The wind whistled on an empty street. A styrofoam cup breaks the silence as it dragged along the asphalt road. Two stray dogs, obviously unbothered while enjoying their nap on a fine Monday morning, perked their ears to the sound out of instinct. The scene, akin to apocalyptic movie scenarios, was eerie; as if the world was suddenly devoid of humans. It was as if the always hustling two-legged superior creatures were in a hurry to leave the planet. And the scattered broken plastic spoons and the flattened McDonald meal boxes were the only ones that served as proof that they once roamed this world.

It was indeed a different Monday morning. The streetlights switched their colors for no one. The ‘Walk’ sign changed from green to red to an empty pedestrian lane. The highway that was once full of angry honking and rushing pedestrians of different ages was now nothing but a long stretch of a gray band. Buildings, despite differences in sizes and colors, bore one thing similar: the “Closed” sign plastered on their doors. The world was at a standstill.

It’s already been two months since the news came out. I was on one of my grocery runs when I received a text from my colleague that work may be postponed. Roads will be closing and every establishment would have to shut down their operations. The virus was spreading- fast. And the only way to stop it was to deprive it of hosts. Flights were canceled. Public transport was halted. Everybody stayed at home. A lockdown was issued. From then on, it might have been that time just simply stopped in the Philippines.

A silent war was being fought.

Wars, for some.

While the rest of the world found comfort in their homes, my mind found a space to build cobwebs. Not because it wasn’t thinking of anything, it was the opposite. It was on full-energy mode, charging head-ons to simple worries, connecting every single thing to each other. Next thing I knew, my anxiety was up on levels I couldn’t even have imagined. The news didn’t help either. Every day, I wake up to devastating headlines.

Frontliners being mistreated, dying, and neglected while the so-called elites used their VIP cards (that came with their status) to be treated apart from the rest.

Hospital staff dying one by one due to a lack of PPEs while the rich flaunted their designer wardrobes.

The poor wandering aimlessly, trying to look for jobs while the ignorant called them out as “pasaway” (rule breaker) as she flashed her Netflix subscription in one of her instagram stories.

The busy macrocosm may have been on a standstill, but lives never stopped; rather, it was moving faster than ever before.

The worries of tomorrow were silent in form. First, the travel plans were canceled. Next, the future became unknown. Goals on journals now ended with question marks. We became unsure of everything. That small tug of anxiety was enough to shake the whole cobwebs. The night was too silent for the loud thoughts. The insects chirped but a thousand voices screamed inside my mind. Where are we possibly heading? What to do with the blueprint of 2020 I made during New Year’s eve? Will we ever go back? Will we ever survive? The days were long, the nights longer. Any light of assurance dimmed, no one was now sure of anything.

The silent wars are still being fought.

But wars end. When? No one knows. Nonetheless, continue the fight. The light at the end of the tunnel will come soon.

From head to toe,

clad in blue was she.

Her nails painted in the same hue

as the ink in her pen.

“Blue!” was what her room screams,

her car, too, says the same thing.

Like Midas was she,

only what she touches turns

to blue instead of a golden hue.

The sky and the sea,

a magnificent sight for her.

She would paint the whole town

blue if she could.

As she skips her blue shoes

on the pavement,

and as her blue skirt twirls

and her blue scarf flies with the wind,

a sight was she to behold.

Every eye mesmerized

by the girl in blue;

reminding them of tranquillity

and innocence.

But as the sky turns to black,

and she is left alone in her room,

the blue walls become waves:

drowning her in a sweet embrace.

Like a ship,

tossed about in waves of despair,

being wrecked by a harsh truth.

She could have anything in that hue

From shoes to toenails

To dresses to pen and papers

She could paint the whole town blue

Just to remember the eyes

she once saw

Eyes that made her heart plunged

Into the deepest ocean

Eyes that were like pools

She never wanted to get out of

That fateful day,

There is no other color existing

Other than rainbow's fifth one

She could paint the whole town blue

To feel like she's in his world

To feel his eyes on her

To drown in this sensation

She could paint the whole town blue

Yet his eyes would never wander

Back to her.

