excerpts.

THERE'S DESPERATION IN MY HANDS AND FISTS.

i don't have the energy to reach for the stars; i'm already very content with watching sunrises and
sunsets and enjoying the waves crashing against the seashore down here on earth. like, of course,
everybody has dreams. most of the time, if not all the time, people are always very passionate about
them. so like, i'm here at the sidelines, cheering you on. just know i may not be following you but i still
have your number in my phone, because, of course, i'll still be here for you all the way. i just don't like
sudden changes because they're scary but does that mean i have less worth as a person because i have
no big goals or dreams? of course, you should definitely step out of your comfort if it's to do something
you want to do, but as for me, i'm fine with where i am now. i'm content being this way.

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this is a story... of a butterfly... a lantern... and some ghosts...

there was a lovely butterfly in a lonely, but comforting forest. it was near civilization. they lived in such
traditional ways. they hung up lanterns on lamp posts to illuminate their paths. the butterfly passed by
the area, and was stopped by a voice.

"hey!" the butterfly stopped in its tracks and flew in the direction of the voice. it came from a lantern,
burning a bright orange to welcome the golden hour. "hey... it's me. the voice you're hearing comes
from this lantern."

the butterfly was skeptical, but decided to stay and listen to this voice.

"i'm a spirit living in this lantern! i have a lot of things to talk about! are you willing to hear me out?"

"... sure, yeah..." says the butterfly, skeptical, but willing to give this voice a chance.

a smile can be heard in its voice, if it can even smile. "you know what... i've seen and heard many a soul
pass by me, uttering stories of folklore and legends. i've listened to many people, young and old, tell
stories of fairy tale and myths. those stories came from perhaps bedtime stories, or superstitions, or
even from their own imagination to entertain others! but guess what... the most interesting one, or at
least, the one that interested me the most, is something related to this small village..

"i heard... that there are actual ghosts around, haunting this village in peace. this story has many origins,
as some people have said that it's merely a fairy tale. others have said that it's most probably true, and
many more have said that this is a superstitious belief. but... you want to know what i think? i think...
that this may be true. i love ghost stories such as this, and i've heard plenty. it would be such a delight to
meet these ghosts and converse with them! maybe then i'll have some friends, and i won't be lonely
anymore!

"but... in these stories... it is said that if you want to meet these ghosts... there is something you must do
first. it's a pretty grave act, and who knows if the result is even worth the trouble, but... would you
perhaps be interested in this? what do you say? what do you think about all this?"

the butterfly stays silent, pondering the words of this "spirit of the lantern." a silence is shared, and soon
they speak again. strangely, the spirit's voice is slightly... chilling.

"would you like to know, how to see the ghosts?"

"... sure..."

the storyteller plunges a knife into the listener's chest.

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snip, snip, snip

hair between my fingertips

snap, snap, snap

bones crushed under my grasp

inhale, exhale,

breath ripped from your lungs

play with me and be my doll

flashing colors and neon lights

i wander around the abandoned dystopia

hoping to find a trace of your existence

but alas, every lick and every piece of sentimentalism are thrown away

i'm not even allowed to use that word, am i?

i wander around the abandoned dystopia

i like the glowing colors, but i miss the hues our days were painted with

my hands growing sweaty in my pockets;

when was the last time i've ever touched you?

what is warmth? is affection still a thing?

are these even allowed to exist?

memories and memories play like a film in my head

i wander around the abandoned dystopia

they say that distance makes the heart grow fonder

and i wander around praying to find you.

with a waning sense of identity, i yearn to meet you again

i told you before, we could ignore everything

live our own lives, and stay by each other's sides

you know i was terrified, terrified of losing you

so where did you wander off to, my dear?

the puddles underneath my feet reflect the neon lights

but i miss when i saw the colors of the fireworks shine bright in your eyes

you promised you'd never leave, and here i am on a search

nevertheless, i will still love you

and i promise that we will live a life of warm colors

a letter stained with tears and blotched ink

i turn it over in my hands, my fingers in areas where yours once touched

as the breezy air of the morning greets the town

i feel a familiar sensation on my back

one of warmth, one i remember as yours

the golden hour disappears beyond the horizon

all that's left for me is a star in the sky

a singular star that reminds me of you

a red thread stretches out from my finger to yours

but are we the only ones who can't see it?

and when i finally feel your warmth leaving me

i will cry every tear that i've saved for you

on this cliff i will scream every sorrow i bear

to a star up there that bears your soul

it's a pleasure to be of service to you. i'd go into the deepest of wine cellars for the singular bottle of
champagne you wish to drink on a heartbroken night. i'd climb the tallest of spiral staircases into an attic
for an article of your lost childhood. i wouldn't mind being your seneschal forever, because it's the only
way i can keep you by my side.

i would never wander the catastrophic waves just for my love. or yours, for that matter. this isn't a
typical love story. i won't scour the seas to catch a glimpse of your gaze. i would gladly turn my back and
move on without you. if you want me, come find me. "prove" not your love but that i'm worth your
time.

"and the tale of these childhood best friends go—" i'm sick and tired of this. give me something else.
"but... this one's my favorite!" and it's no different from the romances you see in the village around us.
this book reeks of our love story. our story is ours and ours only, and i'd never have it any other way.

(give me something else before i twist your hand and change our story entirely)

is it my fault that i bought you roses, or yours that you cut your finger on the thorns?
"when we haven't found lovers by the time we're 25, let's marry each other, yeah?"

"that's... a bit young, isn't it?"

he sits and ponders to himself. "okay, 23 then." he turns his head for a response.

"..."

he smiles. "22? 21?"

"i..." a sigh escapes them.

"alright, alright, how about twen—"

"... cheeky, aren't you..."

"sorry, what was that?"

"... fine, you want to play that way? marry me now then."

and now he's unsure.

