Cyan.

You were green.
I was blue.
I tried to be the color of your skies.
I painted landscapes with you.

You seeped through my veins,
and I now, a body of blue and cyan,
I changed and I didn't mind,
I thought you didn't mind too.

Eyelashes.

I have a problem these days. I realize I have a hard time writing. I used to be able to write about the difference between black and white, justifications on why I should eat more french fries. Now, when I write, I write about you.

My pen glides across the paper, trying commemorate everything that I could about you. For example, my favorite feature of yours is your eyebrows. I find them adorable. Whenever you look down, I like taking a peep at you because your eyelashes will be so obvious then. Unlike most, you don't need mascara to make them "stand". They do that on their own. I will be smiling to myself when you don't notice and you'll give me a "what" look.

Stars, parks and possibilities.

I want to watch the stars with you. I want to lie on top of a cheap blanket, in a park with you. We can complain about the amount of bugs that will be feasting on our very limited but tasty blood. We can also get annoyed at the possibly wet and prickly grass underneath the cheap blanket. Then, I know we'd probably agree unanimously that we'll never do that again.

However, in spite of how much we suffered, I think we'll keep going back to that spot to look at stars. We'll be smart. This time, the blankets will be around us. We'll probably be on a bench, with a blanket to keep us warm and protected, under a blanket of stars, The funny thing is that I'll probably be the one to plan this and it'll either be adorably romantic or horribly miscalculated.

Either way, I'll still want to watch the stars with you. If you'd let me, we could forget the stars for while.

To be wrong

I want to write about how you made the anxiety in my bones still. I want to write about the way the side of your eyes crinkle when you give me a mischievous smile. I want to climb on to the tallest mountains, just to scream "I love you" in to the clouds. I want to tell the world that loving someone can change so much of what you were so sure about.

Before I met you, I was so sure that the most annoying accent in the world is the mandarin accent when English is spoken. With that accent, came the complimentary broken English. I was so sure that I didn't like it. Of course, like I said, it was before I met you. Now your voice is my comfort. Your words became the Big Dipper that guides my way home when I get lost. I was so sure and then, I was wrong. And boy, I have never been this happy to be wrong.

Coffee, cakes and secrets.

I told a stranger about you today. I told her that I love someone, that I am in love with someone. We were standing in line in a coffee shop. She was nice and she looked very comfortable with that fuzzy jacket on. It was completely absurd that I was in that shop because I did not like coffee. I just wanted cake. Well, we both wanted cake. So, I went in to get cake and she was there.

She asked if I liked coffee. Obviously, my answer would be a no. Then, I told her that I have a friend who likes to try out different cakes from different shops. I knew I said "friend" but the thought of you, no matter what the title is, made me smile. I gushed that you didn't care what cake it was, it just had to be good. My mind was full of nothing but you. Cake didn't matter for a while.

I told her how you always forget that you're not alone in movie theatres. You would sit up in surprise during plot twists, with gasps so loud that people would turn to look at you. I didn't care. I held your hands and laughed while trying to get you to remember that we are among others. I told her that you think flower bouquets are a waste of money. Your ex-girlfriend got you flowers as an apology. Later, you found out that she was actually cheating on you so the flowers meant nothing. I didn't tell her that though.

I think I was whispering to myself when I talked about flowers. She smiled and asked, "Does she know?" I chuckled and nodded. A little too fast, I supposed. "You said "friend". What's stopping you?" she asked again, this time brows furrowing.

I felt my smile falter as I shrugged, "I am nothing more than another secret for her to keep."

To be loved.

When I was younger, I was a ball of anger, fury and pain. I went through old diaries and journals. It spoke of nothing but pain and my love for other people. I think I didn't know how to love myself so I just ended up giving away every piece of myself even to people who don't deserve it. It sounds cliche but it is cliche for a reason. It happens.

I wanted to be loved but I refused to give anyone the permission to love me. That made a lot of things harder. In spite of that, I know now, that I just wanted to be loved so fiercely that I have no way of doubting it. That is how I loved people. You can never doubt I love you. You will be that sure of me.

I'd give myself a hug. I think that's all I wanted, really. I wanted someone to hug me and stay there for 15 minutes. I wanted to be loved.

You don't have to love me back.

