And just like a picture frame
that holds a precious memory,
I looked at you through my car window,
Hoping you'll remember me.

That's what happens in photographs—
You're frozen in time.
And the next thing I knew,
I was saying goodbye.

Do I know
Who I am on my own
Before I've met
Any other I have known?

The veins on your arms
Remind me of crumpled paper
Which I hold on tight to,
Then loosen my grip,
Smoothing out the imperfect surface.

My eyes follow each string up your arm—
Untying the ribbon like opening a gift—
And back down again, to your fingertips.
My very own quiver
Like the tip of a quill pen.

I notice there are blanks to fill in,
And proceed to write my name
With my finger, onto your palm.
I write something longer,
And it doesn't tickle or bother you.

Then our little fingers wrestle:
it's a strong pinky promise.
We seal it with a swear of the hand,
And a handshake. We hold it in place,
Until our fingers are intertwined.

One more seal, with a kiss this time,
As I bring your hand up to my lips.
I won't let you go now.
This is how I write poetry
With my bare hands.

I could never count
the three words
for you.

It was always
just one, two, or four.
"Us," "What if,"
And "What could have been."

Love is a tidal wave
that one alone
cannot brave.

Unless it's a boat for two,
then the ocean is made
for the both of you.

"Does writing change you as a writer?"

"Yes it does, my voice turns into
the words inside your mind."

"But why can't I
remember you well?"

"Maybe you didn't keep the words
in your head."

"Even if I feel you enough?"

"Then you must've kept them
in your heart instead."

On days like these,
It isn't distance that
Keeps you away from me,
But time.
As I look at your life
Through images
And hear your voice
Through recordings,
I can't help but think
If you're real
In this world with me.
Three hours isn't that far ahead,
But slowly waiting for time
Is quickly making me miss you
Much more than I thought.

I'll keep on looking up,
constantly stargazing.

Amidst a galaxy
of a thousand constellations,
amidst the darkest parts
of time and space—
a gentle twinkle whispered,
"Take me with you."

And so I did,
now I see it's coming
while I make a wish—
"Thank you for picking me,
to watch the birth of a star."

(j.m.)

For others, the eyes
are the windows to one's soul.
But his eyes are the keys
that unlock the rabbit's hole.

I promised to be careful,
never falling for them;
but there is a wonderland,
found deep inside him.

From the outside,
a mysterious gaze, a cue—
as he stretched out his hand—
"Let me show you."

In the light
of the moon,
I slowly make
my way to you.

In the night
so black,
your soft voice
calls me back.

You gently dance
upon the waves,
to my fingertips,
but I can only gaze:

beyond the horizon,
I hear and see home
that isn't of land, but
in your arms of sea foam.

don't tell me
there are other
fish in the sea

when you're
the entire ocean
to me

it was a blur.
your eyes wouldn't focus.
I heard you lost your film.
it took you a long time,
shooting away like a star.
but your gaze frames everything
touched by dark and light.
your heart knows no storage limit,
compared to those picture albums.
capture each scene,
in full color and clarity.
save it, remember it.
wait with the process.
your photograph has developed.
now it's clear.

— photograph, he.
(j.m.)

I think,
it's time to go
back home on land.
I leave the waters,
step out of the blues,
before I could drown.

I sink,
each foot entirely
in the sand.
Rooted in place,
the fine grains
anchor me down.

I ink,
your name on
the back of my hand.
I know it well,
and tell my pages:
I love you now.

washed ashore
onto the hands
of a man
I longed for, dearly.

rugged touch,
tarnished shine
and value,
treasured so merely.

back to home
seeking warmth
in the waters; on land
I was misguided, nearly.

then I knew
it was the sea
whom I belonged to
and who loved me so clearly.

looking into
your eyes,
i wouldn't think
of getting lost
in them.

instead,
your eyes
are a getaway
where i find myself.

Your clear eyes,
a sea of accumulated raindrops,
started to ripple
as I touched the surface.

In your depths I dived;
neither sinking nor losing air—
never drowning despite the rough waves
of unchartered waters.

With no fear of trenches
as deep as the Mariana's,
or fear of undercurrents
as mysterious as the Bermuda's,
I sought further to know
why I felt more familiar
in the water than on land.

Floating, swimming,
breathing underwater;
I stayed warm in your gaze,
in the calm of you.