(she knew it. she's always known.)

and i wake up one morning to the bright sunlight coming through my windows. i never wake up this late,
i think. and i turn my head and see you lying next to me, clutching a pillow with your bare back towards
me.

oh, i've done it. i've messed things up now, have i? i ran my hands over your skin. i kissed you even when
you said you'd save it. i hope i at least didn't go for your lips. i hope you know i respect you that much at
least.

and what's the next step after this? i'm at my wit's end. my body is aching to tell you how i feel. what if
this is the push we needed? maybe this is exactly what we needed. drunken courage for all the reckless
decisions, the next morning's hangover for taking care of each other. use this time to run our hands over
each other's bruises, different from the way we caused them the previous night.

it's blissful to dream for something that won't happen. at the very least, i could wait for you to wake up.
i'll spend two minutes tops to look at your face, five seconds to smile, another minute to dream once
more, and an infinity to tell you how i feel.

the author wants us to get together. the readers bought this book or obtained it by whatever means just
for this reason. let's give everyone a reason to skip to the end. force them to close their books and never
touch it again. let's hope that one day somebody is sympathetic enough to set us free.
you don't know how much i wanted to buy you that drink. you don't know how much i wanted to ask
you how your ride was every time you went out, how much i wanted to move in with my friends when i
found out you'd be there too. you don't know how much i wished to be at that one dinner out with your
friends

and i'm a little bit in love with everybody. jacob hugged me while i cried, and he took a video of our
caring moments with my permission. he asked for it first. 2 taught me how to shuffle and had kindness
and support flowing through his heart to his fingertips. my heart beams whenever i watch that video,
from my overjoyed smile to his brotherly pride when i finally managed to get it right. 3 had the warmest
hugs and the best advice to give, the type you were able to accept easily but still learn a lot from. it
makes me think she'd be a good mother. 4 had the prettiest face and the most caring hands ever, and
she set me free with every kiss on my face. she understood when i asked for no kisses on my lips, so she
settled for making me feel loved everywhere else but then. i think she proved a point to me. 5 was a
dancer and gave me a pair of boots. he taught me how to dance in them and we recorded a video
together. it was one of the most fun things i have ever done in a while. 6 and 7 were such a cute pair. we
took many cute pictures together, all of them involving a heart shape one way or another. they never
left me alone, and they never let me feel left out. when the sidewalk was too narrow, they'd link their
arms with me and made sure i was never left behind. 8 was probably the coolest girl of all. her fashion
sense was to die for and she gave me so many tips to learn from. but above all, she was the most
affectionate person i had ever met. she healed the void in my heart for a little bit, from her shoulder
hugs to her arms around my waist, to the little gentle kisses she'd plant on my forehead. each of them...
mean more to me than words could describe. i lie on my stomach in my rom lit with one lamp, making
videos and spilling my love for these people on my bed. my overheated phone, my scattered pens, my
journal and sketch books with rumpled pages, my cameras. i took the time to edit your names onto each
of our pictures and videos, so i may never forget. i wrote down all your names on my notes and
summarized everything we did, and i journaled everything we did in detail, so that i may never forget.
i'm a little bit in love with all of them. who knows if i'd actually date them, but these emotions are way
too ethereal to be sullied with the thought of modern romance. to be a little bit in love with everbody,
it's to find joy in the simplest of things. to notice how they use the best traits of themselves to make
others happy. they know what they're good at, and they use it for good. as a person with nothing, it was
everything. i lie in my bed at the dead of night, kicking my feet and smiling at the videos i've made. they
don't know each other, but i hope they smile at our memories. maybe they could meet each other, and
experience what i have. i feel nothing but love for these people. from the short moments i was with
them i'd do anything for them to be happy. they deserve to meet each other, the way way i met them all
but never felt as if i deserved to. this is everything to me, and i think to myself, maybe life isn't all that
bad after all. maybe it is worth it.

(I STILL WANT TO WRITE MORE FUCK ME) ((THIS IS WAY TOO LONG ALREADY)(IM JUST FEELING
EMOTIONS RN)(also shes supposed to be lying down on a white bed with a white top and black pants in
a hotel room making videos on capcut with all their memories; why does this detail matter? no clue, but
in my head it adds to the mood :))

"what happens when we die?"

"nobody knows."

i look over to him and frown. never have the streetlights at night felt so surreal. he continues.

"... but i guess, that's why we have to make the most of out living?"

"i know, but... you hear that all the time..."

"what would you rather hear then?"

"i don't know. what can someone say that's comforting, that hasn't already been said?"

(maybe the better way to approach this is to accept it. i'll forget this feeling by tomorrow anyway, until it
comes back and the cycle repeats again like a rosary)

and i write sweet nothings in the sand. drawings of ghosts, letters of love, signatures with my name on
it. it'll be washed down by the sea, or trampled underneath other people's journeys. when that
happens, i'll always come back and write them again. i'll find a new stick and proclaim my love again.
drawings of ghosts, letters of love, signatures with my name on it (addressed to you.)

you hear this? that's what love is. at least, i hope so. i think it's love. i know it should be a constant. i'll
come back to this beach and let my love write on the sand. i'll write "love, from tina" as many times as i
need to, and think of you whenever i make a drawing as many times as i want to. you know i don't like
sand beaches, but maybe they're not so bad. watch me twirl in my skirt as you watch me live my life full
of love for you. love love love, all of this is how i show my love for you.

and when the statues awaken and the paintings take form of human life, will you still be there? will you
accept me once i've caused a revolution? those paintings are not there to be sold. those sculptures are
not there to be cast aside. when we make the world accept our real truth, will you still be there?

or am i too demanding? have you gotten used to me being so kind, so submissive, so... passive? what we
do with each other and what we accept will only be behind closed doors, but unless you help me lead
this, i won't bother. so stop treating me like a plaything, stop treating me like a toy. when i dance on my
stage, you better be thinking of why i'm dancing for you. these costumes, these embellishments,
consider them performance devices. my face, my arms, and my legs, they're to help me express myself.
they do the dirty work for me when the masses refuse to listen. remember the origin of culture,
remember why we wear certain outfits to see people. maybe then you'll learn to appreciate this more.
appreciate me more. appreciate us more.

and if you can't? it's farewell, merci, and do svidaniya. may these red curtains close and shadow the
sorry excuse of a man you are.

(i'll make sure they're the same shade of lipstick you gifted me.)
and you accidentally curse me in the middle of our argument. whether it was truly accidental or not, we
could argue later. i just looked at the floor. maybe i startled you when i moved away from your touch,
the same one i always melted in. from the corner of my eye, i thought i could see you shaking a bit. was
it out of anger, or guilt? please don't be anger... and tears are welling in my eyes. i hope tears are
welling in yours too. i'd never wish for you to cry, but we should share this pain. it'd be good for us, i
think. please feel bad. that proves you love me. i plan on walking away for now. let's both think on this.

