I have written for a hundred million about a heartbreak,
Few might sacrifice lot of efforts not to let the paper scattered,
And some are raw.
But I got tired writing them then.

Not everyone understand the violence it took to become this gentle,
The sun, the moon, and the stars also your sad eyes understand,
That I don't need forever to wait until we can dancing and singing on the moon.

A windy afternoon, and since then, you became the kind of ache I don't mind at all.
And only if I could cut you open,
Perhaps there's a million of tiny little poetry that will fly away,
Dancing on the wind like a butterflies.
Kissing the sun, scorching through the sky.

I may have accidentally never be able to stop loving you,
You are a living celestial fallen star of the universe,
The dust of eternity,
A correctly placed within the constellation.
And for that, I love you.

Cause it's you that I fall, to your big heart perhaps.
Yet, somewhere in a lonely place, I was meant to love you.
Decorating your body with the contour of lights.

Somewhere in time, I was meant to have you.
Losing myself inside the ocean of your eyes.
Drowning myself against every touch within your skin.

If you could read my mind,
you'd see million papers written about how much
the love I have for you...

I reached out for the stars,
and put them inside your eyes.
Until the moment of silence,
until the world running out of its light.


The love will remains whole.

He shines, 
Like a yellow petalled rose,
Like an early sunrise,
That ignites a fierce fire 
Kissing a beaming pathway 
To his soul, 

His smells just like wells 
Of blooming flowers
In the middle of spring.
Twinkling as the pale starlight, 
Soft and want to be noticed.

He is gentle
Like a sudden raindrop
Dropping through the windows
Shining on the foggy morning.

And there he was again,
A wise soul of unwrapped love.
He was the moon
That I always like to write about.

Just like a song that defies time
Her words are sweet pieces of dreams
Held tight during nights like these
In that old dance of men with rain

Her eyes are a city of lights
A little world, soft and safe in the breeze

And behind there is a limitless sky
Of feelings one never gets to explain
She is an escape of poetry

She hears music.
Coming from nowhere, filling up everywhere.
A ghost of a phantom
whispers in her ear
“Let the music take you;
let the words free you”.

It waits like a shroud,
Misty, comforting and open,
For her caveat-less submission.
Insistent soft etherical tendrils
take her to the source.

She feels music.
Coming from everywhere, filling up nowhere.
A voice of a Goddess
Whispers in her ear
“Let the girl take you;
let the woman free you”.

He lies flat on the rooftop
looking at the stars.
Useless worlds birthing and dying
He muses the colossal magnificence of waste

Just because someone from an island
Would stare at them in awe of the beauty
Seeking a key to the riddle
Himself a grain of dust
Lost in reading the firmament
And not grasping
Of what significance he is

Within his shrinking space and time
In an expanding universe.

He laughs at the sound of the wind
As it echoes through his mind
Telling him stories of memories

He had previously left behind
With caricatures of faces
He can no longer remember in reality
And songs from past places
That bring him down
With the emotional gravity

And he was his thoughts spin around and around
He gets dizzy from the intensity
And hissanity
Can no longer be found
Yet, he can still hear the wind
And he laughs at the sound

The way his fingers moved over the ivory keys
Notes pouring from his hands left me in awe
"Sing" he urges so I do, voice, piano, and
Laughter like a symphony of our own kind

The intimacy of the moment is so thick
It threatens to burst out of the room
And consume the whole world in love

I forgot for a moment to keep my guard up
I forgot that I should be weary of this
That I should be cautious of anything

I let myself be engulfed by the love
We shared and I let the intimacy
of that moment consume my world.

There once was a young girl,
Shy and pretty, but unaware of her grace.
On late summer days she gazed up to the sky,
Trying to slow down worlds enormous pace.

She understood there was more outside,
Than poppy fields and hazy clouds,
while most people blindly joined life's crazy ride,
She resolved to walk without the crowd.

On her untapped path she spotted a flower,
Blue and lovely as she has never seen it before.
For flowers blooming in unexpected places she swore,
Are the most beautiful ones holding the greatest power.

She has the power to paint words
Into beautiful art
To be able to touch a soul
To touch one's heart

She can make the stormy sky blue
Stop the waves from crashing to the shore
She can make all the withered flowers bloom
Turn winter into summer, a glimpse of gold

She can make someone's dark day colorful
Gather hope to put in between her words
Make them feel that they are understood
That they aren't alone in this cruel world

There are words
Hidden in trees
And growing in flowers.

There are words
Between her lip's
And in songs being carried
by the summer breeze.

There are words
On her fingertips
And lingering in her ears.

There are words
Left unspoken
And there are some
That were spoken all too quickly.

There are words
In her body and in everything
That is alive.
Because life is a combination of words
And she just trying to make them rhyme.

His eyes are a metaphor,
A conceit, fantasy

No shakespearean sonnet
Even a lyric, will suffice
To describe the masculine he carries

His smile, the greatest curve,
All simile will be denied

Haikus and couplets,
Even the long ones
Will not be enough

His laughter is a song,
A perfect harmony and melody

He is neither a hyperbole
Or full of irony
Instead he is perfect rhyme

He is a walking poetry
A personification of aesthetics

She is moonbeams
And dappled sunlight
Renewal and
New beginnings
Gracing the land
With fragrant blossoms
Buzzing bees

And dandelion flurries
As children play
In Spring’s garden
Blowing happy bubbles
And laughter floats
Touching the heart and soul
She is Mistress of Spring

It was the decay of long-ago spoken words that had hardened around her heart.
It was the blood of past loves that turned the whites of her eyes to crimson.
She dragged herself through the day wearing loneliness on her feet.
Shielded by solitude,
Clothed in dust.

