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12.7.25

Solitude.

In the loneliest hour.

I can’t help but think of all the love that I gave away in hope it return as I wish.

Hope becomes eventually harder to keep when you don’t understand how eleven years of prayers seem unanswered.

But there is always faith.

And it’s fueling my pursuit to keep asking for the love I want.

Lost.

But I’m here.

Pushing through this process.

I know I will meet you one day.

Until then.

Keep looking for me.

10/11/22

Tethered. Entangled.

You’re a part of me.

Today, I realized when I miss you the most.

When the world feels too heavy, and you will always be lighter.

I miss you.

1/11/22

Moments I want to have with you.

Wake up beside you.

Warm my hands against the edges of your face and trace it.

I’d follow the lines just like a child’s fingertips follow words.

Amazed and compelled.

As I ask.

“How can these lines have a sound, a meaning, and a soul?”

Moments I want to have with you.

When the morning is young, but we’re older and restless.

Restlessness never went away.

The good kind, though.

The kind where love still plays its melody.

Tugging both of our heartstrings like its a jazz night.

When we fell, it was never like falling.

It was an art.

You may have learned that in falling there will be a ground to meet.

And you made it your life’s mission to learn how to gently fall on the ground.

And I know that you looked the other way when love passed by.

Because you wanted, the gentle way.

The way where you were nothing but gentle.

Gracefully a warrior.

Disciplined.

Its you and life, alone.

But prayers go far beyond iron and steel.

Its quantum physics.

And physics never really could explain love.

But prayers do.

And so love passed through you.

And you learned that the warmth of another doesn’t steal away passions.

It fuels it.

Don’t you remember?

The core of the Earth is a blazing sun.

And that is what moves us.

Warmth.

A telling sign, the heat of our body is proof we’re alive.

And so you fell.

But there wasn’t a ground to meet.

There wasn’t bones crushing in between.

There was only my body.

My soul.

And my heart.

and you fell.

Right in between my arms.

Prayer is an artist.

It has a way of turning warriors into water.

And I drank you and quenched my thirst.

And the taste of water never felt so sweet.

I drank you like a believer who broke her fast at sun down.

And I also knew that the equivalent of what you take, you shall return.

And I gave Earth back the water it needs in exchange of yours.

A seafull of tears.

You were the longest journey, but the one I loved the most.

As long as it took, I knew answered prayers were near.

And now you’re here.

And now I’m here with you.

Telling you about the moments I wanted to have with you.

Signs.

I’ve been looking for signs.

Away from my heart.

Somewhere where the world is bigger.

And the vastness of its horizon is confirming enough.

To seek you.

Has been a journey of thoughts versus feelings.

Faith is tested on daily basis.

The basics of finding the genuine intentions of a praying soul.

Where are you.

Further away.

Four years of feelings.

And I haven’t seen you come forth.

As if love takes its time.

Sweetly indulging it’s work over a cup of tea.

Around the garden of greens and colors.

A mystical place.

A mythical palace.

That where love resides.

Reigning over hearts.

And beyond the castle.

Is where reason walks.

Guarding.

Guiding.

And I walk by.

Asking to talk to love.

Where is he.

Where is he, I ask.

And reason softly puts its hands on my shoulder.

I turn and ask…

Why is it taking too long?

The love you crave is gentle, reason responded.

And with being gentle, you walk with grace.

Love is simply running its course.

Natural.

Meanwhile, clear your heart for him.

Don’t dwell over those feelings of another.

Keep your heart safe.

He’s on his way.

He’s learning how to fall gently.

He’s learning how to fall for you as graceful as he could.

Be patient, my girl.

He’s on his way.

Closer than what you can imagine.

8/10/22

Love. And everything that follows.

It’s late at night.

Trying to find my way back home.

And home is a feeling.

Of safety and security.

It’s a way to feel whole.

Warming and reassuring.

The way that I long to the times I was younger.

Is proof enough that I am nothing but craving.

A sense of serenity in a feeling of familiarity.

Maybe what I miss is that little woman.

A girl, emerging into her womanhood.

Leaving behind everything she was and embracing everything she is becoming.

A moment in between.

Maybe it’s heartache.

