flying was your dream; but you never
thought that it was that tiring; that flying
was meant to be off that repetitive and tiresome
place called land, and touching the skies and
gliding along the horizon was the reason
for dreams.

but you told me you were a bit, wrong.
you told me that however eager you are
with reaching heights, you'll always come back
for land; that landing makes you humble
that landing makes you believe that the sky
is not the limit; that yourself is the key
and travelling is not always the way
in finding one's self.

then you told me I was beautiful
no matter how I call myself a *******
sitting in Starbucks, with my mocha and
granola bars.

you told me that I have passion for love;
that you see sacrifice in me

as if you knew every inch, as if
I’m a ghost that you can see through.

"what are you looking for, in life?"
I asked, trying to comprehend you.

"someone who interests me, every day
someone who understands why I fly
and that not all the time I wanted to"

I gave you a heartfelt grin
you gave me a granola bar.

his phone rang. it was time for him to go.

"it was very nice meeting you. I hope I see you again"

I hope I’ll see me too, I guess.

you've always told me
that your personality lies
on whatever's in between
or who ever is in the outside
of a conflict


watching
                weighing
                                wondering


you told me that
you'd want to be that guy
           whom everybody can talk to
                     whom everybody can relate to
                              whom everybody can look up to
who's always


watching
                weighing
                                wondering


a wallflower
   a grandfather's clock
      a lost artifact


sitting in a room
  flooded with opinions
    storming, crashing
      through the shores of
        your acceptance, and perhaps
      your side


but you never did


like a sterile tree
       I waited for you to bloom
to grow fruits


you never did
and you never will


cause you're just playing god


watching
               weighing
                               wondering


but never helps.