You are the closest I've ever come to seeing space up close.
With the multitude of galaxies in your eyes,
And the way light bounces off your honey-hued skin,
I'm convinced you were raised amongst the stars.

Did you not spend your younger days hitching rides on passing comets,
And catching asteroids like fireflies in the palms of your hands?
Are you sure you didn't take a bite out of the sun
Leaving its embers stuck between your teeth?

I think the universe is smiling right now,
Knowing that a piece of it is safe and living here; glowing ever so brightly.

And if my chest is an open window,
I know that it's you pouring through it.

i spent my childhood
with a conch shell in hand,
i'd be near the sea
even on land

for when i'd press
it to my ear
i'd hear the ocean
loud and clear

and that's when i realised:
i could have the world in my hands
if i believed enough
i could get to distant lands

Have you ever thought why people say, "I am one with the sky," or "Flowers are the best gifts for occasions"? I have a theory. A theory on simplicity, on matter and on souls. I think our souls are made up of matter which is simple and undefined. To put it simply, our souls are made up of many things. Many simple things.

Maybe that's why we feel comfortable, we love the most, and we accept things as they are, even the most plain ones. The simplest things, which stir the deepest and heaviest parts of our souls, matter the most. Our souls are consciously and unconsciously attracted to those things which widen and deepen our existence and the search of its meaning.

Whether it's holding the hand of the one we love or staring into their eyes; gazing at the celestial moving bodies above; watching a sprout grow out below; betiing which raindrop would win the race down a window pane; smelling the earth's freshness and the sea's salty breath; catching a whiff of freshly brewed coffee or tea; finding out the hidden meaning behind every flower specie; a friend's embrace or a stranger's courtesy. Even the most mechanical yet natural thing-- sleep-- we appreciate it all.

It's these things which awaken us to love and feel grateful, all the more. We know these little things belong to the simple matter that makes up our souls, and vice versa-- we belong to them; we are home with them. And it's by these little things which prove that the simplest can make a soul feel the greatest.

Two shooting stars.
Two wishes.
Two chances.

I saw two shooting stars tonight.
First, as usual, I wished for you,
for me, for us to become true.

Then, I wished for me to stop
wishing for the impossible--
that I'd stop wishing for you.

i once tried to catch a shooting star
i saw it from afar as it came closer,
i prepared to jump and catch it with all my might
and i was too late:
i held on to its tail
and i wasn't strong enough,
it slipped from my fingertips
like a dream that ends at dawn

and that's when i realized:
some dreams just aren't meant to be—
but that's no reason to stop me
from waiting for other shooting stars to pass by

It's windy tonight. Not a cloud in sight. And the ever-glory of the mass blue sky was dotted once again with the friends of the sky. Guardian of my house, Orion, with his strong, bright 3-starred bow, burns steadily, as opposed to the Ursas of the north, with the bleak Polaris, its light a little faded due to the lights of the northern cityscapes.

I think of you in these circumstances. Whether you'd be looking at the sky as well, trying hard to find the connecting dots. Stay warm under this cool season, alright? I've yet to brush my teeth or even get my blanket and pillow, because I've decided to sleep under the stars tonight, and they're too beautiful for me to even pass a second without looking at them.

Just like how I think about you. My thoughts are still as the stars in the night sky, sometimes bleak and sometimes bold. I hope you never lose your way even if you feel like it. The Polaris will always be guiding you. My thoughts will always be guiding you. For you, I'll be constant as the stars above, so always know that you are loved.

Just you alone is home, my home-- I'm sure you already know that. I still see you in places, specific ones, like my kitchen: I picture you rummaging through the fridge and the overhead cabinets for random ingredients of a potential cook-up. Or maybe you'd be seated at your favorite place in the adjacent dining room, at the head of the table, looking over at the kitchen where I would be making your favorite dish.

I see you adjusting your coat by the hallway mirror, and you'd grab my hands, asking for my help as I'd walk by. On nights you are framed by the sheets on the bed, smoothing out a pillow and patting the spot by your side for me to get in. Some nights, you sit up against the headboard and whip out a book from your literary collection. On mornings, you live so well in the living room, with the news on, while having a newspaper on hand as well.

You've become my definition of home. But now that you're gone, I am lost on finding a new place to move my heart into.