if there was a way of ending things nicely, i’d rather dissipate into the clouds and break it to you in a form of rain and thunder, while the sun peeks, of course,
in that way, you can still sneak a view of sunshine.
instead you scatter grief like an unwanted child, shoving all these memories in a beat-up cardboard box with my name, hastily scribbled on top,
on my doorstep, without a note.
at least tell me what to do with all these broken things.
when i went home last october i saw the guava trees my father planted years ago, already tall and towering like mighty fences
their arms branching out like a protective shield over our house;
they sway with the wind and the fruits dangle in glee, i smile with resolve. my father is alive everywhere.
he never left. not really.
maybe they met on a rainy afternoon, when both looked for shelter or for something warm, or flaked by their own dates,
a slight bump in the elbow, a fallen notebook being returned, or a spilled coffee led to one thing and another.
it must’ve started in that same corner by the window where the sunlight drew the outlines of their faces.
her back, tense and rigid while his face was inscrutable–he was not looking at her.
the girl with the ash blonde hair stood up. leaving him and her untouched cup.
it must’ve blossomed in the rain but maybe she never liked hot coffee in the first place.
his eyes glowed under the fluorescent light like firewood ablaze,
sending warm jolts to my freezing flesh.
i turn away too late as it bores right through mine
Sucker punching me right in the chest.
his eyes are like honeycomb crystals, sparkling like rare diamonds
caramel toffee cookies. Honey glazed donuts. Chocolate mousse cake.
how is it possible to get past this sea of honey?
sink or swim? i pondered.
(if I had known that we were learning diving lessons today, I would have worn my lightest swimsuit and tucked my heart neatly out of my sleeve).
annbeifong is a Cebu-based writer who has an affinity for empty coffee shops, unlined notebooks and Hayao Miyazaki films. Her work has been recently published in a chapbook series called the Folio by Cebulit Festival. When she's not writing, she's busy watching cat videos, travelling and answering calls for a living.