1) miss our coffee time. because we will rub our toes softly under the table, we will trade saucers and mugs for
childhood throwbacks and discussions about dialect barriers and endless tides, about Hitler's armpit or
about the dogs and the way their fur mimic our ways of concealing cold, concealing the lice of our lives and the lice of this painful slow charade under the moonlight.

2) push you with my back, you down on the floor. because we will fall together. tangling, untangling, kissing the elbows, the shoulders, the foreheads, the noses, the lips

licking each other gum to gum
that adorably dirty.


3)tell you that you look horrible with your wake-up face. because the truth is, you are the most beautiful. like wives sitting on the staircase having cupcakes and tea, like husbands reading newspapers as their wives shine their shoes. like bulad, tocino, cocoa, whistling kettles. like kids brushing their teeth, dreaming of clouds from their mouth.

4)wear my clothes back. because, because, i will not want you to wear yours again like how you did way before we removed each piece by piece.

5)cry. because with the smell of saliva, i will laugh and call you names
i got from Encarta or my archives of boy bands.