I was always looking at you, always at your back. Watching your every fall and every rise. It's too unfortunate I'm too close to you. I can't see your face because I'm always behind you, staring with my eyes from afar and with my heart from nearby. I'm afraid that if I touch your back, you'll turn out to be the person I wouldn't have thought of. I can't say hello just to say goodbye in the end. I'd rather have us stay this way, me tailing you and observing you grow. It is better for me not to get to know you and be disappointed with just myself, than have known you and be disappointed with you and myself. That way I can leave easier.

I thought of the boy who has yet to be the best of himself. I thought of how the love I felt for him seemed like a crooked line, wanting to bend and curve into any shape possible. I thought of how his words enraptured me like a tornado with its never-ending cyclonic movement; a cycle of feeling the rush of breathlessness. I thought of how the boy has my heart and mind racing in a circle. I thought of how he was soon to grow into a hurricane, ready to captivate others beside me. I thought again of how he has yet to be the best of himself; give him a thousand rotations of the clock to grow. But I realized how much better I can be for him by then, when now he has already gotten the best of me.

I push your hair away from your face the way the wind blows the clouds away from the face of dusk; both actions exposing the creative glories of God's artistic hands. You are already the moon, yet little did I know you are more than what I think: you are all of the night sky. You hold the moon in your eyes, moonbeams in your smile, and constellations which dot your face in the form of moles.

And it's only now that I understand why they're called the beauty marks of a person.

And it's only now that I realize I can embrace the eventide and continue floating in a dream into the dawn.

And it's only now that I'm able to see nightfall as the last thing I see before I close my eyes.

And it's only now that I know I can literally kiss the stars and the rest of the night sky good night.

his eyes are one of my favorite things about him.
but i can never draw him, much more his eyes.
not even when i try.
i can never capture the way his eyes glow
as soft as a little star when he smiles softly,
or as bright as the sun when he beams.

i can never copy the intensity of his gaze
without my pencil lead breaking or my hand tensely shaking,
in fear of giving injustice to such opened and clear windows
to his beautiful soul.

i can never shade enough to give it the depth similar to reality.
i can never bring out the emotion of his eyes
with my pencils
like the way he does with his heart.
i can never draw the flutter of his eyelids,
the curls of his lashes,
the color of his irises,
or the void of his pupils,
all of which i get entranced and ****** into the blackhole of his soul.

i can never draw him in the simplest way:
his eyes staring at me.
because i can never look into his eyes
or lock gazes with him--
not even with a still portrait.

Tell me, are you a library, full of stories?
Are you a collection of fiction and fact that no arms could contain or no minds that could grasp?
I look into your eyes and I get a glimpse of the catalogs and genres which you keep within you.
You must have had your fair share of history; that is one textbook I want to study and memorize by heart.
Do you think I can be the one to take care of you?
I want to keep you a classic and as a monument in this era of advancing technology.
I will clear the dusty parts of your heart and wipe the slippery surface of your crying face.
I will caress every page you own and help restore the words you've been trying to preserve.
I may not be the one who found you first but I will be the one to stay by your side, until the day either of us crumbles.
So let me check your books out and let me return to you so very often.
Let me call you my favorite place and my second home.

they say men are from Mars
and women are from Venus
but i wonder what takes so long
for us to cross paths
perhaps
it's what the astronomers tried to declare
that Mars and Venus never does
and will never intersect orbits
with millions of miles in between them
or what the astrologers tried to foretell
that a love unknown as a nameless star
can never really shine in the first place
because of the thousands of miles between us
but even if it takes an infinity of time or space
for us to reach one another
i would still stay and wait
by your side, i will hover
what matters for now is
i found you
amidst many others
i saw you
even in the dark
and i love you so

When one leaves,
They never really do.
They are present in the void
They have left you with.

Sometimes, you think you'd be recovered from a heartbreak.
But when I saw the picture of the pagoda I took on that day,
I saw your face.
Memories resurfaced,
the sewn heart has a few stitches loosened,
and what if's appeared once more like how they did on that fateful morning.
We weren't close,
I admit we never were.
But you affected me greatly,
and I wish I'd done better.
Now I can only look at you in photographs or in memories and dreams.
Suddenly, reality seemed less of a reality compared to the dreams and photographs you were in.

Ten. Where are you? Are you there yet? It's been so long since we last met. I've missed you.

Nine. With only a few seconds to go, doesn't it feel like hours until we can be together once again?

Eight. Be patient. I'll be there soon enough. Wait for me.

Seven. Waiting sure does weigh an eternity. My heart is getting heavier by every passing moment.

Six. Think of the weight on your heart as a paper weight, atop the receipt I gave to you the last time we met, with our meeting place and time scrawled on it. Don't remove what anchors me to you.

