Life went on,
But questions lingered.

There is a lid still un-closed,
Above, the earth peers up close;
The saddest song has ended,
Lid lowers, last rose she tossed.

Of feather-light touches,
This love lingers,
Like the smell of rain on dry earth.

Of fleeting glances,
This love penetrates,
Like the gust of sand and seawater.

Of ephemeral grins,
This love electrifies,
Like the strong scent of rose petals in between pages.

But this love I can’t hold,
Like the sand that trickles through your fingers.

And this love will depart,
Like how the drizzle drops in your hair will dry.

And so, this love left a mark,
Like how pressed rose petals left the pages yellow.

You are my moon,
the clarity and brilliance in the heart of darkness,
the benign yellow in my lonely nights,
and the ruler of my tides.

You are the innumerable tiny fireflies,
the myriad of colors in my dull life,
the strand of cold light in my hot summer nights,
and the earthbound stars in my dreary last.

You’ve always been my nighttime butterfly,
As I lay under the pallid icy glow of the moon,
In a state like a drunken stupor,
With my passions confined in a jar,
Akin to countless little pale-blinking fireflies,
I remained, wondering:
How can a melancholic misshapen,
So cold, so desolate,
Be something so beautiful?

Luna,
Your soul emanates through your eyes,
Warm, soft, and just fine,
Like the northern star that guides me home.

You blanket over me
Like headlights that pours over the darkest paths.
Like the thick sweater in cold winter.
Like ink spilled over blank paper.

You turned to be my weak point,
But if the earth decides to shake and break,
I can be strong,
I can be the steady ground you can walk on.

There is someone I love, my first downfall the sweetest—
Only him, no one else.
It’s the love my hands will clutch till death,
A love I will bring to my grave.
One may doubt, one may ask ⁠—
“What if you fall again?”
And my answer will keep on,
There is only one love.
Because if you fell twice, did you really love?

And so I glance at you,
A coffee in hand and the mahogany bench you sat upon,
I can’t help but think;
What amazing mind God has to have crafted such person as you.
And how lucky I am to even have my eyes touch you.