If only I had the time
to run through every street
every corner and every road
in the heart of the city
and leave my fingerprint
on every weary building
before I go away.

At least I could say
Yeah, I've touched lives
I left my mark
And so what if it may fade
If the rain comes pouring
And the wind starts blowing
And I get lost again.

Everything was still,
painted in black and white
when the moon looked at me,
keep swimming; it whispered
in that ocean of lucid dreams
drink it in or drown in it
just stay in the water.

And I awoke with a jolt,
my eyes settling slowly
on the dim silhouette
peaking through the curtains;
"Bonjour, le Soleil" I whispered
And I was found once more,
by the only light I knew.

Living on borrowed time: that’s what I feel like I’ve been doing in the last few months. Have you ever felt you were just waiting on something?

Just hopelessly, meekly, patiently waiting… for something.

As I lay in bed that night with Ron Pope playing through the speakers, the thought hit me: I want to get married.

It’s typical- almost satirical, really. I love love. I love the idea of love. I’ve always been a fan of love even in sickness and in heartbreaks.

Love is stunning. Love is heartless. Love is selfish. Love is selfless. Love is kind. Love is brutal but love is fair.

Love smelled like whiskey.

Love was the act of him coming home to me every Friday night, intoxicated and heaving in the musky scent of Black Label and Jack Daniels. Love was the slurring of three 8-letter words, over and over. Love was waking up in the morning knowing where he was without needing to open his eyes.

I knew love. And love knew me. Love was always careful around me. Love knew what I needed when I was sad. Love knew what not to say when I was at my lowest. Love knew that food was the solution to almost everything. Love looked at me like I was a dying rose- fragile and beautiful.

Love was not there when I needed it the most but my goodness, love is beautiful.

At age of 17, love was not ready.

At the age of 21, love disappeared and love reappeared.

And now at the age of 25, love is still not ready.

But love is patient. Love is not going anywhere. Love is timeless. Love knows no expiration date. Love is never limited to one person and it will always be lurking in the shadows when you least expect it.

So, even when I lose faith in love, I tell myself to relax.

Because love? Love can wait.

When I first saw you, my heart skipped a beat.
It wasn't the fact that you wore my favorite shade of white,
or that you had hair that looked as soft as feathers
it was a certain look in your eyes
as you managed a shy little lopsided smile
that literally swept me off my feet
because when I was too absorbed by the sight of you
I hadn't realized that someone was yelling from behind
warning me to get out of the way
as he skateboarded through the sidewalk
I thanked my lucky stars because I saved myself just in time
only to have missed a step and fell anyway
in a pile of crisp red and brown leaves
It must've been one of the most embarrassing moments of my life
but it was fine because in an instant
you walked on by and offered a hand
I stared blankly at your right hand
and noticed how pale they were as I took it
and pushed myself up, blushing crimson red
knowing you've seen it all but you didn't say a word
You just smiled again and tucked the page
neatly in your pocket like an unfinished note.

Rage consumed me
drowned in a metaphor
of unsung helplessness

Rage stood still
intangible, taunting, blind
by the sight of my reflection

Rage towered over me
like dusk on a chilly winter morning
as i shiver down to my knees

Rage waited till I came back
so I would drown these sorrow
in my own frenzy.

i found myself
soaked in heaving naiveté
voiceless and alone
holding on to an empty space

i open my eyes
and see none but white sheets
tangled in my disarray
shaking in sobriety

your hands found me
before my eyes saw you
and they held me gently
like an autumn breeze

slow whispers;
"let it rain
even if it's every day
you're still my soleil"

and it poured,
for the next 252 days,
but i fell into you
as you held onto me.

do you feel that?
the soft touch people call "Love"
a violent tug gently etching its way
into the broken corners of your heart.

i hope you do,
because i can't see the smile
pushing up the shape of your cheeks
i just wanted to kiss it, over and over.

before i met you,
these hollow bones i call my hands
were broken and bruised,
unable to touch and hold.

but now these lanky arms,
found its use,
it found shelter and love,
wrapped around you.