Giana Mae Licoto

You were my fortune cookie, the longer half of a wishbone. You were my four-leaf clover, my wishing star.

Loving others sincerely gives life more meaning than satisfying the need to be loved back. 

On days I do not love myself, I wake up feeling afraid of myself. This body sometimes still feels like an intruder in the same home it built.

It will burn a hole in your heart.

I am a writer. People expect me to be good at being vocal with my feelings. But, in your presence, my words fail me.

Thank you for simply being here.

In this world that is already harsh, never stop believing the good in everyone.

I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever love another human being again like this, because you have me—you have my heart.

What if I told you that you’ve been occupying my train of thought every minute of the day?

He kisses me and makes me realize that the universe has always been made up of him.

I hope you know that you deserve better than that. You deserve someone who doesn’t rush love.

I will wait for you.

I don’t mind getting lost in your eyes— the way those black holes helplessly drag me into its realms.

It almost seems as though my lifeline is wired to it. My breathing capacity is measured by the amount of lives I touch with my words. 

There is a girl I know who taught me about beauty. She stands in a crowded living room, in between sweaty bodies and blasting music— supposing, if she stands there just a tad bit longer, she’ll eventually morph into one of them. 

I watch you love music like this— mildly yet so passionately. And I wonder if you could also ever love me like this— with a feather-like touch yet with the same burning passion of a storm. 

So for the meantime, let me love you in all the ways I know how. In between all our imperfections. At the ends of all our infinities.

Love her deeply, immensely, and unforgettably.