I thought we’d occupy the same space

indefinitely, through the eternities of everydays,

sometimes talking, sometimes merely breathing

in this Eden called Here, until


the sun set behind you and you talked of leaving.

“Good for you,” I say. But I hope you ache

the way I do, the way I have, the way I will.

Oh I’m over-dramatic, it was only a kiss


that one time

when we were drunk.

See I’m a fool

who would think of nothing else, crave nothing less.


Now every bottle I down is a halfway replay.

Always I’ll fall short of a kiss’ intoxication

but somehow float in the haze of a memory

gone stale with repeated remembering


and you’ll leave me dreaming of a kiss

that no more will be returned.



is not the end. It’s only the beginning of missing.


by Kat Madarang


Kat Madarang’s work has been published in the Electronic Monsoon Magazine and the Burningword Literary Journal. She is currently pursuing a Master’s degree in Creative Writing at the University of the Philippines.

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