Maybe it’s actually a that heart aches to be a heart.

There. Alive. Beating. To thrive.

Maybe I stole it’s pace.

Forcing it it race.

Race to a timeline I am not in control of.

Perhaps. I lack the ability to stay still.

Constantly anxious. Of what is.

But I am finally learning to undo the knots.

To bask in the warmth of prayers.

Maybe it was through all the times I prayed for those I fell in love with.

It was somehow foreshadowing the light that will illuminate the darkness of the moment.

How beautiful it is.

When I prayed for him, him, and all the men I allowed to take pieces of myself, I was actually praying for myself.

Maybe it was easier to ask for love through loving them.

All of them are dear.

But.

The last ones are the ones whose scent is overpowering.

It’s you.

Sunshine.

Someone who allowed me to sense how deep I can go.

That I am the ocean.

And all the places that are remote.

Sunsets.

There is something about you and the sun.

Your sun sign is a lion.

Fierce. Yet. Longing to be loved.

A queen.

Is your armor. A woman in your arm.

Gentle.

Flames.

Everything becomes you.

Fire. Red. Sun. Warm. Heat. Life.

Sunshine.

Meet me there?

A place where truth exists.

A place where love is declared.

A place where you melt.

Where you burn.

Passionate.

Promising.

Powerful.

Sunshine.

A king. Can’t be without a queen.

Love will reign over you.

And you will come.

You’re already a night away.

And in the morning.

Love.

Will find its way.

With love,

The part of yourself that you recognize in me that makes you feel alive and in love.

12.8.22

A Poet in Making

There is something about you.

There is something about the way you bring the poet in me.

There is something in the way I try to love you that brings to life the poems in me.

There is something in the way love shapes its self.

There is something about ruling words and speaking with fragments of thoughts tied between memories.

There is something interesting about the way the early morning sun is softer than it is in the midst of day.

There is something about beginnings that never end.

Where is the middle of it?

Where is it all?

All that love I withstood and resisted that melted into air that I breathed.

There is something about air.

There is something in the air.

There is a story of a poet in love.

In love with something bigger than herself.

Something that makes her love being a little girl.

In the face of greatness, being smaller feels like being a child.

And I’m a little child.

With a big heart.

It got its size from all the love I tucked inside.

Sometimes my heart feels too heavy to carry around.

And so I try to grow a bigger body.

A wiser mind, too.

It may help in carrying it.

And I pray that words are real.

And that words change worlds.

I pray that in the moments between what is and what will be is peace.

Peace that unfolds and holds the poet in me.

Peace Comes in Pieces

I am learning a new truth

Peace comes in pieces.

And it is the virtue of a good life to accept it for what it is.

The fragments of hope that tie themselves around your praying hands.

Finding solace in the uncertainty.

Finding faith in the unexpected.

To see the path of prayers detour from what it seems to all that is unsettlingly different.

In the silent moment, the whispers of serenity prevails.

To be caught up on a single prayer.

To be fought for in the name of faith.

Is a glorious gift to celebrate.

To be designed in ways you cannot fathom nor explain.

Yet the design is all that you need to be created in.

A marvelous melody that brings to life the vastness of the greatness you withhold inside.

To find in love a voice.

Slowly being birthed and you adjust your vocals in raised and soft sounds.

You will start to speak of truths you never knew existed.

You will find faces in words that are meant to be seen from certain angles.

You will learn how to breathe in, breathe out the unspoken truths.

You will bring into your world your manifestations.

You are here, all ready for love.

You’re all dressed up to meet love and you are all but prepared.

You’re remembering that you’re your first love story and the main character through it all.

You’re learning that, too.

How to hold on to the pieces and fit it where it belongs.

Pieces that bring peace to your soul.

A beautiful love story.

How unfair it is.

To ask others about the greatness of love without giving myself permission to speak about it.

How unfair it is.

That this love is throbbing within me. Burning and aching to be out and I let it die off it’s light.

How unfair it is.

To hold back the tears.

The dreams.

The false statements I built in my head.

But why. Why is it that love is only validated when others believe in it.

Why is it that love is a privilege only the lucky ones get.

What can I make out of this.

Will I ever be brave enough.

