By CZERIZHA KAIZEL S. ADZUARA
Whenever I am with you, I learn how to decipher the smallest things.
I like how you run your delicate fingers through your hair after every laughter, including the attractive smirk your lips make when I stare at you for too long.
I know what shades of rose you pick for your lips by heart. You prefer dusty mauve pink in your calm days and a muted red-brown when you want to conquer the world.
There are times I marvel at the thought of blending your lips’ colors with mine. I would still call it art, no matter how smudgy it gets.
You tend to knot your hair into a bun when you tame the academic chaos laid before you. Your blue hair tie holds your messy locks firmly as you keep yourself whole.
I adore how your fingers gracefully steer every plight life has given you—I yearn to thread my fingers through yours.
I have seen every beloved detail of you through small apertures, but you do not want to be captured.
Nonetheless, here I tell you that even when everything goes hazy or when my eyes turn blind, you are the only focal point I ever want to see. F