You Are Here Page 3

  Meeting you is like

  checking a list I didn’t know I had.

  You’re pure magic but

  here’s the best part:

  you’re real,

  not at all made up,

  and you liked me just as much.

  the band was surprisingly good though

  Well, the music’s loud

  but I’m convinced that

  we preferred to

  let our cheeks touch

  It’s a secret language

  a whisper, a rush

  a whole world built

  just for the two of us

  Maybe for you I was

  only part of the night

  yet for me

  you simply

  made the night

  imagine

  I imagine to love you

  the way I love my family and friends.

  I would spend time to know you,

  share meals, share beds.

  I imagine to love you

  the way I love my passions

  I would examine your details

  and study you for hours.

  I imagine to love you

  the way I never have.

  A whole new world of possibilities

  I’ll only explore with you, love.

  plans

  I’m sure you’ve got your own history

  I will learn it all

  One day

  But tonight

  let’s just stick

  to your anatomy

  I’m no artist

  no critic

  but darling,

  you are a work of art.

  double-edged swords

  When I think of you

  my mind latches to your memory

  everything comes back to me

  I’m the shore

  you’re the wave

  you crash into me

  I fill every crack with my longing

  you stick with me til the wee hours of the morning

  I recall the things you said to me

  play it back til my eyes feel heavy

  And in the morning, I

  will taste your name on my lips

  as I eat my breakfast

  and drink my bitter coffee

  Soon my mouth will forget

  the taste of yours

  and so will my skin

  that is until I see you again

  You are agony

  and sanctuary,

  just the way I like it to be.

  that’s something

  This is how it starts, isn’t it?

  All the waiting.

  For the person to get back to you.

  For them to respond.

  For when it’s time to do the things that meant that you two are moving along.

  You have done this, and now I do this.

  Like a dance.

  Right foot forward.

  Left foot back.

  If you’ve done this enough, the progression of things would seem like a natural occurrence.

  If you’re like me, who has taken a long hiatus, every little thing is a milestone.

  Look, I said the first hi. That’s something.

  He kept asking me questions. That’s something.

  This conversation is still going on. That’s something.

  He said good night. That’s something.

  He said good morning.

  How you’ve missed this, that’s something.

  And so the next day, you wait for your good morning, good night, and the in-betweens.

  You wonder what other milestones you’d reach with him.

  These are little things.

  Maybe puny to some.

  But for someone who is trying again,

  they are monumental.

  settling

  How do you know,

  how do you just know?

  Do you just wake up one day,

  decide to want it, and take it?

  Or do you hold out?

  Explore all the options,

  run after vague ideas,

  until you exhaust it all?

  What if this was it,

  just not wrapped in the way you imagined it?

  You will never get to know

  someone for the first time again

  the same way that you can’t

  unread a book,

  unhear a song,

  unlearn a word.

  Goodbye may be inevitable

  but live through it all.

  enough and never more

  My head is always heavy

  filled with all these worries

  questions for tomorrows

  I am empty

  staring into my reflection, thinking,

  I’ve got nothing left in my bones.

  All of me is on paper

  these impressions

  memories of people who come and go

  I am a monument

  frozen in time

  I am this human

  incapable of growth

  I wish to continue,

  break free from it all

  but they kept saying:

  Stay this way,

  everything is perfect,

  don’t rock the boat.

  I am itching

  driving myself mad

  I need movement

  I need action

  I am a person

  jumping up and down

  I will lose things

  in order to gain some.

  I can’t keep all of this,

  my arms are sore.

  I only need and will keep

  what is enough and never more.

  stop over

  I did not talk to you today because I was feeling heavier than I normally do. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, people might say; I was more exhausted than rested.

  I felt like I had nothing to say, or I had no energy to sustain a conversation, so I removed myself.

  But I knew.

  I knew at some point I had to get back to you. Say something. At least say, “I’m here, I’m alive.”

