Give Yourself a Little Bit of Everything


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Time will pass, and everything on it too will follow. Or as some others have said, time will remain constant, and so everything on it too. It’s just that whichever side time stands, we stand against it. Like a mirror we see them (time and everything) the way it reflects us. So why not give everything you can give to yourself while you can still see your reflection.

Last night I met different people. Met, to the idea that I was just able to dine and listen to their stories. I don’t know them. And knowing a person is the critical thing already. It will make you question how much does knowing will be knowing. Don’t get me wrong though, I don’t want to get deeper with this conversation as I know I wouldn’t be able to fully explain it again. So let’s just end this topic as is for now.

Continuing with what’s happening with my life. I was drunk last night. It’s not that I can’t walk straight anymore in fact I had the strength to walk  a kilometer before deciding that my feet are too tired after a whole day of work. I am a college drop out so I’m working. Although I have told in an earlier letter that I am thankful, what’s wrong now is that I begin to question my decisions with my life because I want something else and yet I’m stuck with the things I didn’t feel like doing, or should I say didn’t expect that I’d be doing. I would question, “Why, that even though at a state that we are more capable of achieving the things we want we still deny ourselves of it?”

So I would think, and think, and think. First if this action is even a product of my own decision, or a decision of providing others what they expect from me. Because I would have proved to myself that living life out of other’s expectations will bring you no good. That’s why I would believe that it’s no Karma that brings you bad luck after you have walked the path that is not wished by others you walk, but rather challenges. Since they are new and strange things to you. Cliche it is, to tell you this but aren’t “Clichés remind and reassure us that we’re not alone, that others have trod this ground long ago.” from Ilustrado by Miguel Syjuco.

P.S. Everyday we die a little, so why not die with the things we want.



Trust Your Instincts



First I would like to explain why I am putting titles on my letters, I don’t know though sometimes I feel like I must start with ‘Dear Self,’ or ‘To someone I haven’t met yet,’ which sounds more appropriate. Well the titles seems to make me feel that I’m writing for myself too. Although this letter is categorized as Open Letter to Myself, I’m writing this to somebody I haven’t met yet. The future me I suppose. Anyway today as I said yesterday I have to travel 3 hours everyday to get to my work, so this time I tried leaving earlier just to see if I can be on my workplace with a lesser travel time. Unfortunately today was the most grueling so far since I started working. I have just been with my job for almost four months, it’s not that I am complaining about it, it’s just that I realized how some people like me who commutes everyday is somehow deprived of their rights. Oh well if it sounds that I’m complaining then I’m complaining but as i don’t want to get that far, I’m going back to my title.

Trust your instinct, I learned today just how to do it. It’s no easy feat i should say, because it takes trusting, and whether you admit it or not, one way or another we all have trust issues. So trusting your instinct is not just building trust with yourself, but building yourself. I don’t know how to explain this one in details but someday I hope I can. Maybe when your reading this you already can explain to a five year old child. Because explaining it to a child is the only means you can fully understand it.

So that’s it for now. I have lots to share about if I wanna go in details of this days event. I don’t have photos to share for now, but it was raining all morning if you would like to know about the weather. And also I have some mistakes that I’m now thinking on how I will learn from it. But in general I just want to share what I just learned and that is trusting yourself is like building yourself, oh no not like, but is. See I learn fast in correcting myself I hope you do too.


P.S. One honest thing, I’m looking forward to  meeting you someday.

Cheer Up


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Today started out gloomy. The clouds cover the whole blue sky, grey clouds that is. Of course three hours on the road to go to your work isn’t making your day any better. I just don’t know why I can’t find some things to be thankful for at the beginning of this day. I wasn’t able to read and enjoy a book in the middle of the traffic. Neither did I enjoy the drizzle which I always liked because it seems to settle my mood.

