Since we first met,
I had been waiting for an excuse to hold your hand.
You were hesitant as well,
But I reached out first.
Your woolen sleeve against my bare arm
As our hands locked together.
I shut my eyes,
Savoring your steady warmth.
Forever embedded in my mind
Is your voice, like apricity, harmonizing with mine:

"God is nigh, God is nigh, God is nigh."

I was so young when it first arrived:
An itch in my heart
Deep inside my core.

Only a kid when I dreamt of the scalpel,
A way to tear out my pain.
I yearned for a permanent solution.

I hated the way the fabric wrapped tight around my waist,
Suffocating my chest.
It gripped my hips and wouldn’t let go.

Incongruence between mind and body.
It makes me restless,
Waiting forever to be cured of this wretched malady.

Each and every stranger wears a mask,
Concealing stories of joy and tragedy.
These masks are whittled into plain shapes,
And painted with mundanity.
Because they're cautious enough to hide from abhorrent eyes.

Every person is a gift from God.
To forget that is a sin,
And the greatest mistake one could ever make.

I've met so many wonderful people in my short life.
Some carried pure warmth in their hearts, offering it up to others.
But most kept to themselves, afraid to share in felicity.
Oftentimes, I ponder on their memory,
Wondering what it would've been like if I had met these wary souls.

To hear them sing is ecstasy,
Melodies dancing above the ether.
Mortals could never reach their heights.
Blessed with songs sweeter than honey,
We bask in their ethereal beauty.
Each note is a stab in the heart,
Mended only by the seraph's serenade.

Their grandeur is so great
That one must shield their eyes.
With a voice as rich as a cello,
Even speech is bliss.
With lips as red as blood,
They sanctify the most mundane of words.
Nothing could compare.

Drunk on song,
And driven mad by their melodic laughter,
We thirst for their divine hymns.
Human vocals are beastly and crude,
Only worsening our hunger.
Still, we are torn away from perfection,
Pining for the music of angels.

We kiss their feet,
Begging to hear them sing once again.
Heartlessly, they turn away from us.
Never did we think that they would be so cruel.
Desperately, we cry out.
One last pitiful whimper,
Ignored by angelic virtuoso.