I found myself at home
when I looked into your eyes.

for the last time
let me be a child again
as i cry over the innocence
that i will lose
once these tears have dried

I know of a girl
With small hands
That write small letters,
But with a mind so wide
Like her arms opened
For a comforting embrace.
Few spoken words at first
That ring with cautious clarity
Then grows in depth and length.
Tiny capillaries that connect
To the biggest heart I've heard
Whose louder beats echo
From where she stays.
Little feet which will carry her
To a larger place some day.
Her name may mean "small,"
But she's so much more
than most of all.

you were in front of me
but i was always behind you
i've watched your back often this way
so close yet so far
i didn't expect you to take a step forward
every time i do
that you'll never be in reach
my hands and arms will ache
from stretching and waiting
distance won't even shorten between us
even if i was able to keep you close

but i forget such agonizing
because you'll always be near
as long as i hold you dear

i am forever
stuck
in a flurry of words
while you hurry out
of my
book

and i realize
you
are not
a protagonist
i've made up
in my head and heart

i can only do so much
as to write about you
and make believe
that you were once
beside me
that i'm trying to read
a book that's incomplete

i lost my words
when
i
lost
you

drops of rain dripping down
my window pane.
no matter how fast they fall,
they never seem to finish.
i wait, slowly and painfully.
i look again at my reflection
on the window.
those aren't raindrops.
now, for whom are these tears?

Dear child,
Don't be afraid,
When the moon
Isn't up in the sky.
He's quiet but there,
Always aware,
Watching you
with loving eyes.

Dear child,
Don't be afraid,
When the moon
Isn't by your side.
He's silent but cares
For you who's so bare
In the dark
of lonely nights.

Dear child,
Don't be afraid,
When the moon
Is out of your sight.
With distance you wonder,
Yet your heart grows fonder,
Hence do you look forward
To living every night.

the little things
that they do and say
come and stay
in their place.

blocked by clouds
or invisible in the day
i'm content knowing
the moon is always
in the center of my frame

sea tides rise
and the constellations change
but i'm reassured to know
the moon has always
stayed the same

even when you're growing
and even as you age
i know i'm grateful because
the moon will always
be your name

the easiest and hardest thing
about falling in love
is being a writer

i begged him
to stay
behind the screen
in my dreams
in these pages
in my life
even if he was
never really mine

because if he stepped out
and i was able to hold his hand
i know i'd have to let go
but i don't know if i can

crashing:
              tear stains on the pillow
                               i imagine ocean waves

flowing:
              shadows on the wall
                                i imagine jet-black ink

dripping:
              raindrops on my window
                                i imagine foot steps

drowning:
             in a tall glass of water
                                i imagine you

all these happening:
             whenever i drink
                                 a glass of you

these cold white floors
are never enough
to mirror the purity of your heart
or to capture your hands' warmth

the intricacy weaved on your clothes
and patterns drawn by your feet
can never compare to
the dancing heart you wear on your sleeve

so don't look down
every time you fall
but hold on to their arms
and firm words and calls

to yourself, you're imperfect
to me, you're emboldened:
you don't need to win gold
when you're already golden

In this society
of souls from the millennium
Invigorated by validation
Drugged only skin-deep
With toxic actions and words
And prices ruling like
A silver-spoon-fed princess
The value of an individual
Plunges deep into the depths
Of the shallowest mirror-like pools

I can only sigh
As I sit in this new class
Alongside new faces
And the absence of the professor
I think of refunding my expensive tuition fee
When I pay my utmost attention
To everything around me

I long to see you already,
Even if the time of our separation—
The distance of a second
Which felt like a lifetime—
Was so short.

You won't forget me,
Like the back of your hand.
You never truly will.
I assure you with everything I am.

Because I am the song you've never heard;
The book you've never read;
The painting you've never looked at;
The one you've never thought of in your head.

I am the sea you've never swam in,
Or the keys you've never played.
I am the star you've never wished upon,
Or the prayer you've never made.

I am the dawn you've never seen,
The pillow you've never had at night;
I am the door you've never opened;
The glasses you've never used for sight.

As I came to know and realize
You like the back of my hand;
Knowing you exist, in my eyes,
I assure you with everything I am:

I never truly will,
That I will never forget you too.
But you've never known me in the first place,
So it was never the same for you.

he doesn't talk much
but his eyes and hands do.
they do so well
that they speak even better
than i can.
i only wish i am the one
he looks at; he touches.
i only wish i am the one
he talks about.

my favorite dance step of yours
is when your fingers
start to play the piano.

and because you,
who speaks little with strangers,
suddenly become the talk

of everyone
when you let your hands
speak for you.

Do you think
I am immortalizing you too much?
Do you want to rest in peace?
My hands want to rest as well
But the heart never stops.
To me, the one grieving,
Nothing can ever replace you.
Not another person,
nor your favorite song.
Not a picture nor a place.
Not your sweater
nor your favorite weather.
Neither your favorite book with
the highlights of your favorite quotes,
nor the words
I speak of you.
Not even more time,
nor the memory of you.

a princess, tired,
built castles, loved by people
and loved a prince
—all birthed from her words

an outcast, fallen,
as her words turn
into robbers of joy and
into daggers against her

a queen, revives,
to ascend the throne once again
pen as sword; heart as shield
written words are her armies
under her rough hands