But then I still need to work with this kind of mood, just like how I think you need to do something even though when you’re feeling not doing it. Responsibility I must say is the right word that we can refer to. Although I should say that there are things that I was able to find thankful at the end of the day. One is that I have a job. I don’t know what you need to be thankful of, but for me having a job means that  I am somehow capable of doing some things some people aren’t capable of. I’m tired but this feeling this way isn’t something to get irritated about. Another thing I was able to find thankful for is that I have friends. And then as the bus goes on the highway back home I was able to find more reasons to be thankful for, for instance a home to go back to at the end of the day. Or even just a place to stay is enough to be thankful for. You see I was able to find some things to realize that there is always that small things that we can and always feel contented about.

I don’t want to sound preachy, but next time you feel gloomy, I hope you’ll remember this day, this letter that I wrote to you. By the way, I was able to dine with my bosses at lunch. Have I told you that my boss is so humble to begin with. Another thing to be thankful for.  I hope you’ll have a chance someday, wherever you are now, to eat with people who makes you feel better.  That’s it for now, until next time.

P.S. I would really like to write a long letter to you, if only I will have enough time.




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Calatagan Island


It was when I look out the window of our office located at the 11th floor of the building that I felt like good things are coming. First is that I felt like I will stay longer than I thought I would in this company I’m working now. Second is that there are just good things that are coming, just like how winter comes.

It was an idle time, nothing much to do in the middle of the day. It was also just after lunch time so my sleepy head is quite the one on the lead today. I thought what could be the reason that I thought of this? I was reading  Haruki Murakami’s Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World but I don’t think that it’s the cause. Giving it more time to think about, about after two hours, I found myself watching the great clouds outside the window. Great. Enormous. Gigantic clouds that seems to be playful and not the one that brings rain which then floods the city. Outside the windows that sometimes gives me chills when I think about the possibility that it may break and like the window of the planes in movies, it sucks out everything. I wished I could take a photo of them, but phones are not allowed inside our work place. Rather I was left mesmerizing over them while putting into the depth of my consciousness.

And further thinking I just had these thoughts of how free are those clouds. They live and roam the sky without any limit, they can be of any form they like. They will fall down as rain, but then they can regain themselves again. Or should I thank those water molecules instead who decided to form these clouds, who somehow made my day. Those small, tiny water molecules who can’ t even be seen by our naked eyes.

Finally, I’m just inspired. I made this just to remind myself that I was once inspired by those clouds. I’m thinking now of how I can put them into art, of how I can eternalize the feelings that I just had.

Something I Call My Own


What is something we can call ours and ours only? Something we can share but can never be stolen, something we all have even more unique than our fingerprints and DNA’s. I’ll give you a hint, it’s a five letter word that starts with s and ends with y. I bet you already got it. I thought of making, or rather sharing my own, after reading Michelle’s blog entry Every Truth  has a Qualifier. A story is something I call my own.

I begin by asking myself who am I. Because then there I start to look at myself, at my story.

First I’ll share with you how I got into blogging. It was just something I saw as I surf the net, then I tried doing one entry, the date was barely remembered, and the next thing I know is that I am making blog entries every now and then. The story here isn’t the process but to how I started by trying it. I think there’s more in trying, there’s more in saying to ourselves that there’s no harm in trying, although we know there is we just don’t care about the tragic end because our dreams is bigger than fear. And also if we think enough about the harm in trying is that it is what we are all looking for in this life, as long as it’s not fatal, the harm that can teach us.

So I write, but before that, I first learned to read. Who am I reading? My first love of my life in literature is The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry. Who isn’t going to fall with that book, and would somebody be even so insensitive meeting a boy lost in the middle of a scorching desert, I don’t think anybody would be. But then what turned me to love this little prince even more is growing up and realizing that I was the little prince. That deep inside me lives a prince that dreams, and learned to love selflessly. In fact it’s one of the books that I reread at least once a year.

