We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Almost.

I found myself running after you in the middle of the night,
holding my heart together and shoving it in your rib cage.
I didn't noticed the contrast of your bruises.
You declared a war when it hurts way too much.
And I remember seeing the depth of hazel in your iris.

I've decided to build a great wall for the wars to come.
I let my anger smolder.

But my wall crumbled right after I built it.
It was the brightest time of the day.
I tried to hold it up with both of my hands,
but bricks became sands and sands became sea,
and I drowned.

The pain I felt was my own doing.
love is something that can't be forced.
I dropped my double edged sword in the ruins of my wall.
Vines are growing on my fingernails.
Wildflowers are sprouting from the back of my ears.

I am not looking for answers anymore but I heard it.
It says, "this is how you grow."

I'm trying to find the right metaphor for the storm
but I ended up mumbling your name.
I can hear your bones break like thunder.
I can hear your cries against my windowpane,
thousands of miles from where you are.

You never thought I would stop running but I did.
I still remember the day when you beg my heart to settle down.
I still remember our little dance in the terrace,
two young people in the night,
experiencing forever in twelve hours.

You were the reason why I feel sad over the sound
of singing cicadas and heartbeats.
You were the reason why I stop leaving things unfinished.

Last night, a friend called and told me how you're doing.
I wonder if your scars still hurt when it's six degrees outside.
I want to cover your shoulder with words and moonlight until it softens.
Until you stop putting your hand on your chest at 2AM to keep it from howling.

I don't remember what type of storm you are anymore,
But I still remember you when it rains.