And when I dream of you,

I dream of you in hopes and wishes,

laced in gold and glitters.

In images of warmth and laughters.



I dream of you while awake;

dream of you with so much love,

I could taste it on my lips

and I could feel you in my arms.



And when I dream,

I dream away the distance between us.

The uncertainty and the fear.



I dream of you so much,

I could almost conjure it up
into my reality.


Just… almost.



So I dream away.

And I hope.

And I wish.

Until it all comes true.

My love,
your words are beautiful.
They are.
In so many ways.
They spark like fireworks.
Bright and warm.
So beautiful.

Until the dawn comes
and we go back to our own axis,
and you're a million miles away
even though, I am right beside you.
I would hold your hand for some semblance of connection.
Desperate.
But my heart can never seem to reach you.
And you would smile like you're here,
but the truth is, I am not your home.
Not anymore, my love.
And for a moment, through your journey's silence,
you'd hear the feint cries of my heart.
But only just. Like a whisper through the wind.
And then you would say all the words.
All the beautiful words,
like it would bandage the rift of galaxies between us,
but you don't realize
that at the end of every word's tune,
just as they could reach the stars,
they die.
Just like fireworks.

all this talk of forever,
as if it's light years away
but it's right here.
right now.
with you.
and so on, it will go.

I used to look at you
like you were an open book,
out in the open, for the world to see.

But the closer I got,
the more I saw.

I saw the walls around you.
I saw how you painted them to hide yourself.
I saw glimpses of the demons you try to keep at bay.

For the first time,
I saw the baggages you carried.
The scars you wear.

And I realized I have been looking at you
for the longest time,
without ever truly seeing you.
And I am sorry.

But I am here now.
I see you.

It's a daunting thing,
          self awareness.

Especially, when you realize
                   you barely know yourself.

When I leave, 
there will be no warnings.

There will be no calm before the storm.


Had you truly known me, 

you would have known that I have always
remained true to my chaos.


It has always been silent.


And someday when I am gone,

in the dead of the night,
dreams of me will haunt you,

and you will lay awake, 

wondering where I went

or if I will ever return,

and that will be your undoing.


I will give you no answers, nor peace,
the same way I gave you my heart

and had to take it back in pieces.

I keep telling myself,
I'll leave when I am tired,
when I am done hurting,
when I have run out of love,
and yet here I am,
still clinging on to you.

Some days,
it's hard to tell,

if I lock my self
inside my head

to keep the monsters away,
or because I am
the monster.

I would go to sleep,
but I know,
I'd still miss you in my dreams.

I hope you know
that every time I told you I loved you,
it came from deep down inside my heart.

So deep,
that every time I said it,
I could feel my heart ache.

I love you
in so many ways

that if one way
wasn't enough,

there would still be
a thousand different ways

for me to love you.

I loved you so much
that even when
I saw the inevitable,

I stayed.

On days that I make it through the storm,
slow death looms over me.

The aftermath leaves nothing unturned.
I am the dead man walking.

Moments turn into an endless cycle
of mournful days without the sun.

Days, when getting up hurts more
because in my dreams is where I am alive.

Days, when reality is the grave I am buried in.
Days, when it hurts more to be alive.

Let me put us in a box
where memories run in loops.

Where, we never had to worry
about what comes next.

Where, forever was now
and now was forever.

Where, we couldn’t care less about tomorrow
because all that mattered was, we were together.

Let me put us in a box,
because, like all things dead,
that's where our love belong.

Like all things dead,
it was once beautiful.

Like all things dead,
it will be remembered.

Let me put us in a box,
so that even when the world goes on,
we know that, once, our love lived.

And through the pain I learned
a couple things
about myself.

I learned that
when I told you,
"I will never ask for too much."
What I meant was,
I am afraid if I told you
what I wanted
and what I needed
you would have thought it was too much
and eventually,
you would leave.

So, I learned never to say it again.

The fact is,
flowers can thrive in the cold,
in the dessert,
in water or mud,
and even through concrete.

And you can survive through more.

Chivalry dances
around its neighbor’s
fresh new grave.

       Integrity sits in silence.
       He has nothing more
       to stand up for.

              Empathy brings flowers
              but she can no longer feel.

                       And Hope’s cries fill the yard,
                       as she was the last one
                       keeping the new settler
                       from his grave.
                      
                                  Today, the whole yard mourns,
                                  for everything is doomed
                                  once humanity is dead.

Some, come across broken souls,
unable to mend them.
Yet, insist they must.
Picking up the shattered pieces.
Inevitably, in the process,
wounding their own hands.
And through that pain
comes their lesson:
     If it is not yours to fix,
     it is okay to leave it broken.

And here
we all stand
on the fragile surface
of mundane ideals;
a billion tiles
of hopes and dreams,
glued together by blind belief.
A safety net cradling you
from what is below;
the dark
empty
numbing pit
of a meaningless existence

Am I just
writing what I feel,
Or am I
writing to feel?

my core is a well
of deep emotions
and i struggle to string
a raft made of words
to stay afloat.

your happiness
was not
mine to give
and yet
i wanted to
serve it to you
in gold platter.

We are all a little lost,
                  a little tired,
                  and a little lonely,

                  You are not alone.