The apocalypse is near! Repent!

The words written in scrawny handwriting and on a brown carton was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. While trying to wriggle out of the nap I just had, I have no recollection of where I am or what am I doing. A few seconds of rubbing my eyes and forcing them to open, I then realized two things: I’m inside the bus and were at a bus stop. The latter helped me to piece the mystery of those words in red as the view on my window. The sign was held up by a man, who probably took the challenge “No Shave November”, clad in a brown coat and pants-- which, I assume, haven’t been in the laundry machine for months.

A loud hiss made me jumped in my seat and turned towards the sound, which is by the door. It was only then I noticed that the bus got crowded. I looked back at the man by my window but caught only a glimpse of him as the bus started moving. I slumped in my seat and checked my watch: thirty minutes before eight. Based on the current location, I have thirty minutes or so before reaching my stop. Letting out a yawn, I decided to take another nap. I set my alarm and drifted back to sleep.

***

A bump in the road jolted me out of my dreamless sleep and almost out of my chair. I checked my watch: 7:50. Frantic, I looked at the window and saw that I’m nearing my destination. As I stood up, I noticed that there were no people aboard anymore. Being in the middle section, I turned around to see if there were still at the back. None. My heart was racing. No, it’s fine. It’s normal, I said to myself. Some people might have gotten off early. That’s the only explanation, I said, trying to calm all my nerves. I decided to move up front, beside the driver. At least the driver didn’t disappear, I chuckled to myself, glad to have my sense of humor to help me cope at distress times.

“Umm, I get off at the next stop,” I said softly when I reached the steps, not looking at the driver.

“I’m sorry miss but the next stop isn’t for another thirty minutes. You could sleep for a while.”

Surprised at his response, I faced him: he’s not the driver from when I got on the bus.

“Miss, I suggest you get back on your seat, it’s not safe standing here,” he said when I still stood there, hands on my mouth.

“Okay, if you insist, at least grab the handles or the rails, you could fall. I’m telling you, going to where we are is not a smooth road,” he continued, not taking his eyes off the road, not even once.

Finding my voice, I asked him, “Whe-where are we going, exactly?”

“Well, I don’t know either, I’m just going to drop you off and then they will decide whether to send you to Heaven or Hell.”

My eyes widened and my legs began to feel wobbly. I reached for the rail and sat on the nearest chair.

“Ah great that you finally sat down. We all value safety here, miss.”

“He-Heaven or Hell?”, I asked, more to myself than to him. “And I think it’s hopeless to think that they’re hotel names by any chance?”, I said with a chuckle.

“Please sit tight miss, were almost there.”

Not wanting to ask anymore questions to make this all too real, I went back to my original seat before this all happened. I pinched my cheeks and arms, wanting and hoping this is all a dream. Nothing. I was still here, inside an empty bus with, I assumed, a reaper as a driver.

***

Five minutes after accepting the unavoidable fact that this a ride to wherever souls go, I decided to find ways to escape. Cheating death? Maybe, maybe not. It’s worth a try. I mean, I literally have nothing to lose now. I tried opening my window. Nothing.

“Well, it woundn’t be that easy or else heaven and hell would be short of souls,” I said with hands on my hips. I turned back to see my reaper slash driver. It looks like he is humming to the song “I’ll be There For You” from the sitcom Friends. Don’t think I have no questions with this repear business. I have lots of them. But right now, I’m just thankful that he is distracted, and that he doesn’t hum to “Highway to Hell”.

Knowing that I have time, I moved to the back of the bus and started trying to open the windows.

***

Almost out of breath and out of windows, I find myself almsot at the driver’s seat with only one window left. I heard no click and no sign of an escape route. I was praying that this would be it, though I am not so sure that God allows a soul to ditch death. But hey, worth a try. With my eyes closed and with all the faith I could muster, I tried the last window. But then, the bus came to a screeching halt.

