I am like the wind - always around unassumingly but never noticed by your naked eye.

Until one day, when spring heats up, you long for me, the gust of wind, your wind of life.

The sunny day of January invited the sun's radiation that burns skin as fire could burn through paper.
Perhaps that was why everything we planned was a heat-up and dramatic hope.
Perhaps like the partly burned coal, our hope too burns itself to the emptiest cinders of all.
The hopeful plan we once had was dramatized to create illusions of the fantasy we'd like to live in, but a reality that we could not create because the reality is, we are nothing but the matter of expired fire.

We are the ashes of what we left behind.

We may have stopped giving off flames, but we still have some combustible matter in us; and soon, what follows is, for the better - an explosion, or for the worst - an implosion.

Think about this - a holiday that needs no funky dresses.
A holiday so creative, there is no need for red lipsticks, no need for nail clippers, no need for pungent scent of over-powering colognes.
A holiday so relaxing, a massage is as unimportant as a torch light near the sun.
All we need is just you; and perhaps the ever so annoying presence of me.
All we need is a bountiful of sundresses that you own, and perhaps my flowery sense of humor that matches the colors of the purple lilac prints of your sundress.
I could buy you a hat, but only if you promise me that it will only hide you from the sun, and not you from my eyes.
It could be big so you don't need sunscreen; and big enough to stop you from cringing when the sun hits your eyes but small enough that you still require some Banana Boat applied on your skin.
I'll bring the Banana Boat that has your favorite scent and I will put them on my hands; white cream will round my palm as I merge both hands together to a rub and apply the heat on your back. I will do it with so much passion because I want to ensure that only I can have your body and only I can touch your skin and that the beam of those evil UV lights will have none of you to them.
I want to feel the presence of you next to me, in our cabana, hidden away from the noises of the city, from the trinkets of the toy stores, from the audible annoyances of office politics.
I want to hear you play your favorite Azalea tunes on your iPod and secretly loving it as the song burst out of your earphones – teasing me, tempting me, seducing me with your bouncing head.
I want to hold on to my Mai Tai, cold as always, as the droplets of the cold water from melted ice succumbs to the heat my palms are dismissing.
And I want to have that Mai Tai with you, with two straws, with a pineapple decoration on the brink of the glass; and maybe…just maybe…if you're playful, a little umbrella that is in your favorite color.
Perhaps then we can hear the sound of crashing waves as our bodies crashes with the nuances of knowing that we are good for each other, but never at the same time as each other.
We can then, together, in silence, delve in the truth, the evolution, that we crave for the attention of the other, but we have the unfortunate excuse to not believe in that craving.
As we sip on the Mai Tai, we see the sun set, and the horizon is as beautiful and as composed and as straight as the bangs of your hair.
We refuse to leave that beach. And we refuse in our hearts because no words filled the empty silence but sounds of crickets and the ***** of wings of the swallows that flew by us - back to their homes, back to their nests, back to their hearts.
We know one of us will have to break that silence and it is so quiet that a drop of a 20 cent coin can jolt us, make our hearts beat faster with the expectations that we have of what's to come next.
"Let's go", you said.
And I mustered up my muscles, aching for one last stretch of my forearm to pull yours closer to mine.
But I could not.
Because you have walked away, walked ahead and far from me.
You have passed the stream of sea water that we could have left our footprints on, together, side by side.
I took that as a painful hint.
"Perhaps tonight is not the night. Perhaps we are not what we are.", I thought.
I finished up our drink like how I would finish writing our unending story.
I sipped the warm Mai Tai of depression, sadness, disappointment and anger as it travels through my bloodstream.
This alcohol – it filled my empty heart with the depressed, sad, disappointed and angry poison.
I was certainly not in the mood.
I packed my towels, wrapped it around my secure body and around my insecure soul.
As I walk behind you, following your imprints of footsteps left on the sand, I lit a cigarette. I put on my earphones, blasted the Azalea song that you love so much as I envision what could have been our most memorable night.

Sometimes friends we are
And sometimes we are more
Sometimes lovers we could be
But sometimes nothing at all

Sometimes I miss your face
And sometimes for days and days
Sometimes we are where we want to be
But sometimes it is a confusing maze

Sometimes, like now, it'll rain
And sometimes a tear may drain
Sometimes being alone is best
But sometimes being lonely is a pain

Sometimes, like now, you're far away
And sometimes nothing can reach you
Sometimes you don't know if you should stay
But sometimes this is the only way

Sometimes things happens for a reason
And sometimes I think it should
Sometimes we feel like being apart
But sometimes I know we are in the mood

Sometimes I think of you
And sometimes I feel that's rude
Sometimes I try to stop myself
But sometimes

I know

I never really could.

Make this mistake with me,
Just dive into us,
Because we are crystal clear,
We are blue water ocean deep,
I'll hold your other hand
discreetly.
I'll kiss your lips
on days He won't kiss yours.
And I'll hug you from behind
on days He got it all wrong.

Make this mistake with me,
Trust your heart my Libran goddess,
Because if all of me is what it takes
to sweep all of you off the ground
then I will come un-grounded,
undefeated, unfazed, unclothed.
Without the fear of the world
I will come to you
in the night.
I will fill the emptiness of your room,
with the snores of my palpable fingers
resting on the edge of the very shoulders
that is wrong for me to lay my lips on.