Another one who will teach me is Santiago from Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist. This I tell you is another great story. Like the little prince, Santiago also is a dreamer. So much to tell but I think one way of describing it is that it’s an inspirational read to anyone who dreams.

The newest and the youngest in my list, and also the one that opened a new realm of literature is Haruki Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore. Now this is something better talked about rather than being written, so if you really want to talk about Kafka, let’s meet.

So much with reading and writing, I like to share some of my other hobbies, that is walking, yes I walk a lot and I wonder why some people hate walking, I wonder if they’re just lazy enough or just don’t see the tranquility it brings me. With walking I can see the world in my pace. It also let’s me think things and sometimes it lets me unload some dead weight as I take step after step. I can remember when did I first made this a hobby. Sometimes when I look for inspiration to write, I walk, sometimes just out of doing nothing, that happens barely because I have a load to read books. But this is one I didn’t really bother wondering how I started, other than the good for the body benefits I see from doing this, I think I can grow old walking because somehow it also taught me how to appreciate solitude, in a good way.

Taking another step forward my story, I share with as how I see myself with my age, regardless of the number, I believe I’m still too young and still got a lot to learn. Like a lot, rather than just a barrel, I think there is a ship full of barrel that is waiting for me to discover out there, not in the sea I hope, because I have thalassophobia.

Thalassophobia, fear of the sea, you may be wondering why. Because I feel like the sea is a very mysterious thing, that it hides a lot of things and thus I am afraid what am I about to see, theoretically I can say that I fear the unknown, but the sea is the only place I feel like there’s some truth under it that can swallow me hole.

I think this is getting long, and yet I still feel like there’s a lot to tell, sorry if you haven’t found what you’re looking for when you started reading this, but all I wanted to share is who I am with my story, and now I think you see my almost everyday life.

So what’s you story? Who are you?


10 Traditional Dating Rituals The Tinder Generation Needs To Revisit

I believe no. 10 is the best to revisit, because I see that writing is a process that teaches us patience and shows us the truth of what we really feel, though I also think not one of them is less valuable than the other. So for every guy, why don’t we start practicing these acts again…

Source: 10 Traditional Dating Rituals The Tinder Generation Needs To Revisit



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just another train station

Then it came,
Like the rain fiddling on the roof,
Pieces of sanity falling from the sky,

And it went,
A train lost in tracks,
A platform deserted by passengers,
A music hall with no sound,
Cold as snow down the front yard.

The pain of losing emotion,
Isn’t close as to losing you.
The pain of losing devotion,
Isn’t close a thing in losing my reason as you.

Then it came, everyday,
Until it can’t pour no more,
The pain of losing you,
Even died losing you.

The Beginning in the End


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It was 12 midnight when I opened my laptop and started typing. After a few start, which happened after deleting and starting and deleting again, I remembered one of my stories I submitted to a publisher making another anthology. Unfortunately my story did not pass the editors qualifications. Since then I continuously edited my story until I could not improve it anymore. And I am bound to submit another story this coming few months which I have been eyeing for quite some time. I was denied twice already, but that did not stop me from writing, now I’m thinking of making my own anthology once I have 16 unwinning stories from contest, and anthology series, I join. Now I share to you my first story in my, hopefully, first anthology someday entitled Unwinning Stories

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Memories, like dead stars, can be seen but can never be touched again. The emotion can never return once we moved on. The feeling we try to remember will always be felt but rather it will be just a memory.

She sat beside me, silently.

I didn’t mind then, but the moment she sat, I thought if there were some other people who would be asking about the vacant sit and that I knew she was the last one, I would have said the seat is taken to all the other who would have asked.

Simple, slender, smart looking, with face perfectly sculpted by whoever made her, eyes with a glow like that of stars. Wearing a yellow dress with flowers that matched the season. Also, she was wearing a hat, and was carrying a handbag that matched her dress. That’s how I remember her, though whatever her footwear then is that I missed, I was always thinking how she would look more perfect if I can remember how she looked with a foot wear.

