Ocean waves crashing on a shoreline.

The Honolulu sunlight touches my skin, adding a darker tan to my natural olive tone.

I take a sip of my hot coffee — something most people would find repulsive in this heat — but for me, any time is the perfect time for a hot coffee. I do enjoy a cold drink, a cold joy now and then, but something about hot coffee, hot tea, has always added calm for me.

It’s September 12, 2024, and for the first time, I think I’m truly experiencing peace and happiness. Looking back, I know that peace came from the person beside me — the one who flew thousands of miles to make sure the day of my birthday wasn’t spent alone.

I take another sip, admire the person she is, and it hits me — I’d like to write about this moment with her. I’ve never experienced something quite like it. That day, I reach into my bag, retrieve a pen and notepad, and watch her tan self walk along the shoreline, listening to her giggle at my jokes. I begin to write down a few lines — lines that would later turn into a poem in my debut book.

Time passes. Hearts change. Decisions are made.

Phone calls turn into texts.

Texts turn into silence.

The story is a familiar one — easy to understand. No animosity, just a story being shared.

I begin to write from memory. One line, then two. Pages pile on the dresser, the desk, the nightstand. All these pages I compile, forming poems of love — beginning a book I would write for someone who may never read my words.