When I was younger, I asked God for you.
He replied with a no. I tried to justify myself,
Still, he said no. I moved on.

A few years later, I asked why he could not compromise us
And he showed me that
I have the kind of love that is too much for you and
You have the kind of love that would leave me unsatisfied,
And I was never meant for that.

He made me remember the time I can't sleep
Because I was looking for more and the time
I was left hanging like a deer on a cliff,
And I realized he's right.

So don't come back.
I'm not going back on that cliff anymore.

I hope one day you find your muse
And that you won't stop writing songs for her.
I hope you find her when the sun is setting
And you're drinking your warm coffee in your favorite coffee shop.
I hope your eyes meet when she's outside the window
And the wind is blowing her hair.
And you hear God's confirmation.
She's the one.
And then you will realize, it was never me after all.

She's a vanilla kind of person.
There's simplicity and lightness in the way her lips curve
and her cheeks blush.

Sweetness can be felt with every touch of her fingertips.
And whenever the wind blows through her hair,
Sun rays peek as if passing through forest of juniper trees.

Every step she takes are like melodies
from harp strings played by an angel.

Take your heart and wrap it in fine silk.
Love elegantly like candle-lit dinner and aged wine.
Slow dance to jazz or juke box
Until your body memorizes every step
to the beat of hearts loving.

But do not forget to guard that fragile thing.
Remind yourself that your heart is too precious
To be broken easily by unworthy knights.

You are not weak just because they told you.
No!
You are made from bamboo and sunlight
So stand tall and be not swayed by the storms.

You can be a queen without a king,
A goddess without a god,
And a spear with a poisonous head.

Fight.

Fight those who try to take away your existence,
For you have survived chaos
and you have been sharped by your praying soul.

Hold the pen and write your own story.
And when they try to tell you that you look like someone they knew,
Tell them their eyes are not even enough to take a look at you.

The love that assures.
The arms that are ready to hold.
The love that reassures.
The love of a mother.

The eyes of a beloved give answers in yes or no
and the details in between.
It is not just a window to the soul.
It is a candle to dark rooms and a warning at the edge of a ravine.
It is not magic,
But science backed with knowledge and experience.
Sometimes it is a hypnotizer's pocket watch,
But every day it is just the eyes of a beloved asking
if you have not eaten yet.