Five. Pulling heartstrings won't get you anywhere, you know. Hope can be the worst betrayal.

Four. And hope can be the best loyalty. Now, will you hope and be loyal?

Three. Anything it takes to be, as long as it's with you. You have my pinky swear.

Two. Give me your four other fingers. And your eyes. And your attention. All of you, I miss it and I long for it.

One**. Midnight. He turned me around, 180 degrees, a half-moon, a lemon-slice, a perfect arc right into his arms. The minute hand has finally reached the hour hand. And our hands have finally reached each other.

Beyond the blurred and blank images
Or a thousand faces like yours
In my dreams I never lose myself
Finding my way to your door

I don't use a map or a compass
I don't need manmade directions
Because of your soul I follow a guide--
A light of constellations

Even if I can't see you
Even if I lose my sight
The heart can only truly see what the eyes don't:
That it's better to love you in the night

A little grin peeks out almost unnoticeable; an introduction, as the letters wax and take shape. Slippery from the thoughts, dripping and solidifying on paper. The wonderland of words has been entered.

2. A silver half of a plate, a yellow half of the nocturnal sun, an inked half of the paper. Imbalanced but semi-complete, words written halfway were still wholely thought of.

3. Midnight's peak is the best time to write. The full moon rises as the keyword is written. Clear as a mirror to reflect the emotion desired.

4. The ink is now running out, with the poem waning. It's coming to a close, growing into farewell's small smile. The process may be ending but the life of the product has just begun.

5. With the final curtain call of clouded skies and emptied minds, the poem is finished. The new moon take its place in the lives of people, invisible to the eye but fully felt with their hearts.

The beauty of
Unrequited love
Is how
Unconditional
It can get

Mahal na mahal kita
kahit ilang tula na naisulat ko
o ilang tala nasa langit
di sila papantay
sa pagmamahal ko sayo

*eng trans:
i love you so much
even with the number of poems i've written
or with the number of stars in heaven
they can never equate
to the love i have for you

Depth doesn't scare her.
In fact, it's the one thing she looks for in almost everything.
She was a swimmer, one who floated face-up in deep waters-- in the pool, sea, and metaphorically, life.
Depth to her, was a symbol of freedom and significance.
She wasn't afraid of it or getting lost in it. If she let the tides carry her of their will and to the shore, she knows she wouldn't drown. In the end, she was at home in waters and their uncertain depths. She didn't always need to see the bottom or what is waiting for her. This was life to her.

The same applies to the winds of the night sky, where she was a light cloud with a fleeting presence. She would be here today, and the next moment she would be gone with the wind, swept up in the dark skies above, far off into the deep atmosphere.

All the more has she fallen deep for this certain person in her life, a descendant of Orion.
His eyes were as bright as Betelgeuse and were deeper than the darkest parts of the ocean. ****** into the whirlpools of his eyes, and into the windows of his soul, did she get a glimpse of how he was like.
She would give anything in exchange for a long soak: she was deep in her love for him.

On afternoons she finished her swimming regimen in the sea and headed to the hilltop sports complex before sundown.
There, she watched him shoot arrows with his long bow embraced by his long arms. His deft fingers positioned to hold the arrow in place, and she almost felt her heart stop like the way a criminal froze in surrender before a policeman pointing a gun at him.
Only in her case, he wasn't a policeman nor was she a criminal (unless watching him without him knowing would be considered stalking, therefore an offense), he held a bow, not a gun and that he was not aiming at her.

But the way his slender body heaved with every deep breath spurred a similar memory in her: steady, balanced and clear as the skies above and the waters beneath her body and surf board.
Just before the board and her arms slice through the water's surface tension; just before he releases the arrow which pierces through the light air around him. Staying still for so long to get the perfect posture puts a pressure on one's body. To see him let go with one eye shut for focus was a relieving sight to her.
She knew that familiar tension and expectation that surrounded him.
To her, watching him was like star gazing as always; he was, after all what she called a "descendant of Orion". He was the only thing she saw so bright and clear in that dim archery room and only the sunset casted soft shadows on his face.

She wondered if he would ever find out about the way she felt for him. Every time an arrow slipped through his fingers faster than a time-slip, she felt as if a part of him departed along with it.
Why was it so, she thought, that it seems like I'm loving the impossible; a night dream which won't be carried off and fulfilled by dawn? As if he was a dream too deep in my sea of memories, anchored to the bottom of improbability and unable to rise to the surface to make itself known to him.
A fresh salty breeze filled the air. This happened whenever the winds blew over the waves or when she didn't notice her own tears fall.

