Don’t go.

The footsteps you made yesterday were washed by rain this morning before we woke up. It’s past nine but the sun is clouded, and outside is cold like it’s already December when we’re barely past half of the year. We both know this day is different. Everything is calm and at peace, but not you and not me.

I asked you to stay even when you sounded like you wanted to leave. But you are a ghoul in the night, and I know how you will never settle. I heard you say, “remove the portraits on our walls”, but they will become hollow like the people we were before we found each other. I can hold you now, but you will always pass through the gaps in between my fingers. I will always try but you will always slip away.

I held you in bed, and I said I will not let go and you didn’t move away, but why did I feel a struggle bringing us back and forth to place I didn’t want to go? I can’t breathe while you sounded fine, and you take it away from me, you take away a beat from me.

You can be water vaporizing in front of me in blistering sun, but I will always try to catch a piece of you, please

Don’t go.


I promise you Fire

They can proclaim love that will build this world, but if you choose me I can burn everything and build them all over again if you ask me to. I can start wars and bring society to chaos in pursuit of your affection. They can promise you the light: I promise you fire, darkness, daylight and everything else, because I can do good and evil if it means keeping you.

Maybe one day you’d find my poems in books or see them framed and hanged on walls of famous restaurants whose owners I’ve befriended.

I hope you’d carefully read each line and somehow realize they sound like the ones I’ve always written for you before we drifted apart.

I hope you’d feel the familiarity when you mouth the words like something you thought you loved crawling out its way from your throat.

Maybe one day, we’d sit across each other at a cozy coffee shop. Not saying a word but both aware of each other’s presence.

You would read your book while I’m absorbed with something else, and I would be afraid of looking at your direction.

You’d cut your hair shorter, you wouldn’t wear glasses anymore and maybe you’d be a little fairer than I remember.

Maybe one day, we’d bump into each other and we’d finally talk and laugh on how you used to take control over me.

How your skin, your lips, your smile drove me at the edge of a cliff, but it’s in the past by then.

We would wave goodbye and I wouldn’t feel pained anymore unlike the last time we parted ways