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.

I suppose
I feel
that it is possible for soulmates
to feel each other's sadness
if so
then I want to cut the thread between us
so my soulmate won't feel mine
but I don't want to cut it either
because I would want to feel theirs
and lighten it with them

But I guess that
there is always certain sacrifice
we have to make
to find our other halves
to complete ourselves

"Don't mention him to me;
He's such a joke,"
She laughed hysterically,
As tears rolled down her face.

But deep down,
I knew she meant to say
"He's such a ****",
And those tears of hers
Weren't of laughter.

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

Ever wondered why we had to burn out or crash in flames?

Everything was on fire when i was by your side.

It all started with a spark, though.

Because i thought you were my match.

And i blame you for looking like hot stuff that Friday summer night.

with your imperfect edges
you are perfect enough
to be filled in
you may be cracked
you may be broken, even

but what matters is
you know how to put yourself
back together
with gold
called self-love

you see,
you're holding yourself up
and you can see your old crack marks
emphasized from the gold
but that only adds to your life story
of how you became whole again

many people think brokenness
is destruction
but it's an art
when you realize you can fix yourself
you know you're unbreakable within
so just be and stay you

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

He was a blanket, covering all of me. Fabricated by the most delicate hands, he kept me warm on cold nights. And one of my favorite parts of him is that one string attached to the right side of his neck; it was as if his life depends on it. Because that very string diverged into tiny threads which spread out to his hands and feet, and converged with four other strings that lead to his heart. They are rich in color, and I wonder how just those strands of life sustain him. But sometimes his strings would loop, link, twist and turn, and I would get so tired of being pulled along; every fiber in me started to turn into a knot of uncertainty.
...
He tugged on my heart strings that night though, as soon as I was about to cut the twine we had made with our fingers braided together. That's when I realized I can never really untangle myself from him and from the cross stitch of our crossed fates. Because for us to live, we need all strings attached.

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

paint skies dark as ink
where the moonlight is at its peak
solace, what i seek

Art would last forever
But i learned feelings don't always do
And even if i painted you in hues
With every classic medium of art
This old tradition of painting
You on my canvas
As well, would never last

And even if i used digital art now
Where it would be fast
To bring you back
Reminded me that
This love faded faster
And this advanced way
Of lauding my love for you
Would never really make me move on

warm weathers with a warmer heart:
i stretched out my arms
and embraced her with all i am.
this girl threw an ocean of words,
of images, of emotions, and even of silence at me
over a mango shake, kimchi fishcake,
and a pair of hot matcha lattes.
she challenged me to a doodle dare
when i told her i don't draw humanity,
as much as i wanted to draw her right there on the spot.
let's draw those people on that side of the cafe
ah, a people-watching activity!
just our kind of hobby that immerses us within society
while being in our own little world!
i noticed she draws people first
then the background according to the proportions of the persons;
yes, a people-watcher observing another people-watcher
unlike me who starts off with the walls and furniture of the space.
she drew the ovals for body proportions;
her pencil marks done gently, focused and magnified,
much like how she holds herself up.
thus we were satisfied with unfinished sketches
and incomplete acapella song covers;
and it definitely was a finished day–
complete with her presence,
photographs taken with cameras and our memory's eyes,
inside jokes about boys and talks about life outside.
the sun is getting lower
as the hour hand is getting higher.

Time continues but we paused.
So I'm up for another round with you, Lou.

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 guess I would have to let him go.

"But you said he was a part of you."

     *So what about it?

"Then you'd have to lose a part of yourself too."

     *That's the point: it's the time I'll lose myself tonight... But this time it won't be by his side.

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?

he's calling out to her
through words with melody
capturing her heart
and all her entity
his hand skim the strings
his voice, soft like clouds
imagining he's caressing her
it's she, whom he surrounds

And i wish i could take away your sadness
with my arms around your frame
and to make your pain disappear
With my hands holding yours
And to remove the guilt eating you from the inside
With my love flowing in your veins
And to wipe those warm tears away
with my fingertips and lips
If you'd just let me in
We'll never have to feel hurt again

who said i needed SOS
to heal these wounds
when i all needed was XOX
just from you?

i think it's hard to be friends or lovers with a writer. here's why:

1) you have to be careful of what you say, because the writers mostly take every word of yours literally and try to find the meaning in it. say what you mean, and mean what you say.

2) you also have to be wary of your grammar. those people, whom you know as writers, are grammar nazis. if they don't correct you in speech, fret not; it has been done in their word-mazed minds.

3) they will rant and rant and rant, because written words are what cool them off without having them to speak aloud. curse words, words which carry a tune, words which burn into brains... hear them out. do not be lazy to read their rants if they trust you with it. (they could rant about you TO YOU in the end.)