... and now you're crying because i'm keeping myself together, when you're not. i'm sorry. i'd gladly
break my own heart for you, but i'd also do anything to make this work. let's cry in separate rooms and
you let me cry in your arms later, how about that? that sounds like something you'd agree with. see...?
we can talk things through after all. let's not dawdle and fix this. please leave me be to cry alone. i
promise to be back in your arms by christmas.

i ran away from my aunt's wedding, acting like i was a main character. in truth, i couldn't bring myself to
care for the occasion. i hated my aunt; i hated the way she talked about her wedding in the prior
months. it felt all too suffocating in there, until i met you. you who took my breath away and
rejuvenated my lungs just as quickly. you asked me about my makeup and i started complaining. on and
on, for what seemed like hours. your smile was heavenly as you offered hang out with me. you brought
me over to your house and gave me a makeover, and we spent the night eating food, dancing in the
park, and taking pictures. you made sure to give me a cute little bag from your closet with the clothes
you let me wear. you also offered to redo my makeup so that i feel more confident when i strut back
into the banquet hall. i think of you in every wedding. and maybe i dreamed of ours, as well. the way
you did my makeup is a staple in my soul. even if i could never replicate it, i do it the same way you did
it. it's the proper way i could treasure my memory of you. you're special, i think of you so. i hope you
know that. i think of you even if it's been months, for no special reason other than to reminisce at our
memories. thank you, for that faithful night. i hope you find somebody who makes you feel like this, if i
didn't do that for you. i hope i did though. i still do. and i dream. of you.

you said you were never good with words

and that showing affection made you shy

but here i am now

holding your inkstained hands

and kissing your kitchen burns

as you were making me little paper airplanes and flowers

and making me pizza with cheap ingredients

i see it in the way you live

"please notice everything i do,

for it's all in the virtue of love."

and here i am now

bandaging your cut fingers

and cleaning your filthy body

i promise i notice everything

and even when i don't

i still make sure to treasure the way you look at me

your eyes hold the brightest stars

and the love of a million generations

the way you look at me from across the room

round and loving, or narrowed and desiring

either way, i notice it all

all because you asked me to

and when you lie in bed next to me,

you don't need to worry

i'll be right here, thanking you for everything you do

and even in the time i can't hear you sing, or feel your body against mine

i'll be sure to treasure those little paper butterflies you made

crumpled, but never our love

you taught me how to kiss the day before you left. you didn't know you were my first. we meet again six
months later, and no one was none the wiser.

"and so what are we?"

"friends who have kissed at one point? i don't know, what do you want?"

but we were always friendly, constantly glancing at each other's lips and scratching our itching hands.
we were none the wiser; we've always had feelings for each other ever since the night we looked up at
the stars and found the brightest shine in each other's eyes.

and the time has come when i have run out of ink. i run, in a haste to find you. i reach you eventually,
and you cradle me in your arms. you take the frosting of a cake on your finger and smear it on my nose. i
get it, you want to see me smile. but how could i do that when i have run out of the ink i use to spill all
my love for you? the ink i use to paint your name all over my skin, the ink i use to remind myself of you
whenever you are gone? you tell me you'll go to the store and buy me more. i think i'm witnessing what
love looks like.

"and you never notice you've been showing me that this whole time."

and on the menu is a cup of homemade coffee for the price of one kiss in the golden hour. we offer
origami flowers and rings in exchange for a running hug. a best seller is a midnight conversation, topped
with letting loose our feelings under the moon. feel free to order anything from our selection!

oh, you ask what's the name of our establishment? my dear! it's the name of the restaurant where we
had our very first date!

he says this with a smile on his face.

and i write my poems in the dark of night. i don't need a lamp because my admiration will move my
hands where they need to be. on top of yours, tapping your desk, over your eyes, gripping the knife
stabbed in my heart.

(i use the blood for my poems)

thalassophobia

your hair flows as smoothly as the stream in the freshwater river. your face is as stunning as the waves
crashing against the shore, and your eyes are as stunning as the horizon. oh my dear, how you scare me,
but seduce me like a siren would a lowly seaman. there's no need for me to fall in love, as i've already
trapped myself beneath the waves. i sink, deeper and deeper, foolishly hoping i'd grow to become
accustomed to the sea. instead water fills my lungs and the sun never reaches the ocean floor. my chest
bursts the way my heart used to whenever i would meet your gaze. my eyes flutter shut, and my corpse
lay peacefully among the corals. arrays of color, from the sky blue, to summertime yellow, to valentine's
pink, i lay amongst the colors of flowers i once dreamt of you and me gifting to each other. divers will be
fortunate enough to come across a smiling corpse for once

and when i wake, the serendipity and destruction of the waves on the shore will remind me why i fear
the ocean.

the ink seeps to the back of the page, the way my affection for you flows so smoothly from my heart, to
my lips, all the way to yours.

let's spray paint our names onto concrete walls. let's carve our initials onto trees. we will die one day,
but not before we leave the legacy of our love in all corners of the earth. we dance in the spanish bistro;
we kiss in the catacombs, letting ourselves melt in each other's embrace and crumble back to the dust
we are made of.

"who are the characters? what's it about? what's your story's summary?" no clue, i am merely writing
into the void. i am using its very existence to fill the pit in my heart.

matching your pink dress with your strawberry scented perfume, under the pretty blue sky. i pull you
close to remember the scent of this day.

before i knew it, you were standing limp even with my arms around you, sobbing tears you couldn't
control. the tranquility of the night will keep our secret. you wanted to hug me, but you couldn't. i
wrapped your arms around me. still they fell back to your sides.

there was still that faint scent of strawberry. it made its way through the cracks in my heart, nestling
itself into corners i could never reach.

i think of you at the pastry shop; i think of you when i see the color pink. i think of you when i watch
someone twirl their skirt.

we'll be just fine. one day, we will kiss under the moonlight that once illuminated your tears.

"any other injuries?"

against my better judgment, i begrudgingly show you the scrape on my upper thigh.

you seem a little flustered too.

"how did that get there...?" you ask, your voice hushed.

"oh, uh..." i clear my throat. i then run my hands through my hair. and again. clear my throat again. i
don't make eye contact the whole time. "um, at the curb, it, uh... i kinda veered, and―" i looked in your
eyes. i looked 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 your eyes.