His life had a sense of leaving in it. It was either the way his arrows left him and his bow or when he left the sports complex; and in the future, leaves the town and leaves her life. It was more than decided that he was bound to leave the place and head back to the metropolis where he came from.
He belonged to the city of bright lights.
Nothing can ever compare to the way he shines, though, she said to no one but the winds and waves that build up her life.
He was a rocket fueled for takeoff. Ready anytime to leave, to return to the sky, back in the home of the stars.

And she was a mere girl who sought depth in her life:
the water, the sky,
their existence and his eyes.

I hope you won't ever get tired
Of running in my mind
Because I never get tired
Of writing about you all the time

I hope you won't run out
And I hope you will stay
I hope, to you, I'll never run out
Of things to say

A castle is built
           within myself
Caging the sleeping beauty inside
With thorns growing all around
Piercing through
   my head and my heart
The damsel in her slumbering distress
Knows not a single pain
But puts faith in her prince
                         And her fairy guardians
All of whom have no true sword
To slay the dragon roaring like tides
Or to awaken the kingdom
     Of the numbness
                in which they hide
Not even the witch who casted the spell
Can undo the magic bind
              
Because I myself am the
         Princess, the prince,
The castle, the fairy guardians, the dragon,
                     The kingdom
And the
    Witch

It's only in
    A dying me
Where the saddest fairytale can
              Thrive

How can you know when something or someone is near or far? Or there or here? Is it the gravity felt between the souls of two people destined to be in each other's lives, similar to the moon and the ocean waves? Could it be the same feeling when you know a pair of eyes are on you in a crowded place, waiting to see what is brought upon by the twist of fates? Or maybe it's the pulling red string which stretches from two pinkies, thus binding two hearts together.  

...

I liken loving you to stargazing. On clear nights, the destination and direction--you-- are just as clear. Only the distance as usual, remains vague and vast, filling the space between us. With me reaching out to you, it was more hopeless than a child wishing on shooting stars. There were even times I had to wish for a shooting star; to wish for you falling down and into my arms.

I look for you in the places where I know I'd find you, and even in the places where I know I wouldn't. We're so close, yet so far, with every centimeter between us seeming like an eternity of a mile. You were immoveable, yet it seemed as if you were getting farther with every inch I moved closer to you. Neither my fingers nor my eyes could ever catch you.

And all so suddenly, on one clear night I realized: I didn't, couldn't and wouldn't get my answers to knowing how near or far you are to me.

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.

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.

I see your figure hunched over the old grand piano; I see your worn fingers slowly graze the keys which once locked our promises when you used to play me songs.

Now, I only feel the warmth of you as I sit on the piano bench, and when my fingers touch the keyboard. I have never felt any more monotonous and monochromatic than the notes and keys which I effortlessly hit.

I'm playing right, but why do I feel like I'm playing the biggest mistake of a song in my entire life?

What, exactly, is a star? It's made up of so many things. Scientifically, it's a body of gases rubbing off against each other to create friction and heat, thus turning into a ball of bright red or blue light. And as for airplanes, they're the only mode of transportation in the air; once a man's dream, now everday's reality. The airplane can travel to any corner of the world-- how cool and sweet is that?

I see you in airplanes. I imagine them as shooting stars, with me wishing for you. I also see you in the stars, also imagining them to be airplanes which are frozen in time, with who knows where they have traveled to in the past, or where they're bound to fly to.

I love you as the stars, and I love you as the airplanes. I love you either way. No matter how far you are or how far you will go, I know I can always find you out there, free in the skies.

A source of light in the dark. You were there every night, peeking behind the clouds, awaiting my return home from school or work. You may think you're a dull gray color but you shine brightest in the dark, to me.

I wish it was always night so that I'd get to see you in your fullest form-- the last thing before I close my eyes. Even when you're the invisible new moon, I know you're always watching me, giving attention to every big turn I make when I am restless in bed, and down to the tiniest movement under my eyelids when I am deep in a dream.

I want you to know that even if the dark pits of the night swallow you up and you feel like your light is burning out, I will always be here, looking up, looking for you. And looking towards the day when you show yourself and return to my sky again, as the moon that I've grown to love.

The vast space between them
As the sun continually chases the moon,
Who smiles back at the sun.
Watching her in the dark
Knowing she's admiring him from afar,
The sun can distinguish the moon
In the dark with a thousand stars
But the moon has trouble finding the sun.
One day, they'll be in front of each other.