4) this is the hardest part. just remember that they will write about you no matter who you are or what you've done (or maybe you haven't even done anything). these people will write about how they see you. and most of the time, those writings are not so favorable. if you do not want to (literally) end up in their bad books, beware. their words may not last in ink forever but embedded into the hearts of those who read them.

happy reading and living with a reader!

some things are not meant to be returned
be it a library’s borrowed book
or hands that cannot hold ours and leave us cold

because we need those things
as reminders of the people
who once borrowed or took what belongs to us

and in our story

i know why i remember you so well:
it is my warmth which you borrowed
and my heart that you took

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

"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.

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

"will i be able to hold your hands someday,
wishing they would never let go?"

and the hours would feel complete
when that day at last arrives,
24/7 my hand's in yours,
the moment day fades into night.
touching fingers, grazing skin,
our life's a polaroid-- white and black,
once our images, hearts and hands are captured,
we can never go back.

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.

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

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.

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 time his voice filled my ears
my heart strings vibrated
so he gently plucked or strummed
to match his ballads

but as days passed
with his playing and vocals getting rougher
his fingers bled and scarred
and then i snapped

gone was the singing boy
his beautiful guitar
but you can still see them love
whenever you hear their song

I don't think I can ever master the art of living without you even if I'm the reclaimed master artist of missing you

you used to bring me everywhere with you
i used to make you smile whenever i sang
you strummed on my heartstrings
and i melted to your touch

but one day you strummed too hard
with anger and frustration
my heartstrings snapped
and i could no longer sing for you

now i'm your broken guitar

I hope I'm not too
Obvious
I hope you're not too
Oblivious

"I have to unlove you a little," the girl said as she put her pen down.
He replied: why would you ever?
"I have to save my love for you; I have to save it for future days."
He frowned. "It sounds like you're saying goodbye. As if one day your feelings for me will disappear because of having loved me too much this very moment."
She shook her head. "I don't think I'll ever stop loving you though, if I give you just small amounts of it everyday. But you, would you still be the same, even if I cut down on the amount I usually give per day?"
He understood where she was going. "As long as you give me love, even down to the tiniest drop of it, I'll still love you all the same. And when you run out of it and can give no more, that's when I'll refill you with all the love you have filled me up with after all this time."
"One can never really run out of love, can they? Give or take. It's still love."
"Love is love-- give or take, small or big; doesn't matter as long as it exists-- if it's you I'm loving."

he strums
the steel strings
of his guitar
akin to the strings
of my heart
     that I wear on my sleeve

he echoes
quiet unspoken
memories
through a
loud medley of
melodies
     that his heart and soul bleed

so in time
for him
I'll voice and play
to reach out
and give back
to him someday
     like how he reached out to me

He reminds me of a mandarin orange,
easy to hold and easy to peel
with a slightly rough yet firm exterior;
sensitive to the cold.

His character is that of the sweet flesh
like his gentle words and actions;
with sour tangs that emerge on rare occasions
like a nudge of loneliness from being homesick.

But his mind and soul are the little seeds buried
deep within the depths of his eyes and his heart:
he stays rooted despite in drought; persevered
and grown to enjoy the fruit of his labor.

There is something about the mandarin and its layers
which bring me much more than luck,
love, and even life.
All of it—he—brings me home.

that day in December
my roughest trip started
i remember how we met
i sat there quiet
you moved closer and said
my name was pretty
you left but promised me
next year again
and i waited for 365 days
but you never showed up

until 3 months later
and you almost forgotten
but i sparked your interest
November was the best,
when you first held my hand
and never had i ever felt so safe

little did i know that was the last month
we'd ever meet
and i would be hanging on for
193 days
on a feeble rope of hope
losing grip of myself
while you slowly forgot
how i felt against your hands

the rope snapped then,
but i knew
i was free,
from the difficult mountain of you
i did hurt and bruise when i fell
but those scars only proved to show
i am standing stronger
ready for the next adventure of life

F
A
  L
   L
    I
    N
     G

Goes the boy
Who thought he was in infallible
He always rejects the blame

F
A
L
L
I
N
G

Goes the girl
Who thought her heart was guarded
But whenever she heard his name

The boy was falling,
and slowly failing
With his naive mind
And nonchalant heart
He hopes for the best
But expects the worst
And lets things be
So he wont have to do his part

The girl was falling,
and slowly hurting
With her aching knees buckling
And her strong spirit crumbling
She thought she could be
His lone savior, his lone queen

F a l l i n g
went the girl through the sky
The atmosphere cutting against her skin
And he set her on fire
As she warmed up to him
Foolish play with sparks
Until he ran out of matches
And left her alone
Flames burned out
Glowering embers in the dark