"i, uh..."

i can't take myself seriously. my mind's a broken record. only three things play in my head, with a
forbidden song i keep trying to skip. a sinful theme i shouldn't be entertaining. or at least, not right now.

and you're sitting on the floor in front of me, eyes peered up. i'm frazzled. i don't know what to do with
myself. it's almost as if i want to cup your face and―

like i want to lift you up and―

your eyes are bewitching, but it's driving me insane. you don't move a single inch. you're just sitting
there, looking up, waiting for an answer, in such a transfixing way. i want to say it. i want to say what i'm
thinking, what's making me stop in my tracks. and all this while, i'm stumbling over my words.
one way or another, i've managed to explain to you my injury. you purse your lips together, nod, and
tend to it.

and we're back to square one.

"you be careful next time."

"don't worry."

... and what makes me think i'm allowed to say that? do i really feel that entitled, that i would assume
you'd be worrying about me?

you taught me aromatherapy but i was too busy staring at your hair. you taught me which scents were
for what but i was too busy thinking about your lips on mine. now i sleep in my bed dizzy, mixing the
scents of lavender and long-stemmed roses, not knowing what i'm doing. if you saw me now you
wouldn't be surprised, because whenever i talked to you all about the study of love languages, you only
kept on staring into my eyes and went home to cut yourself with the chopped stems of my tulips.

i've written you so many letters, my nerves are going haywire. you keep them in the pile of mail you'll
never read, but i won't know that. i sleep tonight and dream of writing to you with my blood tomorrow
midnight.

we get angry on your behalf; we scream for you. you're an idiot and you're just like a child wandering
clueless onto the empty road. you know how it is in the books. that road's never empty.

when i'm gone, who will pull you back?

or would you rather die if i'm no longer by your side?

so live your life, with a habit you use to show love. anything can be a form of art. anything can be a form
of love. even your kisses on my skin.

i always wonder if you like somebody else even though you always let me touch you. you know, in a way
i don't think "just friends" would. i mean you let me hold your hand for more than two seconds. you let
me hold it to keep you in place as i draw hearts on your wrist. and you KEEP those hearts! you don't
erase them immediately! if you liked someone, i think they'd wonder why you have those, so i thought
you would erase them.

you're just sitting there... on your phone while i draw on your hand. i ask for permission to continue on
your arm and you consent. i...
this is the moment i realized, maybe it's okay to fall in love with you. finally, finally... i'll be alright.

and my heart grows desperate. the hearts on your wrist trail all over your arm like vines entangling city
ruins. but you don't wash it off. you wear them till they fade. then you come back and ask me to draw on
you again. this time i let you request a doodle, and you ask for something i can't possibly accomplish. i
do it anyway, because i'm in love.

with you.

so it's okay.

so keep your arm there, and continue letting me draw. before we ever get together, i'll let you stay
clueless. these hearts are for you. even if they fade, i'll draw them on again. when i run out of ink, i will
use dirt. when i run out of sand, i will use my blood.

i see you discreetly taking a picture. maybe that confirms your feelings for me too. i hope it does. smiling
from beneath my mask, i add a smiley face. you take one more, and there's now a ghost. one final snap,
and i've written "i love you."

but i draw another ghost, and that ghost is you

and baby set my heart alight, you're the only one who can. pay for me in the restaurant and i'll kiss you
in the car. hold your hand in the park and you'll buy me a drink. it's just you and me, not against the
world, but against life and death. so pass the shot and run your nails down my back. we'll never be truly
alone once we engrave each other's names in our souls tonight.

there's a joy in doing things you're bad at. live your life in an effortless abandon. love with your whole
heart while you still can! drawing endless amounts of hearts on limitless paper squares, practicing for
when you draw on your lover's skin. making paper airplanes to pay homage to your lacklustre childhood.
it's in the little things. folding paper fortunes and writing "yes" on all its sides, waste all the leftover
ribbon in your house. none of this stuff will be needed anyway! and while you live your life, i can only
hope you'd draw on me too. i hope you draw hearts on my chest as a proclamation of love. use your
lipstick and give me kiss marks on my neck to hide your lust. use a permanent marker for chains on my
wrist to bind me to you, with glass shards to match. stars on my temple, butterflies on my hands and
stomach.

we'll make love tomorrow night, and we'll live freely this eve till the sun will rise. when i wake, i hope my
body is covered with your ink. show me who you are; show me who you live for. as your emotions shift
through the night, journal them on my thighs so i can keep them secret. kiss me and draw lipstick marks
so i won't know. when i wake up, my body should be a mess, because that's what life is, and that's what
life does to you. you are the living display of life, you are the living display of My life. i can't live without
you, so keep drawing till the day i die.
i try to offer you a piece of myself and end up accidentally cutting your wrist. i try to tell you i love you
but i become an intrusive thought. i try to keep quiet but you just sob harder.

dear, the moonlight won't ever be eternal. whisper me your secrets so we can welcome the sunlight. we
won't be young forever; we won't be old forever. so cut me too. invade my life and make me cry. we're
in this together.

seeing that clip in your hair, oh how i wish i could take it down. and i notice you always wear those tank
tops, where the straps always slip off your shoulder. it's... enrapturing, and i can't hold back.

and i'll risk it all. jump the gun, sinking deeper. tonight, and only tonight, let us be drunken and restless.
and we'll live as if nothing happened. until we forget to. until we look each other in the eyes. until we're
able to find the shards of ourselves in each other's hearts. love's messy, but it's beautiful. full of sacrifice
and desperation. setting everything aside, throwing everything away. and it involves being vexed by the
stinging in your arm, but letting someone else cut you anyway, because you love them, and therefore
you throw away your self respect, just as we are now. the moonlight's curtained, and the bottle of
wine's unopened. but the night's already begun.

i'll be sure to give you a piece of chocolate after this, so you know i'm not taking you for granted. and i'll
wish for a kiss in return but a glass of water would do just fine.

people enter the bar as lovers and leave as strangers. people enter the cafe as friends and leave as
lovers.

people enter the restaurant as strangers and leave as friends.

we enter life shining as bright as the twinkling stars, and we leave without having ever met.

we first met in the library but planned our first date in the store right next to it, lost in the aisles, lost in
love. is this a book store? it has many other miscellaneous items you liked. "a thrift store, maybe?" i can
barely find clothes for you. but that doesn't matter. all i've been doing was taking polaroids on your
camera and secretive mirror pictures on my phone. and you wish you looked like ten other girls but all
their styles merged into your own unique sense. and you wish you had more clothes to wear but i wish
you wore nothing at all. oh, i can't say that right now. but one day i will.

and what about you? what do you need to say right now, that you can't? what have you been keeping
tucked away? do you think i could get close enough, that you'd tell me one day? your eyes... are shining.
they would never tell me pretty lies. it's clear. i can tell.

you said you had feelings for someone. i asked you on this date because i got jealous. there were lessons
i learned from our friends, whose relationships we were always so jealous of.

i asked you on a date that next week. maybe that in and of itself was fate. in front of me, you said you
liked someone. in the same breath, you agreed to my date. and from the look in your eyes, you're
basically waiting for the perfect moment.
because we're scared of ruining everything.

but i'll smile, and i'll let you live. i'll give you time to say it yourself. so go and continue endlessly
combing your hair as you take pictures, and taking too long to order drinks. because i know, for a fact,
once we say the words we've been meaning to say, we're falling in deeper, deeper than we've ever
experienced.

but there's no need to brace myself. same goes for you. because we'll catch each other, and i know it.

