I'm so jealous of your eyelashes,
they get to kiss your cheeks approximately twenty thousand times a day.
Needless to say, I'm jealous of the breeze intertwining in your hair
and the pillow you hug every night.
Lucky your coffee mug,
which you kiss every morning and in the nights of induced insomnia.
I envy your books,
the ones you caress and read with infinite interest.
I wish I was motherland,
so you could love me up to my rivers, faults, caves, sunsets, trees...
You go through the day, unknowingly inspiring verses in other people, and I drown in the unknown.
I want to get to know you as much as the shyness keeps me from fearlessly speaking to you.

Perhaps, the stars gather up at night
in the hopes of gazing into your eyes.

Late night thoughts are tying a knot with late night urges to splatter my brain in a blank canvas.
Countless of brown shades I've made, I've mixed.
Not even close.
I gave it a touch of green.
Wrong, your velvety voice whispers along the back of my head.
None of these can even closely resemble your eyes, none can grasp them.
Why can't I grasp them?
I laced my fingers through my hair in frustration and I went into an archive in my mind, remembering that color.
Velvet. Another color I could make a thousand shades of, but they could never match your voice.
Why can't I grasp you?

I don't know how to get you out of my mind (and heart). I've spilt oceans all over my face every time the moon comes up, and letters don't fit in my journal anymore. I've tried to cough you out, but it's dry. I've tried burning you to ashes with the strongest ***** I can find. I've stopped looking at the stars; I can't stand looking back at your eyes. I've stopped talking— I believe that maybe I can **** you in my throat.  It's like you've sank your claws so deep into me, I just can't let you go because I still check my phone every five mintunes. I still find the words to write about you with. I still regret waking up in the morning, you hit me right in my brain. I can't ******* let you go. And it's driving me ******* insane. My hair despises you and my hands keep trembling, and my eyes keep drowning.

I thought I was doing fine,
but it all just crashed over me.
I thought the mere idea of a possibility was far deceased in my mind, but optimism has never been my thing and now I know why.
I thought that because I understood, my heart would bleed a little less,
but now even my eyes bleed every now and then,
and my glass heart dangles on a very fine thread.
I thought my heart was finally listening,
but my mind told it some incredibly hurtful things.
My mind told my heart all about you and about that girl.
My mind described your smile while you stood proudly in a digital memory next to her.
My mind reminded my heart that I wanted her place and moving on ******* hurts.
And there was nothing else I could do,
I could only sit back and watch how you unknowingly knew you cut the fine thread holding my heart,
and feel as it broke down to pieces,
and there was no fire to put it back.
I was doing so fine.
******* it, I ******* thought I was doing fine.

Just when I thought I had shared everything of me with you, I realized I forgot to show you my favorite poems. And I did, and you read each and every one of them.
What made my heart race the most was the fact that you tried. You tried to understand how I would relate to this poem and you genuinely cared.
Just when you began painting of beautiful blues and yellows, reds and oranges, purples and greens, in a world that used to be just black and white for me,
when my thoughts because a little bit more optimistic, time and situations grabbed us both by our feet and dragged us away from each other.
We held on, and we fought, and we tried, and we cried.
In the end, our hands were worn out from gripping and we had to let go.
What made my heart hurt the most was the fact that I kept on reading and reading, and I kept finding more poems, but I had to keep them buried deep inside my chest.
No one else would understand, or at least care to.

i.** picture this, just for a second. instead of waving from a mile away, we walk up the gently sloping hill together, side by side. the sky sheds its bruises above us. we could hold hands, if you wanted. what do you see in the morning clouds? tell me what it felt like, to swallow a star.

ii. i think of you all the time. i’m getting used to the weird volcanic eruptions in my chest when i see you leaning against the front gates at school or lacing up your shoes or when you tell me how much you hate durian, or whatever. you’ve got a habit of inclining your head slightly when you say “all right” or “okay.” i’ve noticed all kinds of things. i wish i didn’t.

iii. but tell me more about yourself. what’s your favorite color? do you get along with your sister? are you content here, with me, lying on a vast expanse of green on a dying planet, or do you still dream of colonizing a different soil? where do you go, when you get tired of running?

iv. here. give me your palms. look—your lifeline, strong and sturdy and sure. i’d like to trace your veins with sharpie someday (or perhaps even with my own hands, if you would let me). when you cross the finish line next week, maybe you’ll throw your arms up, the universal victory gesture, and maybe you’ll think of me the same way i think of you. maybe. just maybe.

v. so let’s ditch the world tomorrow and get coffee together after school. let’s tell jokes and forget everything else exists, and no, you don’t have to worry about the bill.