To love loud enough.

quotemadness

“Be with the one who makes you forget how terrified you are of falling in love.”

— Rudy Francisco

b-eachsoul

the universe is not in a hurry. You are. It’s why you are anxious, stressed and disappointed. Trust that what was meant to be yours, will be yours.

sunsetquotes

“I loved you long before I had the guts to let you know.”

— William Chapman

The Night Were Flamingos Migrated

Here is to a flamboyance of blushing stars

A night where stars left their idleness

And their idealistic image

And became liberated.

A night where flamingos made me blush

In the brilliance of the moment.

A night where a lion played around the moon

And the moon showered me with a subtle light.

Here is to a call, a prayer to attend to.

Why is it easier to write of you but not to you?

To what extend. Do words resonate but not reason?

Who are you? When no one is looking.

I wonder why we ever crossed paths.

And will I ever return to you like the sea returns to the ocean?

But here is another revelation. Why is it always the shores?

Why do we connect the sea to the shores?

Their love was never assured.

They never insured their love with a lifetime of commitment.

Seashells was their dowry. But it was empty. It was dry. The life that once lived in them, has left it.

This time.

I want to think of us. As the sea and ocean.

Because no matter how far I reach, no matter how the shores tickle my shallow water.

You got me deeper.

The truth is.

I don’t know much about it.

But I love the way your depth is home to the music of the whales.

Your blue, the azure of the skies and yourself.

The ocean. The open. The oldest of both of us.

And I return to you like the waves.

And if the day ever comes. Where we merge, where a marriage happens in between the chapters of our lives.

Hand me the pearls that drank the sweetness of a lover, and the saltiness that gave us life.

Here is to a pen, knowing how to pin point my love. Louder than what my trembling voice would have done.

The night flamingos migrated is the night I loved you deeper.

Dear you,

I ask myself.

Late at night. When darkness falls and heartbeats become louder than anything ever heard. The intimacy of a heartbeat. The throbbing sound of life brings to life a love, I thought withered away.

Was he a way? To you? Maybe he was.

He stomped my grounds.

Embodied your image.

And I stood in shock.

What do I do?

He is not the one I thought he was.

But do I hold on?

To you?

But he was not you.

His eyes were hazel, weren’t as sweet as the light behind them.

The light of soulmates.

And I looked up, instead. Because as captivating as eyes could be, the light is more beautifully blinding.

I was captivated by its emerging ways, rays that laid the foundation on which love was to be build upon.

And years passed. I found myself coming back to you. Like the ocean going back home, to the shores.

The end and beginnings.

And I wonder now. Where is the birth of water? The depths or the shallowing shores? How can I make of this thought a tool. To connect you. That is all I have ever been doing. Leading everything back to you.

A thread.

Maybe a threat? To the throbbing beats. You change the pattern of a pulsing heart. You change the pattern of being asleep and sound.

What are words if they are not embodied. What are words? If they don’t carry an emotion tucked between the spaces between each letter.

About letters.

I stopped writing ones. To beloveds whom I eventually unlove. I began to be present. Even if as a shadow.

And so.

I hanged around you. Wherever you go.

I follow.

But all I’ve seen of you.

Is a fickle image.

And my shadow turned into praying hands.

I pray.

In the darkness of the night.

To be yours.

To be your whole.

To be your shore.

To be the rhyme of the rhythm you dance as you slowly fall.

Fall apart.

I tell myself.

You will fall apart.

Step back. This is the only way you’ve known how to love. From afar. A star in the distance. Watching over. Wanting bystanders to look up, point at you as you say to them “Me, me.. m”

Choose me. Point at me. Point and say “That’s my star, the brightest of them all. I will keep her. To light me the way. To guide me and keeps me safe.” Yes, give me this kind of existence that I always craved to have. Who am I? If I am not loved by you.

But for now. I pray angels whisper you a lullaby. I pray God grants you the greatness you are working towards.

And I will be a star. Closer. To God. Praying that I can be turned into water drops. To fall upon you.

Fall for you.

And be the light.

You’ve taught me to become.

To be honey, to be the sun.

To be brighter, more in love.

To be yours.

Truly,

Yours.