I truly believe that there’s still someone out there
with a writer’s soul and a passionate heart,
one who would kiss me with words
that reach up to the vast galaxy
and pick out stars for me,
one who would embrace me with warm arms
that hold secrets intact
and never let them go,
one who would cry seven oceans
if ever he sees my heart shatter like a broken mirror.
I have faith and hope
that the universe still has that one person for me.

I believe that you exist.
I believe that you’re not just a figment of my imagination
or another character in one of my favorite books.
I believe in your existence
and the path that you’re on
that will soon cross mine.

You know what?
We live in a black and white society
and I'm so proud of you,
of all of you,
for showing shades of red
or blue
or yellow
or green
or any other color that exists in this world.

You make me smile a rainbow.

Your flaws are like stars to me
because I see them in your darkest moments,
I see them when the sun has set
and the night starts to whisper the truths
that you refuse to hear,
and I see them when the sky is clear
from thundering rain clouds.
But you hate the stars at night
and the only star that you learned to love is the sun,
as if its rays are going to love you
for the whole day,
when only it can meet you halfway.
Believe me when I say that,
like luminous bodies in space,
your flaws look beautiful to me.
And I don't want them to go away
because then the sky would be dark,
empty,
honestly boring,
and I wouldn't be able to write this love poem,
trying to appreciate the perfect manner
of your imperfections
by comparing them to something
that is literally out-worldly.

I love the stars
and I love you.

Sometimes
I think about him
because
he is the only thing I have
that I can think about

My eyes are so full of him
that drowning in them
seems like a good way to die.

If my soul could be wounded,
I'd have a million scars by now

The world went dark;
The sun shut off like a light bulb,
The land turned to ice,
The clouds stopped floating,
And there was the absence of life.

Outside
It was quiet
Solemn and calm
And the ocean retained its glossy surface

Not a pin drop
Or a brontide
Or a baby's soft cry can be heard
Which frightened me

If all these things around me
Are still,
Then I wonder
Why I'm moving.

This is not a movie.
This is not a book
where the guy meets the girl in a bookstore
or a cafe
or any other romantic place
and falls deeply in love with her the next few days.
This is not a love song
that a sixteen-year old girl plays in her iPod.
This is nothing. We are nothing.
We do not have a red thread
tied around our ankles.
We are just specks of dust
that fall anywhere wherever the wind blows us.
We are not one and we cannot be one.
It is too impossible.

I would appreciate it
if you would talk to me
but for now
I am alone in my thoughts,
solitude embracing me
and letting me consume
my irrationality

I am my own paradox;
I contradict myself more than anyone else does.

I now realize
that you’re a lot like a star—
so beautiful
but so far away.