I felt like I found what I was looking for since I remember I started searching.

“Why do people leave?” She asked minutes later. I was hesitant at first to answer although I know that she was talking to me and not to the other vacant seat beside her, nor to the barista.

I was at an open bar in a resort owned by some rich owner whom I didn’t know. Yet I was thinking of him or her, or whoever tycoon owner they are, of how they managed to win this big, of how much work they must have done, that was what’s on my mind before she asked me about the vacant seat.

“I’m sorry but I’m not the one who leaves people so I don’t have answers for that.”

Very gently she smiled. And our eyes met, and to how our eyes meet seems to be an existence itself that wants to stay yet forbidden to. She stayed silent, and smiled and just stared at me. And that’s what she just did. I noticed she was pretty attractive, and to me, some women are just pretty but they don’t attract me. And the moment she laughed, it was like the spell has been cast upon me.

I fell in love at first sight. But what defines meeting for the first time? I feel like our souls could have been lovers long before we were born into this new world of ours. New world because there was a past, because there was something we like to leave behind.

I smiled at her but I made it to the point that her spell didn’t have any effect on me yet. Maybe through experience that I’ve become like this or maybe through intuition that this woman is the one who’ll break me most so I didn’t want to make myself too much attached to her.

That was how our first meeting went, or that is how I remember it. A love story with no ending, but then how do we define the end, I thought. Probably a story never ends, we just cut it and decide it’s the end, a story always continues, a story like ours with hopes that I might see her again, because I want to.

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“Whatever it is you’re thinking, I find it too deep.” A woman said as I was staring at the street outside while a drizzle is watering the dry cement of the city. There was no traffic, but what took my attention looking through the glass that divided the world in the café and outside of it, is that I am seeing both – the world inside the café and outside of it; through the reflection and through the glass.

“I’m thinking about death.” I said, not really talking to her.

She sighed and only then I realized that she looked like the woman I met a month before on a bar, less the spell of attraction.

“I’m thinking about you.” I continued.

“You’re thinking I’m death?” She asked with a grin.

“No, no, forget ‘bout death, it was just the rain seems …like death.”

“I don’t think that death is like a rain, I think he’s like a sunny day.” She said, gazing at the street again.

“We run into each other a lot lately, don’t you think it has something to say?”  I asked her.

“We do?” She asked and then she sipped from her drink. I didn’t answer her, I’m not sure. I was shocked at her drinking.

She noticed my reaction then she raised her cup and said, “Oh this?” With her eyebrows raised with sophistication. “We’re not the same.” She continued.

“Does that disappoint you?” She asked after I dropped the conversation. But what would I say, I forgot about people like her with the ability.

“Going back to what we’re talking.” She said, cutting out the silence. “What do you mean by ‘it’?”

“It?” I was quite confused trying to remember what I just said, “Our meetings, fate. Don’t you think it is telling us something?” I said as I look outside the window.

Then turned silent. She just stood and walked out the café. I tried to follow her, though I waited for the sound of the opening door and the bell tinkling before I stood, and when I got out there was no sign of her. It’s the second time she left me.

Right after I sit back to my chair, I thought that she couldn’t be the woman I met a month before. The feeling is just a lot different Then as I was about to stand, I saw a note written on a small paper that was left under the cup of her coffee which was left to get cold.

Wake up ,little star,And look at the world, becauseThe sun is shining

I noticed that the handwriting could only be a woman’s, so I took it, put it on my pocket on my chest and walked my way home.

She really loved sunny days .I thought

I looked for the paper after realizing it could have been more than just a haiku, but its existence is doomed to be found.

Then I promised that the next time we meet she’ll never get away without her telling her name.

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“Lea.” She said as she was looking at the menu, but I ignored.

I was alone, again, but honestly this past few months being alone seems not to be a problem. Sometimes I find myself in the middle of a crowd but still feel alone.