  But I didn’t. I couldn’t find the energy to start. Or worse, to maintain a conversation that would sound like everything is all right.

  You came back to me at the very last minute, before you close your eyes to say good night.

  I felt bad because you were probably waiting for me to say something, like I thought, but I was too selfish to give you even the tiniest of warnings.

  At some point, I may have to tell you that this happens to me. Occasionally.

  I disappear.

  I refuse company.

  That seems like a bad thing to say, especially to a person you’re trying to be with, but who am I kidding?

  You’re going to find out.

  As a response, I asked you a question. “How was your day?”

  You mentioned that you’re not feeling very well; it must be your migraine. And so my instinct kicked in—I asked about your meds, told you to sleep it off, and hoped you’d feel better in the morning.

  I didn’t tell you about my sickness.

  Unlike you, I don’t have over-the-counter medicines.

  I wish I could sleep it off, but I’ve done that before. It’s either I sleep all the time or I don’t sleep at all.

  Sleep today seemed like surrender, and I still wanted to win, even if I was exhausted battling this whole day.

  At some point I have to tell you.

  If I want this to move forward, you have to know.

  I just don’t kn
ow when the best time is.

  Do I tell you now, as a warning? So that before you proceed, you would know that I have this? It’s not going away. It’s not something I would miraculously snap out of.

  Or do I tell you when I’m more comfortable talking about it? I don’t know when that is, but maybe when I already feel safer telling you all of my flaws?

  I couldn’t decide.

  Would I be issuing you a warning?

  Or am I showing you a way in?

  welcomed distractions

  They first called you a distraction,

  I didn’t disagree.

  You were very good at what you did

  You were exactly what I needed

  A rogue, throwing pebbles at my window

  sneaking out and running away

  I called you for nights not just because

  you’re a getaway

  you were something to look forward to, at night

  when the world is quiet

  You came and made this wait called my life

  a circus: messy, beautiful, and bright.

  A celebration, a sense of right.

  second loves are underrated

  It shouldn’t be compared to first love

  but it can’t be helped

  second loves are so underrated in a way that

  he was better at handling my heart.

  Second lovers are careful

  gentle, delicate

  like unwrapping gifts with a soft hand

  not with the kind of recklessness

  we all once had.

  Perhaps because all second lovers

  also have bent and bruised hearts.

  the cleaners

  Sometimes it feels like stepping inside your house after you’ve had a party that night. It’s all a mess with the cups and chairs and your hair’s still sticking out on the side, but I’ve got the gallon of orange juice in my hands.

  You have her written all over the walls, ’cause she’s lived here, of course, with her clothes in the closet, her toothbrush hidden in the medicine cabinet. There are things that once belonged to her, tucked in these tiny corners that you might have missed that one time you cleaned, but I still don’t move a thing.

  I understand. This is your space, and all of your memories are yours: to keep, to clean.

  But I will hand you that broom like I would pour you this glass of orange juice, to help rid you of this sick hangover you’ve been having.

  y / n

  Let’s have the kind of love

  that puts fires to shame.

  We’ll burn ever so brightly,

  we’ll tend to the flame.

  Let’s fall in love

  like we never did before

  or like we did

  and learned from it all.

  superman

  He’s no hero

  he’s just a man

  but he did something amazing,

  I’ll tell you what:

  He made living a delectable option

  every day less of a burden.

  She’s started to envision a future

  she never thought she’d have.

  all I had was white space

  Oh, how my life lacked color

  until you came with cans of paint

  and splashed it all over

  You’re a kaleidoscope,

  a marvel, out of this world

  and I am grateful.

  waking up to a dream

  In the morning

  I will find you

  wrapped up in a blanket

  head turned to the side

  sleeping like a child

  In the quiet

  I will find

  that you are not the dream

  I had when I was young

  You are

  the sum of all the desires

  I picked up

  as I walked through this life

  You are

  the lessons I learned

  as a stubborn girl,

  impatient and wild

  You are

  hope personified

  when I cried myself

  to sleep at night

  You are

  the promise,

  the life I wanted,

  the one I’m living now.