"and i showed a girl my writing, and she actually liked it!"

"what, your excerpts?"

"yeah!"

"excerpts from what?"

she shrugs. "mm, i dunno. excerpts from the book of my heart, i guess."

and people will know me as the author infamous for evoking visceral emotions with the use of such
simple words. little will anybody know that's never what i would want my legacy to be. i want to use
flowery words, and grandeur gestures. i want to express my love to you in the most profuse of manners
and in the most finnicky of expressions. i want to be dramatic, i want my emotions to be overflowing.
the pages must be soaked in ink the way my words are overrun in love, threatening to burst from the
letters i write. all of this would take work. i would be dedicated to the craft of writing prose in the most
grandiose of ways, but alas, i'm too busy dreaming. too busy thinking of you. too busy yearning for you.
wishing for your skin on mine, waiting for the next time you'll touch me. if my legacy can't be what i
want it to be, then let it be with you. let me be known for how much i ache for you, even when you
aren't around. i need the masses to know of my love for you. i need it on every corner of this ruined
town. and even as i write this, whatever i wish for, know that the one thing i'd like to leave behind when
i am gone is my love. if not everything else, if only one thing, let it be this.

(i want to keep on writing and adding stuff lol. forcing myself to stop)

and strangely i sense you everywhere. from the horizon beyond the beach to the dark alley in fourth
street. you're a ghost that appears under the streetlights, and you're a witch that disappears within the
woods.

to ask you such an intimate question, i'm basically asking you to hate me. a death wish disguised in the
form of a question. but, i'm sure i'll find a way to ask it to you. when did you start loving me? do you
remember the exact minute? what was i doing, and what do you reckon i was thinking at that time?
please write down in this notebook all the times you've wanted to kiss me, and all the places where
you've wanted to drop everything just to touch me. what did you drop, and was it ever me? which
things did you buy, purely because they reminded you of me? that empty picture frame in your room, is
it for us? your dream of owning a house with a balcony, is that for us? some of the things you wish for
(,those oddly specific things) is it because they were song lyrics from a band i love? be honest with me,
that way i won't be afraid to be honest with you too. and to ask you all these intimate questions would
be a proclamation of love. tell me! have you ever considered asking me all these questions too? and i'd
like to know, what are your versions of them?

(another thing where i don't want to stop writing lol)

spare me a penny for my selfish thoughts. give me an extra quarter and i'll be willing to write them
down for you.

remember! i said i love you for a reason! i’m desperate for you to listen because all i want is for you to
be alright!

i love you dearly but i'm at my wit's end. listen to me this time or else i'll cut your arm myself and make
you.

some asshole almost crashed into my skateboard with their car. do you care? if you fell off your bike at
the curb, i know i'd be worried sick, stuck in the bathroom. but what about you? are those led lights not
making you sick? do you feel good, downing all those shots?

welcome home. i happened to be passing by as i was making my way to the flower shop. we'll have to
part ways at this intersection, but it was good to see you again. i'm still your home, right? we'll see each
other again, i promise you that much.

the way it goes is that when we are in the dead of winter, we wish to run free in the meadows of spring.
when spring rolls around , we start whining about how we want to go to the beach in the summer. when
we get sunburnt in season, we start to dream of our autumn outfits. the reality is we can't decide. we
keep chasing new things even after we've fulfilled our past selves' dreams. the same way i never feel
content, i still dream of things that could never be true. and something gives me hope that things will
turn out the way i want them to. and then it all breaks down again. we start from square one and repeat
the cycle. we complain in our own different ways, never ever once realizing we're all victims in this set.

i need to experience an epiphany soon. my fingers are already shaking but i need my whole body to
quiver. i need life to enlighten me more so i can continue writing. i need the realities of life to terrify me
more than they already are. maybe then i'll be able to truly express how i feel. use the right words in the
right order. maybe then i'll start being happy with myself. happy i'm able to finally squeeze out every
once of visceral emotion into the meaningless words i throw to the void. i need to learn new words, i
need to learn new phrases, i need to learn new emotions.

and i take a curious glance at you. i see the way you look at me, with all that yearning and desperation in
your eyes. you love me, don't you? and i love you too. surely, i do. i grin wickedly. maybe you could help.
they say life's short; do whatever you want. you will never grow if you stay in your comfort zone. come
here, dear, let's fall together. maybe you yourself could learn a thing or two as well.

these velvet curtains are the same shade as your favorite red. sitting on this empty theatre stage, i
understand what it feels like to be alone. i could always run away. i could always hide backstage, but the
liminal space is both a sweet embrace and a cold death. this is the perfect place to wait for somebody.
somebody, anybody, who you would trust enough to offer your hand and let sweep you away. if you
come here, we would have so many props to play with. we could recreate so many scenarios. if it were
up to me, i'd give everybody happy endings. you, on the other hand, were all for realism. i dig the
craving for melancholy, but one day i'll have to teach you that's not all theatre is. i stand up and start
singing with my eyes closed. the curtains turn black as the lights turn off. i'm singing a lullaby, the same
one you taught me. i hope that once i utter the final word, your spine chills knowingly, and you start
running.

i'm here, waiting. forever and ever, right here. even if it's as lonely as could be.

downing these pills like they're shots just to feel something

i need to get drunk but i can't. so please, just for a year or two, be my drug and alcohol.

idolizing to an insane extent is painful. please don't be complacent here and please don't be afraid.
you'll get there one day if you keep at it. stay hopeful, please.

and i feel as if anything and everything could kill me. feeling afraid to sleep at night because of the pain
in my gums. worrying about the drink i accepted from a stranger. ripping the vines wrapped around my
heart with my bare fingers, and the thorns from a love you left behind.

to hug you while you cry, i vowed to always be by your side. even then, i won't deny it hurts just as
much. i find myself with a painfully tight grip on your clothes, the same way you're clutching mine.

and your voice stays with me like a bee buzzing next to my ear. this isn't your home. and frankly, i'm
quite scared of that.
--

ai generations for inspiration

(love and theatre)

Emily loved the theatre. She loved the way the curtains would swish open, revealing the stage like a
secret hidden behind a veil. She loved the smell of the popcorn and the sound of the laughter. But most
of all, she loved the feeling of being in love. And that was what she was feeling now, as she watched her
boyfriend perform on stage. She was so proud of him and the way he lit up the stage. She knew that he
loved her too, and that was the best feeling of all.

