simple things 

it’s the quiet, 
the space of air between 
us that we both take in 

it’s the looks, 
the way your eyes catch mine 
like some sort of secret, an inside joke 

it’s the gravity, 
the external force that draws 
us together, whether we want it to or not 

it’s the history, 
the knowledge that no one else can understand you as much as I do 

it’s these simple things 
I miss, staring at my ceiling in the dark, thinking of you, 
thinking of us, 
thinking of what we could have been if we cherished these moments 
a little more

the stars in the sky 

what’s desired is deprived of and 
the acquired forgets it has 
been bestowed by a star’s end; 
constant sprinting down a road as some inaugural physics law whereas we all could just accept our place 
what is first when a sphere is our race? 

what’s envied is what I contend, 
fixed to a conjecture as 
yellow is to the love of a friend, 
admonished for breeding bias; 
the very archetype of Midas 
is what we’ve all been taught to chase what is first 
when a sphere is our race? 

what’s in the stars, I can’t comprehend born for the sky, “lift us, Atlas” 
skill needs talent; though wisdom transcends even those with an eye for a canvas for A’s have been favored for eras 
tradition is not simply erased 
what is first when a sphere is our race?
 
what’s in being top of the class? 
what’s in taking all of the space? 
why want more than what one has? 
what is first when a sphere is our race?

and their shine

coated in hologram film,
by way of its reflection in my gaze,
the stars in our sky
are beautiful tonight,
alighting the twelfth stroke
with a mystical haze

wonder strikes me
at the beat of our time
how can wisdom be but a lie?
when the twinkles delight
and assurance seems right,
only those who know how can fly

you may cry and you may complain,
yet it is i who is left to look up,
rooted by inadequacy,
cursed unimaginably,
you are confined with the stars
so, isn’t the universe enough?

harder to rise than it is to maintain
harder to disprove than it is to accept
when i try, it’s my best
in my best, i’m still less
compared to whatever i hope to be
when i stand below your step

surely the stars don’t mean to bewitch
surely you’ll see if our souls were to switch

Czarina Datiles is an eighteen-year-old Filipino writer and poet from San Diego, California. A national medalist in the 2023 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, her works have been recognized by The New York Times and published in The Weight Journal. She loves rainy days, fantasy novels, and boba drinks.