  Loving someone is a hard climb as it is.

  Allowing yourself to be loved—

  is a much higher summit.

  the tourist

  This city is kind to strangers

  but there is no magical land

  especially when your sadness

  is bound to your insides.

  Oh, how you wished for this

  back when you couldn’t afford it.

  You thought running away

  would solve all the problems.

  But you know better now,

  and you are learning still.

  No amount of change in the climate

  could tame the storm in your head.

  But this city is kind,

  and the weather is cooler.

  There is music in the streets,

  and you can breathe better.

  the doctor will see you now

  Why is it hard to tell people that you hurt

  if you can’t point to a wound?

  Or even a bruise,

  a broken bone?

  Why do we question the hurt,

  even when we feel like bleeding,

  especially when we feel broken?

  the hunter and the haunted

  It’s so easy to come home to your unhealthy habits,

  you can walk back to the fridge and wolf back its contents.

  Have a whiff of a cigarette ’cause what’s one hit?

  Come out to prey on a lion who’s hunting for the likes of you.

  You’re no deer, you’ve caught so many.

  Spun them in a tangle of

  yes and no

  come and go

  and when you’re done you spit them out.

  Look for a new one

  until the game chokes you

  turn your heart hard or soft?

  You can’t tell anymore.

  But at times you go back and seek that life,

  prey on the hunter ’cause you wanna see what it’s like

  to be the one surrendering,

  letting go of control.

  But these are monsters,

  just like you,

  out to steal your soul.

  excess baggage

  I majored in you for the past few years

  specialized on your habits and quirks

  now I’m out into this world

  armed with this knowledge

  But tell me,

  what do I do with this?

  How do I go about carrying

  all of these bits?

  Sometimes when I feel like

  a part of me is missing or lacking

  I wonder: whatever did you do

  with the pieces I left with you?

  Look at all these places

  I’ve never been

  next to you

  projection

  And maybe she’s asking for too much

  she wanted stability

  but couldn’t keep in touch

  How can she expect someone to keep her

  if she can’t even get ahold of herself?

  I’m always at the brink of holding on

  and letting go,

  of I need to talk to you

  and Please leave me alone

  diagnosis

  They told me I h
ave chronic pain,

  so I looked it up.

  It said, Any pain lasting more than 12 weeks.

  I laughed because

  I have been in pain for way longer than that.

  In fact parts of me started to feel numb.

  So what do you call that?

  sylvia

  All you have are painkillers

  but did you ever stop?

  You googled How to overdose on ibuprofen,

  and it seemed like you weren’t the only one.

  Sylvia took some sleeping pills

  but they only thought her missing.

  She slept for three days

  before they found her still breathing.

  Your search results came:

  How to not kill yourself.

  Not through this, then.

  Not this way.

  Not today.

  therapy sessions

  Tonio with the hairline fracture on his hand was being treated next to me. It had been so for three days when he started talking to me about his son. He told me he missed him and how he regretted not seeing him grow up due to a separation from his wife. I sat there tight-lipped, nodding off my sympathies because I am not like him, who talks about these things so openly to strangers, at least not face-to-face.

  Tonio, with his hands dipped with once-hot wax, asked me how old I was. I thought for a minute that he would ask me to go see his son but—

  Tonio, who looked about sixty or so, who fell on his back and used his hand to soften the fall, then told me that his son died at twenty-seven. He thinks of him often, of his son’s dreams that didn’t come true, of the life he didn’t get to live through.

  I sat there, thinking:

  I’m clinging to my last days of twenty-eight

  I used to know a boy who was older than me by forty-eight days, but

  Now I keep adding years to my life

  While he remained twenty and seven

  Young and eternal,

  Six feet under the earth, and

  I have pain shooting up to my head and neck, stretching onto my shoulders, my arms, my hands

  All of my fingers are numb

  I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep working at this rate