it’s the way you catch my eyes when i look at yours.
it’s how your eyes bore into the back of my head without my knowing.
how you’ll be behind me, standing there as your presence grows.
though not a word you’ve spoken to me,
the drumming of my heart grows louder and stronger every time you pass.
no big gestures were needed for me to fall more and more for you.
all i needed and ever wanted was to have you near me;
not touching me, not kissing me with your soft lips,
not telling me romantic sayings,
but just there.

****** … oh, ******.
a precocious young child.
fourteen years of age, regularly chasing field boys.
plaid skirt waving; red braids swinging.
not a care in the world.
up until his arrival, you’ve been … in your own world, minding nothing.
he caught your attention, as you caught his.
it was a sin.
yet a sin worth doing.
thirty years of a crack in between.
neither parties cared.
the only thing that mattered?
your living, breathing curiosity;
and thus, your liking for him.

dreams are weird. they’re like experiences that you think are true, but are not.
dreams are barely lucid. there are bits and pieces you can remember, and then you can’t.
dreams are perspective changers. you can no longer see the people around you the same way again—
not if they contribute to a disturbing dream you had.
dreams are painful. if you fall in it, you fall in real life.
it’s an out-of-body experience.
i hope to have better dreams;
or dream no more.

her medium was a bucket of paint
brushes sprawled all over her plastic-covered floor.
her spinning chair would be splattered with reds and blues,
and her face would be purple.
his medium was his grandfather’s camera
a roll of film ready to be used.
it was old, yes, but he swore the photos taken would never age.
they had their own definition of art.
they used different instruments.
the way they perceived the world was different.
but if there was one thing they had in common
it was that they had fallen deeply in love with each other.

“sweet, you can’t ignore this fact.
there isn’t an enough amount for us to tell you how much of the truth exists.”
“but i still have hope.
i have hope for someone who i know will never be mine —
but i have hope.”
“don’t.
for your heart will shatter.
he is here.
he will not break your heart.
do not deny his love for you.”

you can’t blame the way he looks at her.
the way his eyes trail from the roots of her raven hair,
to the very strands,
down to the tip of her sculptured nose,
inching the corners of her pitch black eyes.
her lips were pink like watermelon,
and so were her cheeks when she sees him.
she was like art to him,
and he loved every bit of her.

they smiled, they laughed.
the more i saw them together,
the more i understood
how the chemistry they had were undeniable —
it was like no other.
they stared at each other like they were art.
they talked and talked, words escaping their mouths like the world was to end.
their world only revolved around each other.
they felt alone, like they were the only ones —
nothing could break the barrier.
because he completed her half, as she completed his.