(wistfulness and longing and theatre)

The first time I saw the theatre, I was entranced. The way the light caught the dust in the air, the way
the stage seemed to stretch out endlessly before me- it was like nothing I had ever seen before. I was
eight years old then, and ever since, the theatre has held a special place in my heart. I would sit in the
back row of the theatre, watching the actors and actresses on stage, and dream of the day when I could
be up there myself.

(wistfulness and longing and romance)

The first time I saw her, I couldn't believe my eyes. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I
wanted to talk to her, but I was too shy. I could tell she was interested in me, too. I didn't want to make
a move, though. I wanted her to make the first move.

(poetic and romantic excerpts and a book i'll never write)

There are so many things I want to say to you, but I can never seem to find the words. I know that I
could never write a book about our love, but I can't help but to try. I pour my heart out onto the pages,
but it's never enough. I can never find the right words to describe how I feel about you. But, I hope that
someday you'll read this and know that I love you. I've never been good with words, but I hope that my
actions speak louder than anything I could ever say.

(the book of my heart and a book i'll never write)

There are so many books in the world and each one holds a special place in someone's heart. For some,
the book of their heart is one that they will never write. It's the story of their life, the ups and downs,
the triumphs and failures. It's the book that they carry with them everywhere they go, the one that they
read over and over again. It's the book that they can't put down, the one that they always come back to.
For others, the book of their heart is one that they are constantly writing. It's the story of their day-to-
day lives, the little moments and the big events. It's the book that they share with their friends and
family, the one that they read aloud. It's the book that they are always adding to, the one that they can't
wait to share with the world.

--

and i pull you closer to me and wrap my arms all over your neck. i place your head on my shoulder and
we stay intertwined like that.

"are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm okay. i just... wanted to be alone with you."

"mhm, we already are. is everything alright?"

"i'm okay. just... feeling sentimental, i guess. i don't know how to put it."

i can subtly feel you nod. "alright, just don't put so much pressure on my neck." and only now do i
realize your voice is ever so slightly choked up. in a strange way, i feel like this represents our situation
very well, but i don't know how. i hope it's not too late when i realize. i hope i haven't killed you by then.

and i tell you i'm feeling sentimental and you tell me not to put so much pressure on your neck when i
hug you. only then do i realize your voice has always been ever so slightly choked up. in a strange way, i
feel like this represents our position very well. but i don't know how. i hope it's not too late when i
finally realize. i just hope i haven't killed you by then.

i think i'll be manic 'till december

and my body works on a schedule. a whole mind of its own, stringing me along. it gets to decide when i
think about you but i get to decide when it actually matters to me.

sunsets are great but the dusktime is annoying. we slap away mosquitoes and deal with the dirt on our
shoes. all this to watch the sun go down on the horizon with you. but i don't mind. i'm willing to
experience this over and over for you. the dirty things and the annoying things are all part of life, but
maybe they won't be so bad if i experience them with you. you have your fair share of secrets too, so tell
me them . (when rewriting, expound on dirty things and annoying things or rewrite altogether)

and we wonder why we were found out so easily. we thought we had mastered the art of being able to
look into each other's eyes without spilling any secrets. we thought we could keep all this a secret until
we were behind closed doors. but all they saw was you and me standing together. you had a bit more of
a pep in your step, and my eyes looked dreamier than they usually were. you had one more thing to look
forward to each day; one of my dreams had been fulfilled. how did they figure out your room had gotten
more colorful ever since you started dating me? surely they must've thought i'd knit for everybody but
you.

and you go on and on about your sob story, how you've grown from your past habits. and here i am
dreaming of brightening up your room with colors you probably never experienced. i'd make you all the
paper flowers my heart desires, and i'd give you many different types of bouquets. i don't knit but i'd
love to knit for you. i don't draw but i'd love to draw for you. and i write and i have been writing about
you way before we were ever involved with each other. i hope you don't keep any of my gifts in a closet.
even when they are old and faded, and even when they are wilting, please keep them out in the open.
they still have a bit of color to them. even if they are dead, there is still life in them. it is my mission to
cover your room with all the colors you'd never seen before in your lifetime. my dream is making your
world bright, making it worth it, making it comfortable. but right now, the most i can give you is the
color of my kindness, an orange tulip i draw on your hand to make you smile.

i know i'm not the only commitment in your life.

don't let that scare you, though. that won't change anything, and i love you just the same. i'll support
you in your endeavours and i'll wait for you to come home with your favorite dinner prepared. just do
that for me too, even if all i do is lay and dream.

i'd love to write a book of my love for you. it'd have to end one day, and i hope you write a little
something for me on its spine.

and i'm sick and tired of everybody in my family assuming anything i do with someone is romantic. it
makes me want to tear my heart out of my chest and show them what it's made of, what's truly inside
the crevices. and it's full and overflowing with a love for life, with jars of packaged but real admiration
for every single person i meet. those eight people who spent their nights with me, who shared with me
a piece of their life in a single eve, each of them got two jars. because they're special. don't think of this
as anything less than that. there's no name for it; it's a lifestyle we live.

and it's sick you have a name that could be a typo. when i type the wrong letters on the keyboard it
reminds me of all the mistakes i've made, just like this one. and i could backspace and correct my
wrongdoing but i could never do that for us. not when you're already living in the stars when i promised
to give you one. and that was just one of my mistakes.
and they say to love is to offer your partner the better half of life. we'd crumble if our relationship were
to fail. out of maybe unwavering wavering love, we argue over who suffers with using the chopsticks.
neither of us know how to use them. we're trying our very best, and we share a knowing glance. we
both hope we've done enough, loved enough, committed enough.

i'll kiss you one day. i swear on it.

but maybe all this "going slow" stuff has been going on for far too long. i know you want it too.

so i kiss you. just like that. it's so easy.

look dear, it's that easy.

