eighteen || for tristan

when I was six 

after wrestling hours 

in preschool I look for a friend and 

you'd always be there 

you're not the sweet kind but you'd play
puppets with me on the terrace of our

grandparents' house 

you taught me how to cross

the road 

I always thought that

you were some sort of a hero waiting
for its story to be untold

you'd stir up maddening emotions at times 

you have traits I don't like

but I love it when you ride your bike 

you go so fast and 

sometimes even let me go with you
when I ask

there's always a 

deeply affecting and tragic feeling

when I think about you all grown up

I wish I can turn back time

to tell you just
how much I appreciate your strength 

that you'd bend rules so you could show me
how it's like to be on the 

top of the world

maybe halfway

or not even close

you are my original best friend

you've always been so brave

now that you are in pursuit of something

greater and possibly bigger in your life 

please know that I support 

you no matter what
happy 18th

handshakes

every hand shake takes a brief second

some people have special handshakes
beyond balconies and outside memories in the 

world unseen

I find it kind when our thumbs touch and

fingers intertwine

it doesn't feel as awkward anymore

it's not bad after all 

I'm being repetitive, I'm sorry

I suppose it's the reassuring squeeze that

carefully shocks my grip that in the vastness

of the world my hand falls into yours

I like how raw hands can be
sweaty, joyful, unrefined
it feels as if I touched the
surface of the water
then we share a collection of
blabbering, really and it's just so beautiful

there are things privileged and some things so unfair

it wasn't something that was automatic

I paid no heed to the warnings

they speak by then, 

everything became confusing 

I wish I hadn't cried so much that the 

oceans came to be unrecognized 

I bide and began falling

down....

.....down.. 

down...

I was in this place long ago

but it ain't my home

In my formative years

in all my miasmas of extreme despair was

an open window 

I gaze and I glance at the world 

I've never explored before 

I was a giant but still felt small

I see people walk down the street 

couple of people sit on a curb with faces 

I have seen before 

I wonder 

I feel

you know what I feel?

empathy

four different stories in 

one single story there 

all pivotal but at the same time 

completely not themselves 

before i go upstairs

you can still see the glow 

of the kitchen light on the third stair

from the top

when I can't keep my eyes closed 

and fall on the warm comfort of my bed 

I sit on the watching stair

I listen to the soft

blended voices, too soft that

I hear my own breathing

I press my forehead against

the banisters and I see the far end 

of the fireplace 

I'll usually hear a song being

sang then I'll laugh quietly when partway

the words get messed up

I guess you'd have to be there

to make the humor alive

it's really funny

I'll stay for another while 

until I'm finally

tired