Mendiola Street feels different these days.
I still walk it, tracing the same path I always have; Mondays and Thursdays at midnight, when the city breathes in silence. On other days, I walk as the morning sun rises, its warmth pressing against my skin.

Some days, I stop by the nearby cafés, sit by the window, watch people come and go. Their lives briefly intersects with mine before vanishing into their own stories. I sip my coffee and, for a moment, relive that late afternoon from two years ago. The way the dimming light stretched long over the pavement. The way peace and excitement coexisted in my chest. The way happiness made me feel like I wasn’t even touching the ground. The innocence, the unfolding story, the hope, the magic. I keep trying to step back into that moment, but time doesn’t work that way.

My eyes always wander to the people, the sky, and the trees. Their branches used to cast shadows on the ground, dancing patterns of light and dark. But now, the leaves are gone, leaving the street bare, emptier than before. And yet, the trunks remain, standing tall, holding onto memories even as everything else changes.

Most days, those trees see me worn out, hopeless, and frustrated as I head home in the afternoons. They have seen how I outgrew my naivety, how I lost and regained kindness, how I fought to survive each day, how I was pushed to grow thicker skin. But they’ve also witnessed my happiest moments, the ones where I felt like light itself, beaming and shining down the street. And maybe, just maybe, they remember.

Amid all the ordinary things I pass each day, I still hope for something unexpected; to be found without searching, to stumble upon something that makes me feel weightless again. But I've been contemplating leaving for a long time now, and only time will tell if I'll still be walking the same pavement next year.

I see it now.
How much I bend,
How much I fade,
How much I ruin myself for nothing.

She stained the rim with her lipstick,
And I lifted it to my lips.
Red, intimate.

The faint smudge, a trace of her presence,
A friendly face masking the turmoil beneath.
When I think of beauty, I think of her.

There’s a quiet seduction she seems unaware of,
Like how her eyes hold an unintentional allure.
There is slender grace in her form,
A quiet elegance I cannot help but notice.

She moves in ways that stir something within me.
She made me understand what captivates me, what draws me in
She is careless in a way that only makes her more enticing.

Lastly, she made me realize
What simply liking someone feels like;
For that's all she'll ever be.

I refuse to be caught in someone’s prayer,
To be the name they speak to a distant sky,
As they move on with their lives,
Until they tire of saying my name,
To a higher being who never answers.

Whispered wishes alone won’t shift a thing.
But who am I to think I’m worth the effort and bravery
When I, too, have grown selfish, tired,
And reluctant to breathe life into my own desires?

Why do I have to stifle the part of me,
Once quick to act,
Now sinking into the life I chose,
All to prove I can abide by the rules.

You have always retreated into the depths, into places where I cannot follow
Unwillingly, you linger
Unwillingly, I grip harder
A fleeting presence is how you'll be remembered

Sleek and serpentine, a thread of liquid silver,  
I reach for your tail
But you were made to slip away

Teardrops fall, sending ripples across the still water
And when I say 'stay,'
Does it reach you?
Do soundwaves break through the barriers of our world
Or do they dissolve before they arrive?