Downtown Boy / Girl of the Golden Hour

For a girl who loved sunrises and sunsets,
imagined the colorful and tragic
endings of her relationships,
and knew that everything is finite,
I should have docked and walked out of
the coffee shop the minute we saw each other,
the second our eyes met,
and our mouths melted into a smile.
I should have let you be a stranger.
You should have been just a stranger -
full of possibilities I can write about,
wonder about,
and love about.
You should have remained to be an idea,
a dream so unforgettable, I'd write
a story instead of a poem.


But you asked my name, made small talk, checked the spelling of my favorite book character's name,
and gave me my favorite tea.
In return, I gave you my peals of laughter, my stares, my increased heart rate,
and my words.
Too long, your manager said. We've been
creating a line.

Let her go - this is what your boss really meant.

As if the universe heard her, the golden hour set in.
Like Cinderella, I had to go -
for I chase sunsets for a living and you
pay your bills with coffee, tea, and smiles.
And we both knew that.
We both knew we had to end -
before we even began.
This is the saddest poem I've written.
And I'm sorry; this is for you.

Kanta na para sana sa iyo

Chorus:
Dahil sa bawat pagsiat at paglubog ng araw
Iniisip ko kung pansamantala ring
Tumitigil ang inog ng iyong mundo
Para sa alaala at ngiti kong alay sa'yo

Verses:
Di na mapigilan damdaming kinikimkim
Ang magkaibigan ngayo'y nagkakaibigan
Pusoy'y ibibiga't walang hinihiling kapalit
Pagkat ganyan kita minamahal, o sinta

Laging gustong kausap; hindi na mapakali
Sa unang pagmulat ikaw ang inaalala
Sa huling pagsara ipinagdarasal
Na sana'y ikaw ang mapaginipan

Bridge:
Di inaakalang ika'y mahahanap
Sa bilyong taong lumilibot sa mundo
Ang nais lang ay makapiling mo
sa habang buhay

Waiting for the Train

Like an interlock of stars,
flesh to flesh, braided freely -
we held on as tightly as we could
even as we saw
the rushing train of truth
blazing towards us.
"We are real," you whispered like a prayer.
"No. We are paperdolls," I countered softly.
"We are cursed."

Those who started
as a game of pretend
often end up with dead hearts
as the avalanche of illusions they built
bury them.
We are a dream,
a beautiful, tragic dream.
"I'm not letting go."
You stared head on.

But I know, my love,
that you won't be sleeping
beside me in the morning.
Denial has always been your weapon,
slashing at an invisible enemy.
As soon as you wake up,
you will run away; you always had the tendency.

But I understand, my love.
We pretended to be young, foolish,
and lived like teenagers -
naive enough to believe that pretensions
can last forever.
So I let you hold my hand,
kiss my cheek,
and tousle my hair.

Because when tomorrow comes,
you won't be at my bedside.
You will be at hers, the first.