I've no plans to write tonight
but the sound of your voice lingers
at the back of my mind—

quiet, shy, baritone
like I have never imagined.

A humid day, the sky's tears fall
in little, thin drops
and there you were—

know that I try
to be as honest as possible, but

You didn't look perfect at all.
your eyes were tired, hair slightly tousled—
were you sleeping in class?

That thought makes me chuckle—
you looked like a child in confusion.

You didn't look perfect at all.
maybe it's because Helios wasn't
caressing your face.

For now, we make do with sunlight
peeking through clouds of gray.

Have I mentioned
you look good in blue?
Maybe I will soon.

Later when my heart is still
and I can admit you make my soul ache.

But for now, I wait and wait
and honestly, darling,
I wouldn't mind waiting—

for you.

—2:12AM, 3 13

My heart is itching

Itching

        Itching

                 Itching

For you you you you you

But no

No

No

I can't

Won't

Shouldn't

Love you

Hate you

We're just friends

Oh but how my heart itches

i wonder how would
your hands feel against my own

would they be cold
or would they be the type to
radiate warmth

would they be soft like a candle—
wax, unmelted, smooth—
or strong and rough, dependable

would you squeeze mine
as an assurance of love
or

would you be the type
to caress their lover's face
as you stare deep into their soul

but for today,
i'd be fine with how things are now

but i still wonder

how would your hands feel
against my own.

—12:21AM, 313 2