For my beloved. My one and only. And a love as infinite as the universe.

A year ago
I thought all love ever did
was fold us into smaller pieces
until we are not there anymore.
I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I have held the hands of.
I have a body full of scars,
we both know loss
more than the sound of our own voices.
Our love came,
when we had both given up on love.
And all your love ever did to me,
was make me grow, and grow,
until I could reach the sky.
Until I was the sky.
I fell for you,
when I was shaking.
Anxiety was eating my insides.
Ten months later,
And I wake up, not scared anymore.
I wake up, ready to fight.
You are every color of God's painting,
the root of the root of the creation of this world,
the madness of science that I adore,
the metaphors of poetry,
the reason of all reasons of physics,
the music in my head,
the rhythm that I know by heart.
And I,
I know it's hard sometimes,
to show me the cracks
of your perfection.
I know it's hard 
for you to give me your soul,
completely naked.
But please know that I,
am not afraid to love you.
I am not afraid to hold you and call you my own.
I am not afraid of your scars.
I am not afraid of your bad days.
I, my dear one, love you, as you are.
Whether it's the days you are a blazing mid-summer sun,
shining so brightly,
dancing with the breeze 
and laughing like pain does not exist.
Whether it's the days you are a hurricane,
quietly aching, and then breaking
everything in your way.
Or even the days you are 
breaking down
into my lap
not knowing the answer to any question.
You are still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Because nothing,
not even my anxiety
not even my bad days
not even your worst nights
will ever change my love for you.
And even this, is not half of what
my heart holds for you
because I love you 
more than my heart can ever hold.

A dedication.

This is for all the times my body was bruised and knocked down, and not even the sound of thunder could move an inch of me. 
This is for all the times I failed to see the light when it was clearly daytime outside. And all the times it didn't matter if there was any pulse left in me.
It was scary. It was scary to look at the size of my body, and see how small I am; how no part of the world could fit me perfectly like a sweater.
It was scary, trying to create distances out of every breath I took because there was never enough air to keep me here, and my insides were always crowded.
I am no saint. I made poetry out of blood and romance out of smoke and jokes out of delicacy. 
I am a killer in disguise. For myself I have murdered, a hundred times over.
And I, like any other sinner, always had my reasons.
But no apology is ever sincere when actions are striven to be justified.  
And then one day, at what seemed like the break of dawn, I stopped swallowing the words I threw like knives at my being.
One day, I threw them all up.
See, before what I thought was my last breath, I fought. I fought like the devil.
I am no saint. I make peace with my ugliness now. I wear it like my favorite sweater, and it fits me perfectly. 
I am no saint. I no longer cringe at the cracking of my own voice. I learn to love it.
I am no saint. I look my fear in the eye, like a good ol' warrior. 
I am a sinner. I put my pieces back with glue, and never look back.
I am a sinner. I chase death until it's worn out.
I am a sinner, with no shame. Because I now love myself unconditionally, with just enough strength to drink all my past sins in, and carry on.
Because who said I was made to be anything less than the universe anyway? 

There is this scene that keeps flashing back and forth in my head. You are not in it. In fact, you're not there at all. Yet, somehow, you're the reason for it.
And I keep wondering how and why and in what world of whose god is it normal that you are a part of everything that you are not made of. I keep wondering how you fit perfectly into each and every picture, and how each and every perfect picture is always missing something, like some essential color, if you're not there.
This is how the scene goes:
The sky is just right there, the clearest shade of Blue. The sun's not blinding nor is it burning, but there's just enough light to warm up my heart. And the wind does not leave a human skin untouched.
There you exist, in the simplest act of God. There you exist, my darling. In each and every place I look.
You are not a metaphor. You do not stand for something else. You are something else.
You are the silence that I long for when everything is loud and unclear.
Dearest, I know. I know life can be strange and overwhelming. And sometimes our days can be on repeat. I know how it frustrates you.
But there is so much more to you than what you, I, and the rest of the world get to see.
There is much more to you than what you know.
So remember that there is always light, but only if you don't keep your eyes in the dark for long.
And remember the warm summer days of the smoke and sweat and our laughs echoing through all the corners of each part of this city.
Remember the cold winter days when I kissed you with a burning passion in my heart to never let you go.
Remember each time we hugged when it started to rain, and how we never mind getting wet, because there's always a better thing to do than regret.
Some days, I will not be there. If that ever happens, call my name. I will hear you. No distance can ever part us, no wind can ever carry you away from me, no love can ever be greater than ours.
On the days where you think that you are such a mess, I will wipe you clean.
On the days where you are ashamed of who you are, I will remind you why you shouldn't be. I will always show you what you can't see. I will always trust you to be okay on your own, and will not mind it if you are your own person.
On the days where you're as happy as a kid, I will look at you with the warmest smile on my face.
To sum it all up. I will always be your loving best friend. And will always be your lover.
In my absence, I will still hold you with invisible arms, and a love twice as big as the universe is.

A crack in the ground

A hole in a wall

One big thing

That's ever so small.

You can have me,

And grab me by the

Hand

Or taste a burning fire

On my lids

And bury me

Deep in the sand.

Gods from above,

Angels on earth

Demons in love

A chaos rebirth

Will you be

My mortals in disguise?

For I can hear

The wind

And sea

And birds

And trees

Tangle beneath me.

I cannot reach them

It's a whirling breeze

But I am growing

So let me be.

So this is

how the story goes:

Once upon a sunrise

A girl your age

runs, 

and runs,

yet her feet

are never tired.

"Sit down,"

we say

"get some rest."

But she can never

slow down.

So the days go by,

and we are met

eye to eye

on every clock

and just like 

the wind

she flees.

And sunrise

after another

we beg her 

to stop

but then we 

know

it's best to look away.

We grow old,

and so does she.

I think I heard 

them call her name.

"Time,"

I shout.

"linger still."

But she looks away,

she looks away.

And off she goes.

Forgive me Self for I have sinned.

I wonder what would happen if we could just pretend that unoccupied spaces are filled once you forget that they are unoccupied because of the absence of someone else's occupancy. In other words, if you are certain that one person's wholeness does not kill another's, then why won't you stop acknowledging the void? 

I watch you breathe. You sit there by the window every night and wait for it to rain when it's 40 degrees outside, because that's how you always were: always waiting for a miracle to happen. Almost everything you've wished for is make-believe. You've got skinny hands, and your eyes are see-through. Mirrors do not astound you, not since fifth grade anyway, when the rooms always echoed with your laughter and the murmurs of people around you, always blessed at the sight of you. You've kept your lovers waiting, and all their hearts ever did were shrink, for you were never able to give. A morning spent alone is a morning not wasted, then explain to me why you're constantly seeking shelter in the arms of everyone.
"Be a good person," you say. "take your medication. The noise in your head will not die, but sooner or later, your thoughts will be out of focus."
I swear I've done it a hundred times. I've bathed in their "coping strategies", but I've never believed there was anything to cope to. So the days go by, and I watch the sun rise, and my skin is warm with a scintilla of faith.
I remember what it feels like, to shiver, to sweat, to snap at the sky and know in my bones that it's useless. I remember the vomit, the screaming, the anger, and the drowsiness. I remember being laughed at in a room with no one but me.
And here I am, a flash of a memory, bursting with remorse, and light goes through me.
I can still hear my name being called, and my heart still keeps pounding when I'm surrounded by people. I am still afraid, reaching out, looking at en empty sky. I still lose my head, and life seems almost impossible at times, but I am tired of sitting by the window every night, waiting. And heck, I think I'll go make it rain, because I don't believe in miracles anymore, I make them.