... give me a smile... we'll be just fine.

it was worth it. i finally got to taste life.

it was cute watching you smile as you won a prize from the claw machine. it was a starshaped plushie,
and i can't tell if it's a character you like or something you simply found cute. you have so many others
of those at home.

and as always, i'm unable to give you anything. it's as if i'm worth nothing, and i'm as useless as a sunken
shipwreck. even as something as simple as this, i can't win for you. it's as if you simply gave me your
heart instead of letting me earn it.

but every single time you were to console me, you're the one putting in the work. you clutch the plushie
in your arms as you swear that you always find the brightest gleam in my eyes.

and you tell me the warmth of my emrbrace could beat artificial stuffing any day.

maybe it's okay for me to have some confidence in myself.

"out of sight, out of mind," but will you please take me back in once more after i've bene gone awhile? i
hope you never think of a funeral every time you see a picture of me.

my mother never once thought of me; my father threw everything onto me. can you blame me if i'd like
your gentle hands on my face for a lifetime longer?

the red lunar eclipse, that favorite color orange of yours you appreciate everywhere, the yellow
sunflower field, the green of the grass tickling your legs, the blue of that beautiful river you once
photographed, the purple of the flowers you notice in the field, the pink of the cotton candy that always
makes you smile in awe, the black sky that always accompanies you in your darkest nights.

they all remind me of you.

your red lips the taste of bourbon, your favorite orange tulips, your yellow sundress, the green jade
necklace my mom gave you (you whom she loves so dearly), the blue ink you use to give pieces of
yourself to the void, that purple coloring on your clothes that makes you love them so much, the color
pink i would use to describe your heart, and that little black dress you wore on the night we first made
love.

i'd love if you could hold me in your arms again. did you know i miss that black dress you wore? me
sitting shirtless on the couch, feeling proud, and you who was about to pass out from that encounter. oh
how i miss it, the thrill and the fulfillment. and the fact that you seized the opportunity, kissing me while
you were sitting in my lap, and the first time when i was on top of you. and to think we weren't lovers
then, but i certainly hope we can be soon.

"i'm not moving, don't worry."

a black rose for the void, i hope the stars receive it

(or could be yonder)

or , a black rose for the yonder, i hope the stars accept my gift.

and the marks on your arm will be just fine,

they were battle scars from the night you were mine,

our hearts in a warzone, freezing in the cold

oh but so much time we have, to relish until we're old

but when you look at me with such dismay

tugging at my hearstrings, like they're about to fray

i hope to hold you under the moonlight

once again without fear of the lonely night

you were once everything to me

the same way you're an example of the life we see

bearing your witness, watching you shine bright like the stars

i hold up this rose for you, a memoir of a love behind no bars.

and the marks on your arm will be just fine,

they were battle scars from the night you were mine,

our hearts in a warzone, freezing in the cold

oh but so much time we have, to relish until we're old

but when you look at me with such dismay

tugging at my hearstrings, like they're about to fray

i hope to hold you under the moonlight

once again without fear of the desolate night

you were once everything to me

the same way you're an example of the life we see

bearing your witness, watching you shine bright like the stars

i hold up this rose for you, a memoir of a love with no holds barred

to the brown eyes that have never witnessed love,

take my hand and let me take you to heaven above,

reminisce all you want of your memories on the earth below

so long as you intertwine your fingers with mine, and feel the love of a beau

to think i'm so jealous of you, the way you find sentiment in every little thing you do. all those pictures
that you posted of your lone museum date, and the flowers you oh so love, regardless of whether they
were handmade or bought. even if there's no joy to be had in your life, you seem to find light in every
single thing you see. out in the park, every night sky is different from the other, and special in their own
distinctive ways every other dusk. never does the mall ever seem boring to you, and you find glee in
every small-scale thing you find. you've already seen that necklace online, but you awe at its existence in
real life, saying, "woah! i saw that before!"—on one of your many aesthetic accounts—"i wanted that,
you know..." and you let it fade from your mind, hoping someone may finally buy you a gift. when no
one does, you decide to buy it for yourself as a form of self love.
"taking yourself out on dates is pretty fun! there's a different type of peace and joy you can get from
treating yourself. dates with a lover, potential or not, are good too. they're both great in their own way,
but they're different in their own way."

oh how i wish i saw the world like you do.

"... well... i go out by myself because i have no one to take me places." she chuckles shyly. it's pretty cute
when you do that. "it's fun, though! i guess, while i wait for that fateful day, i'll continue to try to siphon
the most fun i can out of life." she looks at me. "...

"are you alright?"

i lie, even when i am gazing straight into her eyes. "of course i am. i was just thinking... i wish i saw
things the way you do. i'm not sure if you know this, but it's pretty hard for people to have fun like you
do, you know."

"... really? but i've seen people—"

"either way. my point stands. i'm just... pretty jealous. i guess i have a lot to learn from you..."

she's silent for a bit. "that's alright. i'm always here if you ever need anything. start small"—and there
you go again, helping everyone but yourself—"go to a cafe. or if not, buy yourself a coffee and sit on a
bench outside school for a bit. it'll be something different for a change."

"... may i ask?"

"of course you can."

"is it really that hard for you to enjoy things by yourself?"

i pretend like it doesn't mean much to me with a nonchalant shrug. "i guess so. i am trying my hardest,
but most of the time the prospect of having fun by myself leaves my mind. living only day by day... calls
for uncertainty, unfortunately."

she frowns. all i have to ask is, why is she sad for me?

"that sucks... then!" she suddenly grabs my hand with both of hers, taking me by surprise. the way her
fingers are buried beneath her sleeve is the cutest too, i almost can't focus on what she's saying. "... help
you!"

eveything seems to be a haze. all i see is her lips moving. i wonder, did she buy her lip products from one
of her lone dates? and then she says something that finally catches my attention.

