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And then he stopped.

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At higit sa lahat, mahal kita kahit hindi ito makarating.

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Do not stand by my grave and weep; I am not there, I did not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awake in the morning’s hush, I am the swift upflinging rush. Of quiet birds in circling flight, I am the soft starlight at night. Do not stand by my grave and cry. I am not there, I did not die.

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Let’s spend the calm in nobody’s arms tonight then we can shake the world together after this freedom flight.

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Such is my unseemliness: I hate my epidermal dress, The savage blood’s obscenity, The rags of my anatomy.

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Every morning I see your face, And for that fleeting second I’m in a different place, A place where we smiled, laughed, and talked, A place where we could hold hands wherever we walked, I’m reminded of this each and every day, Then the sleep clears and it’s all blown away.

Realization sets in and I’m all alone, I quickly have to check my phone, In case you’ve called or sent me a text, Then it hits harder as what come next, Is the empty screen with your smiling face, And the emptiness of this forsaken place.

I wither up inside as all my hopes disappear, And the burn in my heart really starts to sear, I sink back in my bed and think of you, And wonder if there’s anything I can do, I’m knocked back every time I try to get through, And now the decision is up to you.

Leave me out here in the cold and the rain, Leave me to choke on the tears and the pain, Missing you every minute of every day, Loving you more and more in my way, One day, my love, this will all be like a dream, I just hope we can dream it together in our place so serene.

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I shall not sing a May song. A May song should be gay. I’ll wait until November And sing a song of gray.

I’ll wait until November That is the time for me. I’ll go out in the frosty dark And sing most terribly.

And all the little people Will stare at me and say, “That is the Crazy Woman Who would not sing in May.”

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Did I ever tell you about the two porcupines cuddling for warmth?

It was raining hard and it was cold so they were running from a storm

They were struggling to fit in the make shift shelter they have formed

But the cold was only bearable if they're within reach of each other's arms

And it was so cold that they didn't seem to bother each other's thorns

Both of them even got used to how their skins are being torn

For it was better to be hurt that way than be outside and be forlorn

But the furious rain kept pouring hard with such hatred and scorn

And the colder it got, the tighter they hugged from night until morn

Until the pricks of their thorns started feeling like a bull's gore of its horns

And it hurt so bad both of them started wishing they were never born

And how else could they keep each other away from each other's harm,

If staying alive is only possible if they could keep each other warm?

But they never thought of that, in their haste to get away from the storm

And they failed to notice that the act of hugging, by itself, is also a storm

And they never really had a chance, just a choice between a cold death and a death that's warm