No, no, no, no! I screamed in my head.

“Are we aready there?”, almost screamed at the entire bus.

The reaper turned his face to me and gave me smile. If it was for assurance, then it wasn’t successful. “Well, yes and no. You’ll see when you step out. I just take my orders. Thanks for being a good passenger though. You rarely made a fuss.”

I ignored him and looked towards the door. I guess you can’t outrun fate or death. I could feel my body being controlled towards the door, as if there’s a giant magnet. I let, whatever it is that makes my wobbly legs walk, drag me until I am face to face with the door. I looked back to my reaper and saw him giving me a big smile and a thumbs up. As unnerving as it seems, I managed to gave him back a weak curve of my lips. I saw him pushed a button and the door hissed. A yellow “Bus Stop” sign greeted me. And as a habit, I checked my watch: 8:15. I took the deepest breath I could manage and stepped out. As soon as I touched the pavement, a white light swallowed me.

***

“Heart rate’s rising”

Where am I?

“Oxygen levels good.”

Oxygen?

“Pulse is steadying.”

Is this heaven?

“Eyes are opening.”

What is that light? Please let this be heaven.

“Hello miss, can you hear me?”

Yes, I can hear you. Please stop shouting.

I blinked my eyes and I can see blurry white figures. Angels?

“Miss, you were in an accident. Please stay calm, you’re alright. We got you,” the white figure beside me said. When my eyes can finally decipher things, I see doctors and nurses with their white coats and dangling stethoscopes.

“Where am I?” I managed to say despite the dryness in my throat.

“You’re in a hospital. Your bus got into an accident. Most of you are injured. You have a fractured rib and a head trauma. You lost a lot of blood. In fact, we almost lost you--”

“What time?”, I interrupted.

The doctor looked at me as if she didn’t understand the language I spoke. “Excuse me?”

“What time did I flatline?”

“Oh, uh, it was 7:50”, she said, still confused.

I almost smiled. “What time is it now?”

“Uh,” she rolled her sleeves up to check her watch, “8:15. Why?”

Ignoring her question and confused looks, I laid back down with a grin on my face. Maybe my prayer was answered, I thought.

“Miss, we’re going to put you to sleep. Okay?”, the doctor said while injecting something to my IV.

I nodded.

Before the sedatives embraced me, I swore I heard someone humming the themesong of Friends.

I passed by a bridge, a swirling silhouette of me looking back. I waved, it didn't.

It seems that I have reached the rumored troll bridge. Ruth, the Healer of the East have warned me not to get engrossed by how ancient it looks. Truthfully, the bridge seemed to be woven by high elves. Or maybe, the trees, tired of being apart, decided to grow their roots long enough to reach each other and meet halfway. Whatever it was, the place is definitely magical. It was as if it came straight out from a painting by Van Gogh. The water below is sparkling, running smoothly as leaves and flowers rode on it. And the leaves danced with the wind, creating a wonderful sound of the breeze.

I was counting the pink flowers on the river when I realized that my silhouette wasn’t there anymore. I immediately touched my face, praying to the gods I didn’t evaporate or something. I pinched myself to see if I was alive. I froze. I couldn’t feel a thing! I slapped my face again. I could hear the sound produced when my hand met my face but I couldn’t feel anything, not even a small tingle. Frantic, I searched for a stick sharp enough to pierce my skin. People always told me I was thick-skinned; and now, I do hope they don’t mean it literally. I was about to scream when a deep voice behind me said, “Well, that’s not gonna work; you’ll just scare off the faeries.”

I looked back and saw nothing but the mountains in the distance.

“Maybe you should try looking down below, lassie”, the voice said.

