I could tell you life is beautiful but at times, it gets rough.

I could tell you that you and I are close but never close enough.

It’s like packing a banana but not knowing how to peel.

It might sound insane, just as compatible to how I feel.

Best friends for almost 2 years and hopefully something more.

With any luck, I hope it’s me that you’ve been looking for.

As of now, I’ll love you, as a friend and you’ll love me just the same.

I’ve never felt this way before and you’re the one to blame.

Movie marathons, writing on your arm, listing restaurants for our next meet,

Wishing you meant your i love you’s, as I quietly sit on the passenger seat.

And maybe in 10 years, you’ll realize how we both fit, like a glove.

Maybe, by then you’ll give what I’ve given you, maybe you’ll give me love.

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I’ll tell you where it all started, definitely not first day of class.

Both you and I had co-existed, face-to-face but always passed.

Every class, every orientation, I had picked the wrong chair.

We had picked seats so far, I barely noticed you were there.

 

I’ll tell you where it started, it began with being late.

It began with coincidences, not destiny or fate.

I ran into English 1, two big bags hung on each shoulder.

One more seat left in the room, I hurriedly make my way over.

 

I return a smile back to the boy who sits right next to me.

He’s talkative, good with words, makes opening up seem so easy.

You give me those butterflies of what people in novels feel.

Except, this is infinity times better cos what you’ve given me is real.

 

From someone I barely knew, you now take up most of my brain.

You make me so damn happy and it’s driving me insane.

To think- what are the actual chances of being able to meet,

The right boy at the right time, sitting on the right seat?

 

 

We separated, spread like dandeloin seeds throungh wind.

Our love, that used to aim on forever had started slowly growing thin.

Midnight conversations with you had turned to noises of the fan,

as tears drop slowly and hurriedly, collecting themselves on my hand.

 

I heard about writer’s block but this doesn’t seem like it.

You’re in my mind 24/7, right words for poems don’t start to fit.

I start to write from my beat-up heart, instead of using my brain.

The feeling of your guts being twisted and the feeling of going insane.

 

On the other hand, this is good. People seem to be afraid.

The lies start packing on one another, not noticing the truth started to fade.

I will always write current feelings, no one can tell me other wise.

What makes a poem good is when it’s full of reality, not the lies.

 

I’ll feel this way about you and you’ll feel different about me,

You were strong enough to let go and I never found it easy.

But life happened, it doesn’t matter why we  had parted,

Thank you because at some point, you were exactly what I needed.

 

 

To me, you are the favorite line on the page of my favorite book.

To me, you are the kind of love that sparks on the first look.

To me, your beautiful big brown eyes remind me of sun on Doris Day.

To me, you’re the feeling of finding the word you can’t explain but want to say.

 

To you, I am not even slightly close, I’m not your favorite line.

To you, I’m the love that feels just right but happens on the wrong time.

To you, my normal dark brown eyes aren’t even worth remembering.

To you, I am the kind of words you stop yourself from listening.

 

To me, you mean a million bucks and to you, I mean a cent.

To me, you crashed and changed my life. To you, I made a dent.

I’ll come clean and out with it, admitting it’s you to blame.

To me, I only hope that you had wished we felt the same.

I love you forever and I promise you that,
my future baby boy.

I’ll put my arms around you and slowly cradle forth and back.
Preparations done months before and sure there’s nothing you will lack.
Eyes fixed on you for quite some time, so sorry in advance.
Imagine a lifetime supply of happiness that fits perfectly in your hands.
Your eyes, still shut,  just waiting to face the world and to belong.
You’ll cuddle your body around me gently to make sure nothing goes wrong.
I’ll stare at you, so endlessly with our bodies holding each other.
The second handsomest boy I’ve seen next to your own father.
Your hair’ll be a beautiful Sepia, the same color as your dad’s.
Your eyes will have a slightly darker shade than the ones I had.
And sweetie, your smile will make every single person want to look,
And a little curve will form on your lips when I read your favorite book.
Your tiny baby feet and hands smaller than a bar of soap,
To me and your dad, you are one amazing copious amount of hope.
Your fingernails and toenails, still shorter than half a pin
Still forced to grab a towel to wipe all that drool off your chin.
The next couple of weeks after, you’ll learn to open your eyes,
You’ll squint a little then shut them once more but you know I know that you try.
Your hand will grip my pinky tight and walking, you’ll finally master.
Your first words will be mom or dad and you’ll start getting wiser.
Soon, the jumpers in your closet will be thrown and then replaced.
And you finally belong and happily fit in with the world, successfully faced.
Soon, you will write letters to someone you haven’t met but means the world.
‘I love you forever and I promise you that, my future baby girl’.

I could build a mountain for you, so high it tastes the clouds.

And on the very top, we’ll kiss, but only if you allowed.

I’d be Superman just for you, although it sounds insane,

i’ll attack and terrorize lynch mobs and still protect my Lois Lane.

I would make an invention for you, for us- a device that freezes time

Or hopefully create some explosive spell  to make you want to be mine.

I would paint something so captivating for all the world to see;

Just a simple painting keeps them in shock; a portrait of you and me.

I’ll then take you out to dinner, preferably on the moon,

It might take some reservations and you will realize soon-

That I was the one who built a mountain, I, your Clark Kent.

The painter who took you out to dinner, the one who’ll love you 100%.

But these are wishes unlikely to happen, things so hard to do,

But I’ll tell you one thing I’m perfectly good at- it’s being in love with you.

I’ll take you out to dinner, a picnic on the mountain,

I’ll make astronaut suits for us, made of rain boots, pans and mittens.

And you will realize soon, – that the mountains, the moon and art,

Are nothing compared to- the way you knew the hero, I was from the start.

I’d love to tip toe and cup your face

And just stare at your brown eyes.

Has anyone ever told you that,

you’re wonderful, attitude-wise?

Your fingers, as they run your hair,

Move in such a perfect pace.

It’s not so fast and not too slow,

Making time for your heart to race.

Have I mentioned that your knobby knees,

don’t disturb me a bit?

The way I think you really are something

Makes you and I a perfect fit.

And the cologne sticking to your shirt,

passes through my nose.

The way we hug and the way that smell,

Starts to stick on my clothes.

I almost had that and I was close,

But there were so many I wanted to do.

Like if we met earlier and confessed how I felt,

Possibilities are: I would’ve had you.

Your fingers would’ve ran through my hair

And you would’ve liked cupping my face.

The smell of my cologne and my knobby knees,

Just would’ve made your heart race.

You would’ve said, ‘I’m so glad I have you’.

And it’d be easier if I didn’t expect.

By the end, you found me as someone ‘alright’,

When I thought of you as perfect.