dusty dreams

                  If I were in Leyte right now, I'd be on that big chair by the doorway, sitting like an Indian with crossed legs, I'd watch the sun set from a distance, marveling at the colors of the sky that are gradually changing, thinking to myself how awesome the Creator is, for life on earth has definitely been beautiful. I would be right at the shore letting my senses get the best of me, hoping to get a quick dip in the water, then eat avocado afterwards with our brown puppy who is strangely a fan of sweet smelling fruit. I would count the number of days I have left to stay and whine at my Aunt for the short-lived time. But I'm not in Leyte anymore, I can't stay and I can't whine for the limited time I have because I'm already here. The breathless take of the rising of the sun will forever be a distant memory, the tangible feel of the still water on my skin will be but a dream, and the scorching heat of the sun on my face will remain to be a sting that is not really there. I'm not close to the sea now as I was days ago, and I would never be close to it again. I can't feel the roughness of the sand in my feet, nor the stickiness of the ocean breeze on my hair. There's no more deafening silence for me, nor the choir of crickets at night, there's only me in a four cornered room feeling so far from existence and far from my own reality.