And lo behold, standing a little higher than my knees was a dwarf. He has a long beard that reached down to his shoes. He has a pipe on his left hand and - which came as a surprise - an owl on the other. The owl was half as big as the dwarf; it was sleeping though. The dwarf wore no hat and his hair was as long as his beard. He wasn’t stout, just a little bulky. He wore a rather elegant cloak draped over his shoulders - one that is able cover his entire existence.

“Ruth didn’t tell you that it’s rude to stare?”, he said, breaking my focus.

“I apologize. It’s just that when they say it’s a troll bridge, you’d expect a troll, wouldn’t you?”, I replied and then added, “no offense though. I’m sure you have reasons.”

He smoked the pipe and the owl stirred and left his hand. It flew towards the trees.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s navigating”, the dwarf said after seeing my hesistation to ask him. “My name is Abraham, and yes, I am the guardian of the bridge. Nice to meet you Alexandra.”

Before I could ask how did he know my name, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, you’re not dead yet. Your reflection went away for a while. You see, this bridge is quite special. It feeds on the passer-by’s existence to continue growing. If you would stay still for a while and really listen, you can hear it breathing.” And as if to prove his point, Abraham smoked his pipe with his eyes closed. I could hear nothing but the beating of my heart, the blood pumping in my ears. I looked at the dwarf, and if dwarves have the ability to sleep while standing, then I’m seeing it firsthand.

“I dont - ”

“Sssshh, it never was easy to listen for things you don’t want to believe, right?”, Abraham said, still with eyes closed.

I heaved a deep sigh of defeat and closed my eyes. I could hear the rustling of the water beneath us. I could hear the swaying of the trees. I could hear the owl’s hoots. My forehead creased as I forced my eyes to stay shut and really listen. I was about to give up when all of a sudden, silence descended. No other sounds to hear, not even the beating of my heart. It was peaceful but also deafening. I tried opening my mouth, forcing my throat to produce sounds but there was nothing. How can silence hurt this bad?

“Did you hear it?”, were the first words I heard; and it was like being dropped from the sky. I opened my eyes and saw Abraham looking down below. I followed his gaze. My reflection was still not there, only his. I tried pinching myself again, and I saw my skin turning red, but there was nothing. No sensation. Nothing.

“Did you hear it?”, he asked again. Apparently, the dwarf doesn’t like being ignored.

“I didn’t”, I said, frowning and still pinching my skin.

“Stop doing that to yourself. I doesn’t do you any good.”

“But I want to feel. I am not feeling anything. Am I dead?”

“Trust me, sometimes you don’t want to feel anything.” He smoked again from his pipe, creating smoke rings. “You’re not dead, child.”

“But you said the bridge feasts on a passer-by’s existence; did the bridge eat mine?”, I asked, still hurting myself. My arm was almost bruised.

“I told you to stop hurting yourself. Pain is never a measure of living”, he said, this time with a stern voice. “Feelings are the core of our existence. Without them, we’re just hollow vessels.”

“If I didn’t know that, you’d think I wouldn’t keep hurting myself?”, I said, my eyes wandering for something sharp enough once again.

“Oh, but dear child, pain is not the only feeling out there.”

Before I could even respond to that, the owl let out a screech. I looked at Abraham but he looked like he didn’t hear it.

“Is she okay?”, I asked, pertaining to the bird.

“Her name is Korra”.

I waited for a continuation but it seemed like it was the only information I would ever know about the owl. I searched for her in the trees, seeing that her master doesn’t seem to be worried at all about her. My eyes darted from different colors of the leaves from - which is also quite surprsing- the same tree. I didn’t notice it before but there is no denying that the tree from the other side have wide branches and almost covers the land. What looked like several trunks were in fact branches of the tree in the middle. A tree having different colored-leaves and as big as that? Who knows what magic these strange lands have.

“How did you know Ruth?”, I asked out of nowhere.

Silence.

I guess dwarves are not that talkative. I let out a sigh. Maybe there’s an annual gathering of magic-yielding creatures. I scratch my head, clearly frustrated that I have no answers to everything that has been, and still is, transpiring since I got to the bridge. I looked down below - still no wavy reflection. Am I even existing at this very moment? If this was a dream, how would I even know that?

