I see
the saddest colors
in your eyes
and
I hope
you wont see
the death
in mine.

There’s a half-empty cup on her nightstand,  
random sweaters piled behind her door,
endless stacks of books on her dressers,
crumpled pieces all over her floor -


She’s all too messy for one soul.

You’re not even a disease.
But ****,
did you **** me well.

Why
do you
always
make
misery
my
normal?

Hand me over the wine - the strongest kind.
And I’ll show you how the happiest creature lives
until the dawn locks
and the hangover comes.

Let us be the barest stones dented with life's toughest surges, resting upon great heights that we never knew existed, sleeping while breathing typhoons and hurricanes - sad but grateful, grounded but fierce, tender but dangerous.

Let us be the ones the sometimes kick for the warmth of love and sometimes kiss because we hate each other.

Let's be this and that with all the twists that make us not a great phenomenon but a precious secret.

Let's sleep under the stars whenever the sky shares them, and let's sleep under the stairs when the clouds give us rain.

Let's be different like there is no such thing as red for STOP on street lights. And ice cream is delicious only if warm.

Listen-
How am I supposed
to word the things
that have already
been elucidated by my eyes
and that have already been yelled
by the pounding of my heart?

Uttering these feelings as words
proves nothing more than me
being
superfluous.
I refuse to be redundant.

I want our story to be written in a book.
I want us to have a chance to be remembered.
Because love like ours does not walk by the street
or ride the subway
on normal days.

Perhaps,
it’s not the cold
that you hate,
but
the absence
of the warmth
of
a certain somebody.

But we are all
meant to die.
And your heart, all of ours
  will never
live beyond us.
It will never pursue
or chase or recognize
love
without us.
And so
the kind of eternity
or forever or immortality
that
we all lust for
is meant to lose its breaths
whenever, wherever
we lose ourselves.