sorry, did i stutter too much?
i hope you don’t mind.
it’s just that i’m scared my heart will fall out of my guts
if i keep talking to you like this

because how do you say i love you without saying i love you?
“i miss you” is too general to be perceived as anything but platonic, isn’t it?
but “you matter to me” is too personal for my comfort,
and “you are my world” might just be too much
for the both of us

it’s not like i’m in love with you or anything,
i just think it’d be nice to feel your heart beating
against mine.

it's a pretty simple recipe, really;
white bread, toasted until golden brown;
a slice of cheese, a drizzle of ketchup;
eggs, beaten;
fry for 4 minutes, or however long you desire.

sometimes i’d snap a pic or two for my friends—
all of whom said it was unhealthy,
but it can’t be more unhealthy than staying up past 2,
can it?

because who cares if i were to eat breakfast at 12pm,
or dine as the sun rises?
the universe sure as hell doesn’t give a ****,
especially not in the middle of a crisis
caused by some ******* virus

it’s not like time gives out prizes,
for everyone who’s managed to maintain a “healthy” routine
and doesn’t spent 18 hours
in front of  a screen

i’m getting tired of compromises
every new problem that arises
hardly surprises
me anymore

so if you’ll excuse me,
i’ll go back to my devices
now

i’m a year to twenty.
soon to be twenty-one,
twenty-two, twenty-three,
twenty four, and suddenly halfway to fifty;
when life gets a little more busy,
perhaps with a few kids running around,
and god forbid—my breath smelling like whisky.

then i’d turn sixty,
hopefully still as witty
and my tongue just as filthy.

and perhaps by then,
i’d gladly sell my kidney,
because it’s no biggie,
really,
if it means god takes pity
and returns me back to my fifties,
forties,
thirties,
twenties,
teen-ties.

i want to go back to tokyo,
somehow the city always feels like home, even when
i’m always a foreigner;
a touristy tourist with a camera on my hand,
snapping polaroids and selfies with a thousand filters
layered on top of each other,
to enunciate the beauty of the city and at the same time,
reinforce my place as a touristy tourist.

i want to go back to tokyo,
to feel the night breeze kissing my face,
or the scorching daylight next to the vending machine that sets my soul
ablaze;
hot and cold, cold and hot,
i don’t know whether to take my jacket or leave it at the bnb
but i know how cold i’d be,
at night when the sun’s asleep,
and i should be too, if i weren’t too busy loving tokyo.

you don’t shy away;
that’s my favourite thing about you

you’re comfortable in your skin,
or under pounds of cake,
in your ripped jeans and cropped tops,
sneakers or wedged heels

handsome in dresses
pretty in suits
shades of pink and blue
gender norms have got nothin’ on you.

comfortable. safe. confident.
that is you.

you were beautiful still,
the blessings of the gods never really left you

silver hair like fallen stars
playful fingertips tracing the sky
with twinkling eyes and little giggles,
you were almost childlike

i love you,
even your voice was silky as ever
your lips grazing my skin,
i almost believed it.

you smiled then,
i couldn't quite recall why;
the fuzziness of a dream all at the same time a comfort
and a curse.

but you smiled your toothy grin,
and it took everything in me to not smile back

******* you and your beautiful smile

butterflies in my chest,
i was a schoolgirl once again

i love you,
you were downright adorable
with your stubborn conviction

wind in your hair
sunlight caressing your cheeks
you held my fingers tight
and kissed me good night

i felt my heartstrings tug

but worry not,
my heart's been through so much
to possibly mistake it for love