“I can assure you you’re not dreaming, child. It is amusing. Sometimes, when things go too well, we tend to ask if it’s a dream. Same goes when something bad takes place.”

I was startled to hear the dwarf spoke, but what’s even more surprising - and a bit creepy- is that he knew what I was thinking. Magic is truly weird.

I ran out of words to say, or even think at this moment. Knowing that Abraham would not answer my questions anyway, I just let his words ride the wind - just as what his smoke rings do.

Minutes have passed and no one said a word. Korra, the owl, didn’t make a sound either - wherever she might be. I was thinking of moving along, going to the journey I set for myself. Ruth would be furious to know that I took a long time at the place she warned me about.

“I’d better go”, I said turning towards Abraham the dwarf.

“Yes, you should,” he said without even giving me a glance.

“Am I going to be okay?,” I asked him, clearly wanting him to tell me what this is all about.

“No, you are not. No one ever is once they got rid of who they really are.”

Now, that statement got me terrified and even more confused. A little angry too, if I might add. “Please, enough with the riddles. I am desperate here.”

Abraham looked me in the eyes for the first time and said, “Find the green door. You will find there what you are seeking for.”

I paused for a good few minutes before asking, “And I suppose you won’t tell me where it is?”

The dwarf let out a guffaw, almost choking on his pipe, startling me for two reasons: one, I didn’t know that this grumpy creature is capable of laughing; and two, I didn’t know what was funny in what I said.

My questioning look might have been so obvious that Abraham said, “You amuse me, child, Ruth was right when she said you are worth my time.” He cleared his throat and composed himself while staring right ahead, smoking his pipe as if nothing happened; it was as if the moment was nothing but a momentary crease. “The green door is found on the trunk of the tree. See that one in the middle?”, he said while pointing the end of his pipe towards the huge tree I saw earlier.

“So I have to just go there? It’s that simple?”, I asked while squinting my eyes at the tree, trying to see if there’s a hint of the door.

“Everything with a price is never simple, child”, he said this while shaking his head, a gesture indicating that he had heard this question before. “The door can only be opened if you really know what you’re looking for.”

“Well, that’s easy since I know what I am looking for”, I said.

Abraham tucked his pipe away and snap his fingers. “Do you?”, he asked. Before I could answer, Korra, the owl, suddenly swoop in and landed on his right shoulder. “Remember, you will never know what you’re looking for until you find it.”

I looked at him, wondering if I should ask him what he meant. Knowing it’s best not to, I looked down the bridge again. Still no reflection. “You know, it will be easier to tell me what exactly is happening rather than talking in riddles.” Silence. I looked up and saw that I was alone once again. The dwarf left as quietly as he had come. “I guess I’ll add another thing on my list of things I don’t like: disappearing dwarves.”

I started to cross the bridge to get to the green door; it’s time to find my reflection, I guess, and other answers too.

On the way, thoughts about what Abraham said are echoing in my ears and mind. I never really knew what I would do on this journey. The moment I told Ruth I would be traveling, I never really had an itinerary in mind. But now that I lost my reflection back there, I am eager to find it - or even just wanted to know if I lost it in the first place. Maybe I’ll know when I see another body of water, or if I open the green door.

It took me five or more minutes before reaching the tree and; I saw my goal, etched on its wide bark that reaches five meters, I guess. But what really caught my eye was the green door. It was small, almost a meter wide and two meters tall, and almost sparkling in the sunlight. I reached out to touch, to see if there was any jewelry or gold embedded on it, but found nothing. “Magic yet again,” I said aloud.

I stared at the door for a good minute before arriving at a decision to finally go in. I reached for the doorknob, a bit rusty. Before turning it, I found myself drowning in thoughts. Will it open? If yes, what will I find inside? What if it won’t open? Am I going to be stuck here on the bridge and in the forest, lost forever? I shook my head as if these thoughts will go away with it. “It’s now or never, Alexandra.” I heaved a deep sigh and turned the knob.

