Apparently

I am not enough
for your hands to warm
during rainy days and breezy
evenings amidst starlit
conversations drowned
in feverish buzz because

Apparently,
if you can choose whose
footsteps you’d like to hear
in the threshold of your mind
it would be hers and not mine
because

Apparently,
I can learn to sway to every
music sung to me and yet still
remain sitting at the edge of
your tongue, slipping
simply because

Apparently,
if time had been kind and the
creases of weeks wasted in war torn
bedroom floors had been
spent on afternoons tap dancing
on balconies and
emptied hallways I would have
been the muse to all your
drunken musings on
Thursday evenings but

Apparently,
I am too late to the
the ball I was never invited
in the first place

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Published by

cie miraflor

A Filipino at heart and a Thomasian in spirit. A vocalist. A bookworm. A chocoholic. A liar. A dreamer. A coffee addict. A writer of poetry and short stories. A pending Information Technologist. A frustrated programmer. Blinded with love for Batman.

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