I heard it.
The pain in your refrain.
The joy in your verses.
The defeat in your chords,
The melody in the noises.
I heard it.
That certain moment,
When you finally let go.
The broken choruses,
freest in the echoes.
I heard it.
The words you haven't told me.
The music you haven't sung.
The breeze that is your sea,
And the waves that you say I am.

But if I am what you say,
Then why do you close your eyes
While letting me go away?
Don't let go--
Help me hold on to you.
Don't let go--
Hold me.
Embrace me.
Absorb me.

I have known what you feel now--
And I have built walls around my heart.
But stand up,
stop singing.
Stand up,
start walking.
Stand up,
and close the distance.
Hold my hand,
And let me understand.

Tell me now, and cast away the shadows.
Let me be that place you will always call home.

"So you fancy yourself a writer?
One who dances with words?"

"And one who travels in worlds, sings stories of youth.
One who wonders and wanders, and seeks the depths of the truth."

"And she rhymes too. I do hope to have her sight soon, for chances to make her swoon.
So where does she go, and with who
Sights of gold meant for two?
If lights do shine for one,
could i be one with you?"

"Distance is only just a number, and the words will be our bridges.
And if the lights do shine for us,
Then let the night be our witness."

"So then I must build and travel. Across the world and under stars.
With hope, and hope alone that one day will be ours."

"Hope is a riddler, and life is a fiddler.
And hope--hope will be the silver in the clouds of gray.
And hope is having to meet you, on a one fine day."

"So what should I do, or where might I go?To make real a dream, effort I am keen
To have you; words something more that I can read."

"Oceans--the oceans divide us
But the sky surrounds us.
And I live in the land of people from all walks,
The "promised land"--
The land that promised bounty
The land that promised ecstasy."

"I've seen the sun set over the sea, greeted the man who I call me.
There are times in my life when he will suddenly leave,
but I wish for one day when you two meet."

What would you do
if you knew
you had a piece of me
in you?
As much as I try
to go away and stay that way
I still feel strongly
from case to case.
A piece of me so miniscule
but it floods in my head
all the times that we shared.
It is a piece of me
that stays so hopeful
for when the time comes.
As much as I try to pull away
It is a piece of me
that pulls me back.

And if you ever find
something lacking,
Remember,
there is a piece of me
in you.

You ask me, "Why do you look at the future so much?"
"Why you do not dwell on the past?"

I think it's because the future holds so much hope,
an anticipation for something marvelous.
I think it's because the past holds so much pain,
that I could not feel them anymore.
I think it's because the past is a mixture of the bitter and the sweet,
and sometimes I cannot distinguish which is which.

And then I see the present,
that was once my future and will one day be my past.
The present that is the mover of the future.
The present that is the lesson of the past.
And so the present is certainty and uncertainty combined.

And so why do I look at the future,
and not so much on my present and the past?

I think it's because the future is uncertain and creative,
and the past is neither.
I think it's because the future is far away,
and the journey is worth the yearning.
I think it's because the future is at the palm of my hands,
without me having to move mountains.
I think it's because the future will always be my own,
and not of the outside terrains.

But ultimately,
I think it's because the future is always happy,
the present is somber and the past is lonely.
And I can't wait for the day
when I look at my past like I look at my future--
with gaiety, with hope, and with vigor.

Rain drops on the pavement.
The cold wind blows ahead.
Blank stare while I’m waiting,
for a fading memory.
Everyday’s the same thing,
but a little less of you.
My heavy heart is lifting,
for a thrill of something new.
You made me feel I’m falling
and then I guess I fell.
But down here on the ground
I guess it’s hard to tell.
But it’s strange when I remember,
and it’s strange when I don’t care.
It’s strange to think that
I think I’m over you.
It’s strange to feel not
to feel anything for you,
It’s a change of space, pace
Ways rearranged.
It’s a change of space, pace
Days not the same.
And we’re getting better
at being strangers.
So better that it’s strange.

"Why are you so afraid
Of falling in love?" They ask.
"I'm not," I reply.
"What I'm most afraid of
Is me falling in love again
Without him
ever loving me back."

Maybe this is not our time.
Or maybe you're not mine.
But let my words bear witness
That at this certain moment
I am thinking of you, of us
And of the future that we shouldn't rush.
I am letting you go while still holding on
A sliver of hope that you'll be the one.
But this is not a cage for you and me
Because I want a love that is given free.
So if our path does not cross again,
Maybe it is the will of the heavens.
Or maybe this is not our time.
Or maybe you're not mine.