I didn't want you to know how much I wanted you so I kept writing poems about you, put them in a box, buried it at the backyard near the mango tree where I carved your name. And, I left you a note during my last visit.*

I was rocking my chair there at  the front porch cuddling my kitties like an eighty-year-old lady was supposed to be on a sunny afternoon. Then there's this little boy (who looked so much like you when you used  to be kid with chubby cheeks on a picture in a frame hanged from your living room wall) who never stopped nagging me about those letters in a box he found at the backyard.