Now in a five star restaurant at the top floor of one of the buildings around the city, with a lot of people I feel alone. It has been five months since I woke up feeling detached from the world I knew. It has been exactly five months also when I met the lady with no footwear. Could it be, I thought, that she’s from a higher hierarchy?

“You don’t look like one.” I said without ever showing any sign of interest. Even though with the same amount of confidence, I know she’s not the one I met before. We’re both outside the veranda looking at the world.

“So now you’re a name expert?” She said laughing, now she got my attention. It was her laugh probably. I tried to ignore her as there are more like hers that comes to me just to make it through the night, as if my kind are far better than them. I learned how to know in who, of the beings that comes to talk to me, is not my kind. And I know that she’s part of the living.

“Have we met before?” I asked with a poker face.

“What makes you think so?” She asked without looking at me, rather she was looking at the ice in her drink, I noticed as I was looking out the horizon. Seeing the street lights and hearing the sound of the city from below. The city is alive. I thought, then I remembered reading somewhere how the city is described like a living organism, with streets likened to a veins. I came back to the present moment after being in a trance living in a city.

“You seem to act like you’ve met me before.” I said. And she asked me if that’s all the reason I’ve got, I said yes and she laughed the way she laughs, carefree of the attention she gets by doing it.

“My friend met you before.” She said afterwards and then she took a drink from her glass of vodka.

“Your friend?” I asked her. But the next thing I know is she’s gone.

That night, I lost all care for the woman with no footwear, like she doesn’t exist anymore. I remember the thing she asked then I thought Maybe she’s the one who left, and I was wondering why she did?

I tried to get myself some sleep, but I just can’t, I can’t remember how to.

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 “You’re Robert.” A girl said as I was sitting alone again in a bar facing the ocean, searching for my memory why I like oceans. To no avail, I can’t remember anything. This was the same place I met the women with no footwear.

“And you’re dead.” She continued.

I was silent the whole time she spoke of how I was so drunk and walked through the waveless sea a year ago. Under the moonlight, under the constellations and to the stars that belonged to none. The way she told it, it seemed like another man’s story, because I can’t recall anything. Only thing I knew for sure was that I’m dead.

Slowly I felt the chill within. Now that somebody is telling me face to face the reality that I tried to escape from, everything seems to be falling down in on me. I remembered the haiku of the girl at the café. Is she telling me then to wake up and accept the truth that I’m dead? It could be, I remembered her metaphor of death as a sunny day. Is it because that I heard it from somebody or because finally I get to hear it telling myself. That I’m dead. It took me a while to compose myself and be able to say something.

“I would like to believe you how you tell me that I died, but my memory tells me nothing.” I said.

“You burned them all when you died. That’s what happens to suicidal cases, that’s why they’re often the lost souls.”

“Then how can you prove yourself true.”

“I don’t know,” She said while looking at me, or past me, through the golden shore probably.

“What’s the point of telling that story then?”  I asked and I felt like there’s something growing inside me. In this bodiless form, I still feel something inside.

“Actually I’m going to ask you a favor.” She said, now I’m sure she was looking at me. “And the story I told you, your own story was supposed to be the exchange for my favor.”

I looked away from her, then asked her how big her favor was, “for,” I said “memory is quite a big price.”

“Not that big, just some bit of information.” She said, looking away from me.

“Ok, I’ll tell you everything I know, everything…but first, answer my questions.”

She stayed silent, so I asked her what happens next, to me. She said that I should find my way to move on or else I’ll be lost forever. “Lost souls goes wild if they stayed too long,” She said. “And to how you will move on, it depends on the soul to figure them out.”

“Some finds forgiveness within them, some find revenge. It’s all up to you.”

I was speechless.

“Unfortunately, for you, you can’t remember your life, and that’s what I was telling you earlier, you should somehow know what holds you here, in this realm.” She continued.

“So why did I kill myself? Why did I walk into that calm sea under the moonlight as you said?”

