your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

Coffee sessions at 0219 St. Café,
Past 4 PM in the afternoon,
Flipping the rattan-made tissue holder,
"What's our case for today?"

Hours would go on for stories and opinions,
About our lives we all have yet fathomed.

It would start with no "Hello's" or "Hey's"
But "café later?" and "No" wasn't an answer,
Friends exist to have your back,
and for coffee and life discussions.

In a slow yet seemingly rapid motion of time,
No more greetings or invites or even goodbyes,
the usual café across the street was taken down,
Before anyone knew, we were walking down separated roads, it was a slow fade.

A lovely, comprehending friendship and frequent coffees,
all wrapped up with an invincible quiet farewell,
Worse than a bleeding heartbreak without any anesthesia,
I hold my composure up for such bittersweet ruins.

IA

Taking an alibi or two,
I let him take my hand for an escapade
Strangely excited of places with unknown routes,
"Let's get lost, let all your worries fade."

Just two lonely, young tourists visiting a coffee shop
Take a little risk or two,
and old souls slowly collapse their hearts' gap,
letting one heart drift into a free fall after the other, even without a clue.

Take a detour or two,
I fell for someone's chaos,
someone's scars,
someone's darkness,
someone's entirety of being.

The beach waves gushing back and forth off the coast,
someone stood as fairly as calm in the chaos,
mistakingly opening our deep past and wounds and stories,
He took my hand for love and misadventures.

IA

In an old bedroom filled with art,
I tied my hair up, willingly about to go through the boxed mementos.
A wave of anxiety and nostalgia crash over me,
like The Great Wave of Kanagawa,
while I stood idly framed by the large, cresting waves.

I was born the day I learned how to love,
and cursed when I learned how to feel things too deeply.

Inside the boxed mementos is a timeless tale of two distorted hearts;
Wilted flowers, photographs, old handwritten letters...
Do we box these memories in fear of completely forgetting them?
It was a ticket to a sepia-toned memory lane,
Engulfing my heart and soul,
with  memories that will forever be memories.

IA