Make this mistake with me,
Listen to the voices you deemed untrustworthy, dishonest, unethical.
All your excuses to not do
should be set aflame.
He has nothing on you, nothing on me.
He Has Nothing.
Just fly up high with me.
Find a day where this forbidden fruit
can find a space where both of us
can reside and relive and redo
what we could have, should have, would have
done.
It's okay honey. All is not wrong.
You know you can trust me.
I know you want to trust me.

So make this mistake for you.
Nothing is forbidden
if you decide its permissible.
Make the mistake for me
and throw all our logic out the window,
out the door.
Throw all safety nets out to
His unwarranted sea.
Because although He has everything,
He is not everything.
He is not me.

And like how I've always been waiting,
I am here still
waiting for you
to slide over.

So slide.

I have always thought of you
as someone greater than who you really think you are.
as someone more unassuming than I thought you were.
as someone so ultimately challenging.
as someone I would never ever be able to get mad at
despite how annoying you can be at times.
as someone so incredibly smart
even you yourself could not fathom
how I got to that conclusion.
I have always thought of you this way,
despite everything else that I’ve said,
these few things were the most important
were the most prevalent
were the most meaningful but yet has no meaning
to me.

My days are usually cold.
It always were and it always will be.
I slip into what I am most comfortable in,
but I know these jackets are nowhere near as comfortable
as when our naked bodies touches each other.
I drink my ice coffee, I sat on those crispy wooden chairs,
in hopes to see you ‘accidentally’,
but I know it’s nowhere near as awakening
as when you talk to me, whatever it may be.
I smoke my cigarette, light it ferociously,
but I know it’s nowhere near as fiery
as when our mind thought of the same joke,
as when our mind hates the same person,
as when our mind likes the same song,
as when our mind misses the other.
I crack chilly jokes, I make frozen comments,
I appear numbly flirtatious, I appear uncharted,
I put up a facade, like a game of Charades,
but I know it’s nowhere near as ridiculously
fallible and flawed
as our true feelings are for each other.
To err is to cling on emotional tendencies,
And I am clinging with inches of my fingers
on the edges of your heart,
and I learned that no matter what we are,
you are very important to me
both psychologically and mentally,
both physically and emotionally.

My nights are incredibly lonely.
My thoughts usually wander to the impossible.
Like us - the impossibility fares to its extreme.
I slip into my pyjamas and as psychotic as this may sound
I wish it was made out of your skin.
I wish it smells like you, speaks like you,
looks like you, walks like you,
brushes its hair like you,
bites its lip like you,
holds its cigarettes like you,
just like you.
Nothing escapes my paradoxical mind.
I close my eyes hoping to count sheeps
but instead I counted my days with you.
Every night I assured myself that we could never work,
but every morning I awake excited to catch a glimpse
of your stupidly looking fringe
and yet I still love it unconditionally.
No one is as big of a fool as I am when it comes to you,
and no one is as big of a tool as I am too.
Because
Every moment I am ridiculously awake
I spent it putting my thoughts of you to sleep.
And
Every moment I am thoroughly asleep
I spent it hoping you’ll be safely awake.

Because we all know
nightmares can be scary.

And because we all know
sweet dreams can be scarier.

And because we all know
forbidden love is the scariest.

As I close my eyes hoping to fall asleep
I realised I have instead fallen in love.

One cold morning,
One usual Tuesday,
I awoke before the sun,
I stretched before the clouds formed,
One exact moment in the morning,
when the water met my face
and when coffee hits the nerves,
I remembered.

It was breezy and gloomy,
The wind blew calmly across,
I can feel it in between my fingers,
I can feel it on my chest
in between my shirt and my skin
as I board the seven o’clock train.

There you were walking down before me
as I wait patiently for the train tracks to roar,
I saw you in your beige jacket,
Your green blouse,
Your black laced skirt,
Your fair, fair skin,
and your black rim glasses,
that tried to hide,
but could not, the droopiness of your sleepy eyes.

I saw them all,
I feel them all,
The beauty, the casualness,
I know them all.
I see you almost every other day,
In the same train,
At the same time,
In the same barrack of steel that encapsulates
all the passion and the indifference we have about our career.

But we never spoke.

Your beauty, your casualness,
is proof that coincidences are dangerous
and fate is perhaps overrated.
I always wonder why
in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of life
we are still hiding behind a façade,
a wall,
a barricade of non-verbal stimuli.
Why are we, in the depths of our cover up,
our ego,
still not anticipating a conversation?
I assure you,
Our eyes met more than once,
But we looked away pretending that this ardor,
This obsession,
This craze and zeal,
is nothing more than a line of sight
and a blink of an eye.
But I know for sure you’ve seen me,
And I know for sure you’ve seen me
seen you,

So what lies between us is a barrage of men and women,
rushing off to their nine AM clock in.
Men carrying their brown briefcases of complexities and anxieties,
Women carrying their vibrant colored handbags of regret and rage,
All to conceal and suppress,
To obscure and to disguise
one uncomfortable conversation about the hardships of their lives.

Perhaps we could never find the courage,
Perchance we never will.
Perhaps this poem will never see its poetic justice,
Perchance it should never too.
But in case it did,
And in case we found courage,
I’d like you to know
that in my train of thoughts that are propped up of complete nonsense,
there is one clear emotional track that will not detour,
and that is to see you sitting opposite me
in that cold metal seat,
and to have you meet me in the eye
only to have the both us look away
in sheer interest
and utter ignorance.

But we both enjoy the visual flirt.
Don’t we?