“Ok, I’ll tell you everything from the beginning, well from the beginning of what you need to know.” She said as she shifted in her seat to look at the rising moon beyond the horizon. It was yellow and the sky was still quite a bit light. “You were about to marry this women named Irene, ‘she was simple, slender, smart looking, with face perfectly sculpted by whoever made her, eyes with a glow like that of stars.’ That’s what you said in that video that was made for your wedding day. She loved summer, and so you decided to do it in summer, the wedding. But then on your wedding day, you left. For some unknown reason. One thing you didn’t know though, was that she abort her baby a week before your marriage. She cut the string that was the reason of your marriage. But then karma comes so fast you don’t have time to prepare for it. In this country abortion is illegal, so she had her abortion unknown and who knows who made the operation. She got ill and then she died, she was poisoned of her own sins. Of course her family never knew about the baby, it was a secret between the two of you. You heard the news, and that upset you, so a week later after she died, that was a day after her funeral – she was cremated as she wanted to.”

The moon was now full lying low just above the horizon.

“I met her.” Were all the words that I was able to say.

She sighed and then she said they were looking for her.

We were again looking at each other’s eyes, as if catching whom of us is not telling the truth.

“Why do you think she can’t bear to let the child live?”

I was speechless, and felt a chill in me.

“Why are you looking for her?” I asked.

“We are looking for her to know where she had her abortion. It’s her family, they wanted to sue whoever made this. And I’m just one of the psychic from a non-government organization. Of course, first we have to talk to her. As for her existence, my friends said she was not being cooperative, that she was quite a hard one to catch.”

“It’s weird,” I say not really talking to her. “It seems like you’re hiding something, I know paranormal experts would let the spirit come rather than them chasing after the dead ones.”

“We’re different, honestly those who stay to call the spirits have a very small chance of being able to contact them, what’s mostly left after death is a strong emotion, an energy that is conscious only of the memory that made the emotion. And what’s worse with that is that there are those who devour emotions, as they are energy. And they aren’t just spirits, they are those who came from other worlds and travel just to please their appetite. Making it worst is that some of them plan to stay, some just a minute old but there are those whose age is thousands of years, and they are the most evil. Just imagine how much of the negative energy they have consumed since they live. And of course once you take in something, you have to excrete, and that is what we call as earthlings, what evil is more evil than the shit of these beings.” She giggled then asked me if I followed her story.

I said yes so she continued, “We chasers, as we call ourselves, follow a lead and make sure we talk to that specific spirit.”

“How do you think I can help you without my memory?”

“Your memory may have been burned but your connection deep within can never be gone, it’s like the path of the soul. Why do you think you keep on coming back on places like this? It’s because deep within, you know this has been a part of you. You may have first met her on that bar on top of the building, and you probably met her to where you were supposed to have the reception, this place could have been your first anniversary being lovers.”

“I understand. But without my memory how do you think I can move on, I feel tired living like this.”

“I’ve never really helped anybody like you who burned their memory, but I think you need to find where everything started, and I’m warning you not to let your emotions grow bigger than what you have now, it’s what you feel growing inside you. Let them grow and you’ll be nothing but a food to evil. Forever you’ll be lost.”

I was again being accompanied by silence, the only friend of mine who stayed beside me. Thinking back on the meetings I had before, her two friends may have been sending a hint on my life, until this day.

“Why haven’t your friends never did this talk with me before, I mean they could have a chance.”

“Your thoughts were far they say, and not until you dropped the thought you were always thinking then, we can never have a talk like this.”

“Last question, and I’ll let you do the asking…”

“No, no please, let us not just assume the end of things, please don’t say last, I just can’t stand how humans assume the end of everything. Let us let everything flow on its course, and let the end come as it will.” She interrupted me and I felt guilty over her words, how I assumed the end of my life.

I tried to relax, for a while it was hard but then slowly I managed to do it. It took a while for me to ask her name.

