Nothing rose from
a garden, as bleak as
the weather that never
melted our skin,
without permission.

We just lifted our agony
to the wind that cut
our flesh, into ribbons.

A celebration, in pain,
savoring those moments
we kissed in the rain.

The space between us is not just miles—  
it’s the ache in my ribs when I breathe,  
the way my hands forget their purpose  
without the weight of your hips to hold.  

I am a house with no windows,  
a room where the light refuses to stay.
  
The world feels like a poorly written script—  
everyone else is laughing, but I can’t find the joke.  

I want to kiss you so badly it feels like a crime,  
like the universe has locked your lips in a glass case  
and hung a sign that says Do Not Touch.
  
But I would break every rule,  
shatter every law of physics,  
just to feel the warmth of your mouth on mine.  

I miss the way your voice wraps around my name,  
how it sounds like a prayer I didn’t know I needed.
  
I miss the way your laughter spills into the room,  
a symphony I’d trade my silence for in a heartbeat.  

I want to marry you—  
not in the way they show in movies,  
with the white dress and the perfect vows,  
but in the way that feels like coming home,  
like finding the missing piece of a puzzle  
I didn’t even know I was solving.  

Without you, the world is a grayscale film,  
a song played on a broken piano.
  
I am a shadow of myself,  
a half-finished poem  
waiting for your hands to write the ending.  

Come back to me.

Or let me come to you.
  
Let me close this distance,  
this unbearable, infinite space  
that feels like it’s swallowing me whole.  

I am not whole without you.
  
I am not anything.

Ah, how I love you!
Oh my God, why must this be?
Yet I lack the strength to break
This cruel fate tormenting me.

Though our parting leaves me grieving,
Life means nothing without love.
Still, I do not curse this sorrow—
Fate is woven from above.

With my heart, I long to hold you,
Crave your touch with burning might.
You alone give life its meaning,
Know my love—my soul’s own light.

Falling asleep in your heart
is like déjà vu.
a place I’ve never been,
but it feels familiar at the same time.
I don’t mean to creep you out,
but I know every nook and cranny.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep,
but of all the places I could have,
I’m glad that I did here.

Your heartbeat,
the pulse that cracks
and settles like a house,
although not mine,
it feels like home,
like somewhere I belong.

I normally don’t fall asleep
in places I haven’t been.
It takes a while to get accustomed,
especially if it’s my first time there.
Although it’s déjà vu,
and it could be one of those things,
I’m already looking forward
to the next time
falling asleep somewhere in you,
somewhere warm,
somewhere I belong

The sound of our laughter is drowned out by the waves at the beach.
There is sea foam lapping at my feet.
Your socks are dry.
It takes some convincing, but I eventually get you to join me in the salt water, your socks discarded in some nearby crevice between two rocks.
The air feels prickly as you stare me down, with something indecipherable in your expression.
Oh, look.
The sun is setting.
When we kiss, I don’t think about how this could be the last time. The sky turns into a hazy hue of lavender, and mist settles over the ocean currents.
You dive headfirst, clothed and everything (except for your socks). I trust you blindly and feel myself dropping backward in slow motion.
All of a sudden there’s a splash in my ears, and my eyes are stinging from the water and the salt feels bitter on my lips.
You meet me halfway, underwater, and pull me up with the strength of a lover.
I remember this well: I’m clinging onto you for dear life, gripping onto wet cotton draped over your shirt, and my legs wrapped around your waist like some kind of parasite.
Later when dusk has come and gone, and all that’s left is us with wet hair at the dock, I’ll ask you the question that ****** us.

We've been waiting
while giving each other
much-needed space,
disclosing secrets
in rooms full of dust.

We've been spilling
what's left in our eyes
onto floors that turned red,
bloodshot with our sight
that burns, that stares.

This will get better,
for us to bloom under
all we've been crowding
in our heads, to keep
wondering when.