No signal.

It has been that way since the rain started. It wasn’t that bad though, the weather: dark clouds loomed over but you can still see some silver linings. People are going in and out of the coffee shop where I’m at, drying themselves and cursing the rain.

I have my favorite spot at the front of the door so I could see everyone who goes in. There was one bald guy who just wiped his head while also trying to close his umbrella. After telling the barista that he wants his americano A.S.A.P, he sat at the table beside me and started to rummage inside his bag. I was answering my almost-finished crossword, trying to mind my own business - apparently not an easy thing to do inside a small coffee shop. I noticed he stood up again, with his eyes frantically darting from floor tile to another. I was about to ask him what he’s looking for when he slumped down on his seat and said to no one in particular, “Great, I lost the watch.” I could see the sadness in his eyes before I asked, “Was it a gift?”

“Not really”, he sighed and added, “just the only thing that reminds me of my dad. He used to borrow them from me. He thought it made him look cool”. He chuckled at the thought. “Well, I guess it’s time to let that thing go. It wasn’t working anyway.” Before I could response, the barista came with his coffee - and we went back to being strangers.

At that moment, another dripping soul was just outside the door, trying to pull it even though the sign clearly says “Push”. The medical student with her white uniform and tons of book struggled to fit herself in the space the door made, oblivious of her mistake of not reading the signs. She has her right foot inside while the other is still getting soaked. Realizing that her desperation to get in as if there was a zombie apocalyse outside blinded her from the logic that doors aren’t supposed to have that narrow of an opening, the barista quickly aided her. She laughed at herself and quickly came in, leaving a trail of water as she went at the back. She went to the counter to place her order while also talking to someone on the phone. Ordering an iced americano in this weather was surprising, but I guess people have their own preferences. I was busy thinking of what could be a four-letter word which is a witch’s concoction when she raised her voice enough for everyone to hear, “I can’t just find a new one! He gave me that pen!”. Finally aware that she just made everyone stop on whatever they were doing, she tried to argue in hushed tones to avoid eavesdroppers - which, again, is impossible to do because every sound can be heard in this tiny space. Before she could get back to her table, I heard her say, “It doesn’t matter that he broke up with me, that pen was the only thing I kept in memory of our time together.” Wow, that story just became interesting, I thought.

The door kept swinging after that. People rushed in, ordered coffee, and talked. The conversations overlapped one another, and soon the once quiet coffee house was buzzing with life. Being a regular customer here, I could say that this moment was probably the busiest time for the barista.

I just finished my crossword and looked around. Some tables were full of empty cups and plates but showed no sign of leaving. I looked outside and realized the weather was more intense than it was an hour ago.

Having nothing to do, I browsed my phone’s contents - a very rare task for me since I don’t use my phone except for using the net, reading e-books, taking photos, and answering calls and chats. Without the luxury of an internet connection right now, it was such a strange feeling to go through my gallery and inbox.

There were things that were over five years old: pictures and messages from old friends I have lost connection with for over a year now. I have this habit of holding on to things - which I didn’t know has consequences: both good and bad. After all, the past isn’t an easy thing to let go - especially if it held a lot of happiness than the present time. I have boxes in my room that contain little things - or whatever is left of bigger things - that I’ve given value because of the memory they held or just because I thought I might still need them. Rocks, shells, and even colored glass shards, occupy the inside of a shoe box that once held my first high-heels. The box would get filled up as time passed by. Later on, it held diary notes of my highschool days and prom nights; of red love letters and rose petals turning into a shade of brown.

At some point in my life, I tried to kick this habit out. Not because there were no more boxes to fill up, but because I found it tiring and painful to keep memories alive. I fought the urge to store and will every muscle of my hands to throw stuff away. I can say it was going well enough: the boxes aren’t piling up and the things I tend to keep became fewer.