As the moon says,
   " Ah, this is the girl who radiates
       As beautiful as the stars around me"
And the sun says,
   "So, I finally get to see the boy
       Who perfectly reflects my light,
       A quiet mirror of my own image"

When that day comes,
That will be the time
The world will stop.

i know we're in the same book.
but yet to be on the same chapter,
waiting for the other
to be on the same page.
i'll wait for you.
not like a hopeless romeo,
and definitely not like a juliet.
i'll wait for you.
even if it takes us
volumes,
sequels,
prequels,
and even a different author,
for us to meet.

so young,
you've already taken
the world
by a storm
grabbing their gazes
enticing their ears

so old,
you're still taking
our hearts
by a gentle breeze
sweeping us off
of our feet

you are the element
natural
and
unstoppable

from everything
that wilts
comes forth
a blossom

my hands and my pen
may be getting older
but my words
stay a blooming garden

how can i
****
drain
erase
you away

when you are the
life
blood
ink
in my veins

other people like to pretend that airplanes are shooting stars in the night sky, destined to fulfill wishes as they dance about the air.

as for me, i like to imagine that stars are airplanes suspended in time, frozen in travel, bound for a place across the expanse of the atmosphere.

more than anything, you're either the airplanes or the stars to me.

a lady of colorful blood
prepped in white uniform
she'll put your heart back together
whenever you feel down or torn

she deeply loves a boy
as if he's from her books
way past his words and actions,
way past his looks

ointments of her embrace
and her medicinal laughter
she dreams and doesn't know it
but she's already a doctor

sometimes her puns are die-worthy
yet sometimes they give life
she cures with her compassion
and bandages the strife

people give her their sadness
in return, is happiness, she gave
all will be unnumbered--
those lives which she saved

i liken her to the sun
i liken her to the stars
i liken her to the brightness
outshining the scars of dark hearts

she's no plain jane
she's no ordinary girl
i brought her into my life
and she brought healing to my world

"It's Monday tomorrow."
My mother reminds me again.
Deadlines for assignments. night classes and spending money for transportation and meals happen again, in a ravenous cycle of time, growth and worry.
It's Monday tomorrow.
I'm turning twenty. And so is my birthday another cycle to be showered upon with special greetings, after all, people give all they can to one person mostly just on their special day. The twentieth year. A cycle of time, growth and worry.
In my family, we never entertained the ideas of birthdays.
It's Monday tomorrow.
Just another ordinary day for me.
Spending money on transportation and meals, night classes and deadlines for assignments.
Oh, and the deadline of my nineteenth.

the sun is so in love with the moon
that he's starstruck
and is already a shooting star
falling everyday
dying every night
just to let his silver lover live
and gives some of his light to her
during the darkest hours

the sun is so in love with the moon
before the universe even existed
we just don't know it
because their love is light years ahead of us

every night
i sing a song
to the man
above the sea

every night
i long to reach
the lone moon
of which is he

every night
i wait to hear
the sailor
call out for me

every day
i hope by the bay
for we,
that cannot be

Raindrops are the
guilty tears
of the sky.
She thinks that
everything bad
that happens
underneath her fold
is her fault.

the fault
             in our stars,
the fault
                     in the sky
the fault in the way
                             you said

'i love you' and *'goodbye'

"Read between the lines," they say.

And I watched you stand there; a living, breathing
existence of lines.

You walked right up to me. Lines are moving dots.
Your being is a point in motion.

I looked at your face to see the bold lines
under your eyes and above your brows—the ones
that made me think of your strength and masculinity.
They are all an aspiring bravado exuded on your face
with your years of experience and hard work.

I love the curved lines of your eyes and lips too
as you smiled at me as I called your name.

Sometimes, I owe my success of finding you in crowds
to your tall height and I freeze whenever I do:
Vertical lines can stop eye movement.

Your dancing also catches my attention.
Did you know every part of your body consists of
dynamic and action-oriented lines?

You.
An important line in my life.
Highly directional, and I now know
where to go to
when I draw or write
the edges of my love.

|   LINES   |   ENDING II   |

Lines act as borders
between ideas and concepts.

They also tell me
to "never cross the line."

It goes the same for my mind
which draws your existence
in front of me, in Picasso style:
the single, drunk and confused
line.

Or those psychic lines that your eyes
connect to mine. I feel them there,
when you're not really looking at me
in person.

Lines allow you to quickly visualize
an object, or someone, with a minimum
of time, space and material.
But all I wanted was to feel
your hand in mine forever.

And all the lines I've ever written
about you and for you
will queue up to lines
of waiting, unrequited feelings.

not many people favor
the flavor
of the green tea latte
sweet from the start
with a slight bitter aftertaste
as the matcha on your tongue fades

i remember the time
we went to your favorite cafe
and you commented on how your
green tea latte
was a little sweeter than the usual
and now i comment how
it is a little more bitter
compared to when i had it with you

the green tea latte
is my memory of you
sweet—for every time
we sat in that same spot
sipping the warm green drink
and bitter— for the moment
i drank my
green tea latte
alone