I know it's exhausting for you, to deal with someone's love for you, especially when you don't want it or can't return it. I understand. You watch your words to keep how you feel unknown. You keep your wall up so you don't feel too much. You have always been a master at changing the topic to another completely different train of thought.

When I said I love you, you didn't say it back.I said it six times more on different occasions. Not once. Not once you acknowledged it. I'm sorry if it's unwanted. I didn't know. Well, I guess I did. I just didn't want to believe it. You've always said that we should be better off as friends. I don't think I know if I can be your friend. I love you. I have trouble finding the right way to explain what I feel. Then, I concluded that no combination of 26 alphabets can summed up to the way I feel about you.

I can't explain why I feel sad because "because I love you" would be a weird answer. I guess, "you can't be mine" would suffice. I'll remember the way you look at me. I remember how your lips curl up in response when we kiss. I'll remember how your skin feels. I promise I won't forget you. I understand now. I love you. You don't have to love me back.I won't force you to reciprocate what you can't.

\

Who was ever lucky enough to be loved in exactly the way they wanted? - Carmilla Karnstein

I love you.

Those three words are said too much,
they're not enough.
They became merely words,
with no promises, no hope, empty.

Then,
there was you.
I'd regret it if I didn't tell you that enough.

A letter to a man who will never ever read this letter.

Dear you,

I went to your wedding last week.
I was sitting in the 5th row from the front, on the bride's side.
I was seated between a woman in red who smells strongly and solely of expensive perfume
and an old man who smells of baby powder and hazy summers.
I was in dark blue dress because I was hoping not to stand out so much.
I think it worked because I don't think anyone knew me there.

I saw the way you looked when the wedding march came on.
Your shoulders tensed when you heard people gasping at her.
You pursed your lips in hopes of calming your nerves.
I get it, it's your big day.
She looked so beautiful.
I promise you, you looked good, don't worry.
You couldn't see the way she gripped on her father's arm.
She was nervous too. She looked like she would fall if
her father wasn't holding her up
but her eyes never left you.

When you turned around to look at her,
I was happy for you.
Your eyes were soft and you smiled a smile that was only meant for her.
I saw the way you held her hand like
it was the most fragile, most precious thing you've ever held.
Your eyes never left hers, hers never left yours either.
For a moment there, you were in your own world,
you forgot we were there.
Then, you were brought back to reality
when that photographer with the big flash tried to take a picture.

She had this face when you were exchanging vows.
I've seen that a few times.
The first time I saw that face was on the night when she first came to visit me.
I don't remember the last time she was that happy,
I guess that would be when she got married to you.
I hope you get to see her like that a lot.

You might be wondering why I am writing you this letter,
this letter that you will never read.
I am writing this because I hope you'll love her.
I hope you'll love her in every possible way a person can be loved.

I hope you fall in love with her eyes.
because they say the eyes are the only things that don't age.
I hope you fall in love with the way her skin feels,
the way she curls up against you when she sleeps.
I hope you fall in love with her laugh,
the way she smells without perfume.
I hope you fall in love with the way her arms wrap around you,
I hope that you'll always hug her back.

I hope your love for her consumes you.
I hope it scares you and it makes you wonder if you are ever good enough.
I hope you'll want to change for the better, for her.
I hope you'll want her to be proud of you.
I hope you'll take care of her.

You were given a chance to live your life with her.
I hope you cherish it because the only difference between you and me right now
is that she didn't choose me.

I can't say I'm in love with you.

I can't say that I'm in love with you
but when I close my eyes,
I imagine you lying next to me,
smelling of fresh laundry and sleep.
The monsters under my bed left me alone when you're there.
They know that you'll save me from
what scares me the most
and why bother, they said.
I wasn't the most superstitious person but after that night,
I called you my dreamcatcher.
If my prayers for miracles could not save me at night,
surely it could not be a coincidence
that your presence chases away what make me stop breathing at night.

Then,
those eyes, god, those eyes.
I forget my own name when I stare into them.
Sometimes, I even forget to breathe,
I wasn't "conscious" when you demanded for my attention.
I snapped back into reality in such a hurry,
suddenly aware of the clanging trays and impatient finger snapping from customers.
You said something about what to do next,
then I lost track of what you were saying
because, those eyes, your eyes..

I really can't say that I'm in love with you
but the idea of someone else holding you hand
makes me feel like the world is going to end.

I can't say that I'm in love with you
but I refuse, refuse...
It had to be you,
I want it to be you.