However, there would always be a moment where my eye would get a glimpse of one those boxes; and out of curiosity, I’d open it - which later on I wished I didn’t. The memories that came with it were like huge waves hitting the seashore: loud and painful, dragging me back to that bottomless pit; like trees and windows being slapped by the wind and rain. Pictures of a past lover of whom you thought and sure was the one, of friends whom you’ve lost, of smiles and laughter you thought were going to last.

I thought I have let it go.

I thought I was already healed.

My room may seem organized, tidy, and spacious, but there are still skeletons hidden inside a box under my bed, haunting me.

If the guy before hadn’t lost his watch, would he even let it go?

That medical student wouldn’t even let that pen go even though she knows it just reminds her of a painful heartbreak.

How do you let go of a joyous past even if it now tastes bitter?

How do you throw away the things that held a happy memory, that remind you of a life you once had? Of a love you once had? Of a smile you once had?

Or a person you once had?

How do you empty the boxes?

Before I could linger on that thought, the bald guy beside me stood up. Though it may seem brief, I saw in the corner of my eye how he rolled up his sleeve and looked at the spot that once held a watch he dearly loved. He put his hands in his pocket and walked past me. The rain had finally stopped.

People were starting to get up, exclaiming their relief that the downpour was over. The pavement outside glistens as a ray of light peeked out behind the clouds. The coffee shop was soon empty, except for me and the other students who clearly have notes to finish. The quiet came back. It was as if nothing happened.

The coffee cup resting on my table had gone cold. So far, my gallery went from 800 pictures to 200. The dates weren’t recent. Others were dated back from 5 years ago, others a year ago. The pictures of my cat who died last year were still there; but on the same day, the picture of a list of students who got into medschool, without my name on it, was not there anymore. Cliche as it is, the past is never coming back. You can’t relive it and expect a different present and future. It’s untouchable. A thing to learn from, but not a thing to hold on to. Cliche bells are ringing everywhere, but I guess it’s a universal realization and agrrement: you can’t stay in the past, you can’t bring the past with you. To quote a snow queen: Let it go.

However, there are things worth keeping - ones that remind you of love more than pain, of hope more than loss. Memories are not all bad, sometimes they can turn a seemingly dull day into a bright one.

There will always be a box; no matter how hard you try, a box of memories will be found under your bed. And the box would never remain empty, but it would not also remain full. A day will come when it’s time to empty it: to make way for new things, new memories, new moments. And when that day comes, a gush of fresh air will fill your lungs as if it was the first time the door opened.

I took a sip of that lukewarm coffee - which I regretted the moment the liquid touched my lips. The light that was unseen a while ago penetrated the glass walls effortlessly and made its way to my table; but it was a different kind that touched me: it wasn’t a blinding one - it was a rainbow. Funny how the universe likes coincidence sometimes. I looked up my phone - still no signal, not even a bar. I guess there’s nothing else to do here. I stood up and opened the door. The wind that carressed my face was cold. I tok a deep breath and stepped out: wondering with glee as to what this year awaits me, of what kinds of things I’ll be putting in my empty boxes.

Sweet winged Cupid, why forsake us now?

Hath time made you forget your vow,

Vow to make us one in harmony

And work together in misery?

Blind Cupid, answer thy call,

Innocent Juliet now cries to the wall

Don't just listen to her anguish 'til tomorrow

Don't find delight to hear her moans of sorrow.

Oh wretched selfish Cupid,

Why made my world suddenly morbid?

Do you find shooting amusing,

Then leaving us without even a warning?

Cupid, Angel of Hearts, if I may ask,

Was the Love in your eyes just a mask?

If not, then hast thou ran out of arrows?

'Coz love is what you promised, not sorrows.

Oh wicked winged Cupid, you left me astray

Was I just a part of the game you play?

Thou hath flew away

and I wish I should have,

Cut thy wings of "love".