“I’m sorry but we don’t give our names to beings like you.” She smiled. “Knowing somebody’s name is the start of everything, once you have mine, you can haunt me forever.”

“Ok, sorry, now what do you want to know?”

She sipped from her newly filled drink, with elegance showing how sophisticated her life have been.

“Every place you feel like going, including those that you’ve went to already and don’t feel like going back. Everything you’ve been with her.”

So I told her everything. And then she left me, like her friends whom I met before. Like people who have left before, or as his story of mine, I left them.

That night, she appeared before me, Irene, as she said her name was. The girl I met that captivated my soul.  She was at the window looking outside and just stared there. And the moon light seems to be touching her, very lightly. We’re in the room where I first gained consciousness of my present state.

“You weren’t the father of the child I killed.” She said, and again I felt a chill in me.

“I can’t prove you wrong because of my lack of memory, but I hope you can help me move on with your version of truth. At least also explain to me why.” I said now I was sitting on the side of the bed.

“Why? Why did I abort the child? Why did you leave?” She asked, I think that her emotions are what kept her going. I can tell that she was a lost soul, who can only seek forgiveness from herself.

“I’m sorry.” I said though it was just a set of words, rather than being a line of asking forgiveness. Still I feel luckier than her for I have somebody to ask forgiveness to, for oneself is the hardest to forgive,  I don’t remember, I just know, like how the woman said I know how the places mean to me.

“For leaving?” She asked while still gazing at the window, she looks inviting that at the some point I wanted to stand beside her and look at what she’s looking at.

“Why do people leave?” She said in a rather not question manner.

“Is it because they have something more important to go to; or is it because they can’t find any more reason to stay, that they leave to find a reason?”

“The people you met ever since the first time we met, they have nothing to do with your memory.” She said as if she had just read my thoughts. “They are nothing but humans who thinks they have something to do with us.“

“Some people are just like that,” She continued. “They will come and make you think that they have some important part in your life because you gave them and then one day they will just vanish: like a smoke in the air. That’s how I felt about you, after you used me, after you got what you wanted from our relationship and never returned.”

“I wanted to tell you the day I made it. On why I did such thing, I don’t have the memory of exactly why, the memory that pushed me to not back out in the last minute. Maybe because I don’t want a child bore from lust and anger. Or maybe because I wanted to know if you really love me, if you’ll marry me still without a reason of responsibility. If responsibility is just a second in line of your reason to marrying me.“

“Funny,” She continued, “How I talked of responsibility when in the first place I used the baby to lure you to me. I don’t have plans on telling you, not in a single second a thought came to me of being honest with you who the real father was, but look at how I speak now, maybe death does change ones perspective.”

And then silence took over the room.

“Ghosts,” I finally said after a while of silence, of how much time that while took, it felt like eternity for me, “are reminders of the things that we never finished, I’m your ghost and you’re mine, can’t we at least end all the things we started.”

“You mean to give this love story an ending?” This time she was sitting beside me.

“I don’t know why I would have left? But whatever is the reason I’m asking for forgiveness.”

“I have forgiven you a long time, and all that’s bothering me is your reason that I wished have heard before we became like this. But now that you can’t remember anything, what’s the worth of knowing?”

“I always have this thought of people forgiving but never forgetting, because forgetting somebody’s mistake makes the apology worthless. It’s just the weight is different between real forgiveness and just forgetting.” I said and she fell silent, probably thinking over the words that I have said. “But I guess that this time it’s different, forgiving myself without ever remembering what I did in the first place.”

“I find us disappointing, a waste. We had so much similarity, but maybe that’s what makes us not compatible.” I continued.

And as her silence seems unbreakable I asked her one last thing. “Can you tell me, honestly, what my name is?”

She said nothing, and then slowly she fades into the moonlit room. And everything went dark. With my name, she went away. That night I officially became part of that darkness, of someone else’ memory that they will try to dig but never will.