Someday

There were questions left unwritten on the board,

questions no lesson had answered before.

No blank space waited for them by name,

no test ever asked why I felt this way.

Yet there they lingered, quiet and deep,

between notebook lines I was meant to keep.

Hidden in moments I carried alone,

growing in places I could not yet know.

Before I could name what lived inside me,

a light from another classroom found me.

And from that moment, something had changed—

a song with no singer, a feeling unnamed.

Years passed by, yet some things remained:

faces and memories I could not explain.

They stayed in my thoughts long after goodbye,

returning like stars to a darkening sky.

Yet whenever I reached for the shape of tomorrow,

they slipped from the picture and left only sorrow.

While others wore labels that seemed to belong,

I carried a question for far too long.

"What is your gender?"

"Who do you love?"

The questions were simple.

That was enough.

Others could answer as easily as their name;

I carried mine like an unfinished frame,

waiting for words that would one day arrive,

waiting for something that felt more alive.

Not because there were no answers to find,

but because some truths take time.

Some flowers do not bloom overnight,

some mornings take longer to welcome the light.

Some roads are clearer when viewed from afar,

some people need time to discover who they are.

Then one day, I looked at the rainbow above,

and saw something greater than color or love.

Not an answer, not a place to begin—

but proof that becoming is reason enough to begin.

A reminder that nothing is wrong with the wait,

that not every story is written by fate.

Some colors stay hidden behind clouds for years,

emerging at last when the sky becomes clear.

So if the day comes when I finally find

the name that has long been searching my mind,

I will not hide it, nor turn it away—

I will let it remain.

And when I finally speak that name,

I hope it feels like the end of the rain:

like a color in the rainbow, bright and true,

no longer asking where it belongs—

because it knew.

by Ma. Theresa Faith M. Alberto