The leaves of a familiar tree has now turned cadmium yellow.
I hold my head underwater, suffocate myself
to blur out all of the conversations.
How long can one survive, carrying such heavy feelings?
How long can one lie to themselves,
live in a world of make believe?
I like staring at abandoned houses.
Be it the vines climbing down the roof,
the decaying, besmirched walls,
or the porch full of wildflowers,
I am always reminded of my own heart.
One half devoured by the wolves,
the other half empty from solitude.
Yet, I'm bewildered by how it continues to beat.
I hope when love finds me,
it feels like viewing rangoon creepers bloom in clusters.
I hope my hand will never miss the feeling of holding another,
and I'll finally find the kind of love I wholeheartedly give out.
When I reach out, I hope there'll be a shoulder to lean on,
and if it's not my fate to find such a connection,
let my heart cease, unloved, untouched.