by Regina Khloie Maderazo

The Ruins

Regina Khloie Maderazo

You slip into the cracks of yesterday; my hands dart out to prevent your fall. I’d rather have what is left of you than to have nothing of yours at all.

The cobblestones underneath my bare feet shiver and shake, longing for your return. The home we built has crumbled from the heat, and I, alone, am left to watch it burn.

I trudge through memories, looking for our last, my hands longing for the heat of your skin. Is it wrong of me to wallow in the past if it' s the only place I could find you in?

Time devours the memory of you and I, its lips grinning as I sift through the ruins of us; Time knows I am a fool clinging to a lie— a wayfarer searching for a home that never was.

love in unsaid words

Bettina Basilio

maybe it’s all bittersweet, or maybe it’s the heat of your hand that I miss (even though I never let myself have it.) and I hate to think that I will never understand; what is it about human nature that makes us so drawn to regret, drunk on the lies we tell ourselves, freely pretending like we ever had the freedom of wanting?

maybe it was cynical, satirical, or maybe it’s the mystical way you reached out to me (even when I was never brave enough to reciprocate it.) and I tread the surfaces of crumpled-up letters, plastic roses, and detached guitar strings as if I’m better off without them, but like a wandering wayfarer, I still remember.