Dried up tears grew as stale
As conversations she continually had with herself
She found her reflection in the most sombre of things:
Empty antique stores
Humdrum of steady rain,
On empty ears.

So many lines and laments
Scribed in ink and feeling,
For the girl who is the ocean

But she is a swell and surge
Too dauntless and wild,
For a lover whose bones crave the shore.

She craves the squalls and gusts,
And cast iron skies,
A worldly drift to sate the salt in her skin,
The deep pull of currents in her blood.

She is chaotic but not reckless,
she is fickle, but not feckless.
Love her boldly or not at all
Her bones belong to the sea
But she will always return to the shore

She's planting out her window box
Young shoots are showing through
She thinks about the Springtime
And the garden she once knew

There were primroses and daffodils
Sweet violets white and blue

Buds and blooms open up
They scent and colour Summer long
She thinks about those happy days
When she was young and strong

Sunset's falling sooner now
Petals drop, the show is done
She gathers up her winter shawl
Tries not to dwell on things to come

The moon sleeps between your lips
Pressed between two soft petals,
A delicate masterpiece is embedded within your smile 

Your sleepy face, 
Yawning extraordinarily
At the stars as
They glimmer within your eyes 

What can I say about such beauty?
About all that you are?

You are a night, magnificent in your wholesomeness
And breathtakingly sad when you break away

It was a one fine morning.
And a morning rain kind of mood
She has always loved the smell of blown candle, wishes, cake, and balloons.
It was her happy days, where everyone are smiling brightly.
It was a one fine morning,
Until she knows she lost him.

The candles, euphoria, and laughs are no longer matter.
Things were unhealthy inside her heart.
And that's all she could remember.
She is unable to trace back the times
Where he made her feel good about herself;
It's all just blurry to her.

Without getting into the painful details of it all,
She realize that writting doesn't work on her anymore.
She has lost her reason to keep writting,
Because he is no longer exist.
No, she is no longer exist in his heart.
And that's what hurt the most.

"How did you meet her?" someone asked.
At the first moment, her face crosses in her mind almost immediately.
Smiling with a dazzling crescent moon eyes.
Her pretty little hands reached out to hold mine.
Sending shivers through my vine.
A mixtape which song has long forgotten played.
Almost everything at all once recalling the bittersweet memories.

Like an open door, she knows what she thought was.
The breeze once again set her in solitude.
It was all nothing without her.
Her fingers dance at the chanting of the birds.
"She is the sole star I orbit around" he said.
"She is an ocean— deep, calm, full of waves and tides, whom I wished I can embrace in my two arms."*
With that, the loosely hanging clock stop ticking.
His gaze lowered and his lips trembling as he speaks nothing.
He knows, it was nothing at the very beginning.

Like the ocean,
He only know how to loves in waves.
He failed to realized that I'm the rocks upon shore,
That keep grounded,
And would carry him whenever he longed for more.

I watched him stay. And I watched him leave;
Resting gentle kisses on my flushed cheeks
As if it means something to him.

What a strange feeling it is to lie next to someone
You adore, yet still feel so alone.

That's when reality settled in the air between us.
And suddenly it was all beginning to feel one sided once again.

I like the way he scrunched his forehead up when he is thinking.
The way he looks down at his shoes when he is shy.
I like the way he smiles at me when he looks at me.
And the way he adores my happiness like it's the only thing that matters to him.
I like the way he used to asks me how my day was.
I like the way I feel around him, the way he makes me a better person.
And accepts me the way I am despite all my flaws.
I like the way his eyes light up every time he talks about the things he loves.
But I guess that’s what’s different this time.
I've never had someone look at me like they are in love with every little piece of me the way he did.

Loving him feels like being alive again.
Like a flower blooms in spring.
Like a flying butterfly.
Loving him feels like in home.
Warmth and comforting.
Wrapped in a room full of insanity.

Loving him feels like in a room full of art.
Lost in the idea of being loved.
Loving him means understanding.
Find a way to appreciate every little things.
To believe in the power of accepting people's flaws.

Loving him isn't red, neither it's blue.
Loving him is white.
Pure, soft and content.
Loving him is adoring every inch of beautiful things.
And could be a reason to be thankful.

She was there, he was there.
They were almost there.
Not until the night crumbled.
Blurred with the pouring rain.

She is still there, but he wasn't.
He was gone, left her breathless.
But she is still there.
In the cloudy night, waiting the wind swallow her souls.
She hope it can make her feel better.
But in the end, she will always be there.

Waiting, all she can do is waiting.
It doesn't matter how hurt it is.
Doesn't matter if she can't feel her legs anymore.
Doesn't matter how far it is.

Under these stars, she waits.
She waits for him to comeback.
To feel his warmth again.
To hear his jokes.
To hear his heartbeat.
To make sure he is still alive.
Even though she knows, he is no longer there for her.

But she will always be there.