Thursday, May 18, 2006

Ghost Hunting


Summer will always be your season.

I remember summer mornings when you would fling open my door, greeting me with a smile. Hugs so early in the day.

Some mornings, you bring a tray into the room. We eat toasted bread generously(understatement) splayed with cream cheese. We talk. We could not stop laughing. We giggled like foolish schoolgirls about the mistakes that I've committed during the past week. We cried and shrieked at your accumulating audacities, at the eccentric nature that you always boasted you had.

We never stayed at home for long during summer. This was because you wanted to know if the air smelled different in other cities. So off we went, dragging Papa along with our hearts. Baguio. Tagaytay. Subic ( a month in a yacht!). Sunlight streaming on strange park benches and on your face.

Then I remember you, turning me to face you, saying, "Sunlight will always look good on my girl." Like light was a mere accessory. A skirt suited for the occasion.

Now, all I have left of you are these. Memories that i fight to keep. Memories that are as fleeting and as warm as the summerwind.

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