"then how about i take you on a date? it'd also be good for the both of us, wouldn't it?"

i stare right at her. our height difference makes it appear as if she's peering up at me like an interested
child would. her hands are still holding mine, and i start to feel a warmth i haven't felt in forever, if i ever
have. eyes never tell lies, and hers are begging. from her gaze, i know what she wants the answer to be.

thankfully for her, i was naturally going to oblige. that's called having feelings for a person.
and she mumbles a few things to herself in joy as i agree to the date, words i can't quite make out. she
huddles closer to my chest and looks up at my face in glee. i take my other hand and place it overs. her
fidgeting fingers felt through the fabric give away that this may be new to her.

i hope that, in helping me learn to love myself more, she can learn what true warmth feels like too. i
hope she can relish in the affection of another person, the way i hope i can relish in the feeling of the
wind in my hair or paint beneath my fingers.

the bride and groom of a fallen universe. all the flowers have wilted, with none left for us. "look over
here!" my dear beckons. i turn my head and notice a single rose the shade of my beloved's cheeks. we
take it in our hands and accidentally pierce our finger with its thorn. but it's quite alright. we smile, for
life is still alive. this is our proof that the light of life hasn't been extinguished yet, not now, and not for
ages to come. the groom places the pink rose in his breast pocket, as the bride prepares her boquet of
black roses. the wedding shall now commence, with the moon being the new sun.

"it angers me that you always feel the need to be practical about everything."

"i'd say the same for your philosophies."

her cheeks grow even hotter. "they're no philosophies! it's merely called enjoying the essence of life."

"either way, there's no merit in it for me."

now it's her eyes flaming with frustration. "but there is, you fucking idiot. if you hate these so called
'philosophies' so much because they're impractical and not worth your time, tell me then, why'd you kiss
me? and why'd you give me that drunken confession?"

he stays silent, lips pursed shut.

"stop fucking lying to yourself! why do you love when it's impractical? what do you gain from it, that's
economically good for you? love? comfort? those don't seem to be very scientific to me," she gnarls.

he asks the question they're both wondering. "... and why does this bother you so much?"

"i—"

"why is this making you so angry?"

"because...! because...! it sucks to constantly hear you talk ill of the things i yearn for. it pisses me off so
much, it makes me want to splash you with your experiments. all you think about is conduct and studies,
and nothing else. besides what's in the labs you work in, there's no other substance in your life. you
don't know how to have fun, you don't know how to romanticize living. and you make fun of me for
doing my best to enjoy my life, even in front of my face, when i never fucking did any ofthat to you! you
don't even know why i do this!" tears start to well up, and her head starts pounding. "you act like you're
hot shit, that's what's making me angry."
her lone museum dates, all those afternoons she spent cafe hopping, all the little trinkets she bought
from each store she entered. during the moments when they're both merely staring at each other, with
indifference and rage respectively, they ponder on the different ways they perceive and understand
each other's lives.

their answers make neither of them happy.

"and i know damn well you're not going to apologize. stop talking to me; you piss me off." it's the final
thing she says before they completely ignore each other for several months. and, to both their secretive
dismays, this wasn't very hard for them to do.

it was easy to look past them at something else in their shared classes, easy enough to immediately start
looking for other tables to sit at, way too easy not to utter a word to each other. and they both secretly
wish they would make amends but a part of them still hates the other, and so they put it off for what
ems to be a whole lifetime long.

i let out the heaviest exhale ever in my whole career. a few puffs of air escape me, and i couldn't help
but just smile. i laugh and clap my hands, turning to the crew and exclaiming, "i did it! and i survived! i
fucking survived!" to be a stuntman is to pull off the despicable, and i think i've done a pretty good job.
and then i turn around. my smile drops as i gaze at your face. i frown a bit.

"why are you crying...? come here..."

and you move closer to me ever so slowly. it reminds me of the day we first kissed. i pull you into a tight
embrace, to pinch you and let you know i'm still real.

"i'm here, i'm here..." i rub her back. "i'm alive. see? i'm alive and well, i'm doing very good. look!" i pull
away and grip her hands, then her wrists, then cup her face. they're immediately wet with tears.

i knew this job wasn't cut out for you. i knew you'd crumble every time i do something like this. you
exhale on my chest, starting to calm down.

but it's pretty romantic, isn't it? that you would follow me all the way here just to watch over me, and
fought for this position just to make sure i'd always be okay. that in and of itself, is the truest form of
love, is it not?

and you say now the romanticizing is getting crazy.

it's 2am and the both of us are sitting in the back of your van, your shirt hanging off my back. we just
finished making love and now it's quiet, with the both of us gazing up at the stars. we won't know what
to do after this for the timebeing, but that's alright. we're still close as ever, and maybe we'll grab a bite
during the day right after this. i'm sure we'll be just fine. after all, i heard you confess your love to me
while our worlds were shaking.
the drops of life could be so small yet so impressive. a single drop of rain, and the whole world know it
will shower. a single teardrop, and a lover will immediately know to wipe it. a single drop of water on
your notebook, and you fall to your knees.

and everyone says that to be messy is to be human. to be unglam is to be living. but there's an unspoken
threshold to be seen there, and i'm not sure if anybody would like to admit that. my small, messy
handwriting stops being attractive when my letters are squeezed up on the side of the page. ink on your
hands means you're alive until you see all the blotches and splatters on the pieces of paper in front of
you. messy hair is oh so endearing until the sunlight stops shining on them. be real with me, and love me
for the true meaning of being "human." if you won't, i'll cry, and these tears won't be attractive. they'll
be real, and they'll be human.

there are many more things to life than just two sides of a coin. for now though, let's pretend everything
was black and white. there are relationships where personal boundaries are still present, and there are
relationships where the both of you are so comfortable you'd be in the same bathroom together. there
are people who express love through words, and there are people who express love through actions.
after trauma, a person will either be strong with their head up high, or a person will be downcast for
years to come. this is pretending. now, let's stop. but my point still stands, there are finite reactions we
can analyze, but when we look deeper into the semantics of human psychology and sociology, we can
see that these nuances are what define life. these nuances are why we all live completely different lives,
and these are why we come to find the people that we can grow closer to.

when a person dies, a person either mourns or is contented. the mourning person can stay depressed,
take their own life, express themself through art, go on to help other people, so on and so forth. the
contented person can live with their head up high, live a fruitful life, tell others their own story, and so
much more. these differences are all what makes us human.

now, may i ask you, would you rather me kiss your lips or hold your hand? answer quick, or else i'll just
clutch your arm for the rest of the night. i'll look up at you with a smile on my face, because that's how i
show love.