Small surrenders.

For a while, I never truly grasped when the platonic ends and the romantic begins. Is it in the moments when the gaze lingers a split-second longer? Is it when the body gives in to the mattress a little deeper? Is it during times when the chest yields to the weight of theirs? The answer, I have found, is in all of them. The little things.

When slanting beams of light enter a room and you notice the dust dance and turn golden, you realize there is more to that moment than you care to admit. It is the little things that make the soul dance. For in the little things, you will find unstudied moments of surrender.

For a man who has not been given the words, the body becomes the place where they make room for the tenderness. It is in this fleshly terrain that they find their sanctioned language for love and closeness. For a woman who has not been blessed with the physical strength, it is in her mouth and her heart where she finds the weapons of mass destruction. It is through her words and intentions where she wields power to make the beasts submit.

Dear reader, it is through little ways that people find the courage to become soft.

So, how does one know if the friendship has blossomed into starry-eyed love? Look to the little things. For in the little things, you will uncover whispered professions borne by the heart and soul. It is in the little things where bite-sized romantic confessions rise to the surface and become ripe for harvest.

Just friends.

We could be lovers,
but we’re not.
We lull sweet adulation to sleep.
There may never be a future here,
or is there?
For now,
let’s not give in to the deep.
I am neither yours,
nor are you mine.
Yet our souls make love to each other like martyrs,
like vagabonds in reverie.
I’ve studied your freckles like the constellations a thousand times,
how they dance in my mind.
Fall victim to my yearning heart.
Seep into the textures of me.

For K.

Woman,

wear your scars well.

Let these proud mounds of flesh reflect your healing.

Let them serve as a reminder that the wicked may have wounded you,

but you never faltered.

Let them remind you that you are resilient,

that your body is a temple meant to be worshiped by the pious.

You are your savior.

You are your own brand of divine.

Let your walls crumble.

Nobody is out to get you,

not anymore.

Let love shine through.

Let your kindness seep into the cracks that brought lost boys to their knees.

You are the beauty that tamed the beast.

You deserve forevers and galaxies and so much more.

Smiles and sighs.

Smiles and sighs,
her chin up high,
she never lets them see her crack.
She had the world,
her stories unfold
with not much left
to keep to herself.
Her little secrets,
her many faults,
were like fodder
to the unfulfilled souls around her,
hovering, always haunting,
her every sweet dream
cheapened by their malice.
She came too close,
she ran too fast.
Now, her chest is heaving,
and regret is starting
to make its way up her throat.
Oh, little girl.
My dear, sweet little girl.
You trusted them too soon.
They come to you
all smiles and sighs,
hands extended forward,
palms wide open,
ever so inviting.
All you ever wanted
was their approval.
All you ever wanted
was a friend.
Here they are,
backs towards you,
plotting your bitter end.