Tooth, claw, blood!
You woke up suddenly, your heart pounding; catching your breath. You felt pain as your hand tightened around the handle of the axe you didn’t remember drawing. You blinked once, twice, trying to find the enemy; trying to see through the cold fog.
What is this fog? Where am I?
You must have fallen asleep. You were traveling deep within the old forest. You were reading, you remembered; studying: a book about Levi ships. You were planning to use one such ship to cross the mountains, to reach where you wanted to be, where you needed to be: the center of the world. She is there, waiting, at the center. You need to be there, for you are a knight and she, your princess; and time is running out. But you are far yet. This fog is not yet the center. This cold white darkness, is not yet the horrors of wings and scales described to you. No. Not even close.
“Where are we? “ You whispered softly to the giant wolf below you, running your fingers across the warm black fur. You relaxed. You felt your breath steadying. You ease your grip at your axe. “Where did you take us, Cain?”
The wolf was still. His ears stood, as if making out some sound that has suddenly come and gone. His eyes alert, watching the silent flow of the fog. Through the thick fur, you can feel the wolf senses danger; a strained growl escaping through his massive fangs. There is something out there, something among the mist. Peril.
Quietly, you sling your axe at your left arm, fasten your coat and dismount; careful not to trample a twig or pack of fallen leaves. The wolf nudged lightly in complaint, concerned that leaving him is not a sensible decision. Of course it’s not, but fear in all its forms needed to be tamed; like always. You stroke the wolf’s fur reassuringly, and whispered for him to wait. Obediently-- albeit hesitantly-- he laid down on all fours and waited; his big blue eyes still intently going through the fog. You took the axe from your arm and quickly moved into the mist.
This ground of hard stone beneath your feet is familiar. You felt you’ve walked on something like this several times before. But this place of mist, it’s different -- familiar yet different. This fog seems to surround you like water in a river: flowing, rising; drowning you in. Around you ominously cold and silent, like that stillness before a sudden downpour, only stretching endlessly amid this fog.
Suddenly, movement. The ground vibrates like a single pulse, and a small fleeting ghost disturbs the mist. You stood frozen; feeling, waiting. You raise your axe, tightening your grip; your eyes dancing across white wall of haze. Another pulse. You thought the fog stopped flowing. Nothing seems to be there; nothing but white, cold and silence. Then, all of a sudden, the mist swelled forward right in front of you like a massive wave, and out poured teeth, claws and carnage.
You jumped back, your right hand slashing the axe at the side of the monster upon you; your left hand pushing its large muzzle away. You turn your head as dagger-like fangs narrowly missed your face. You felt the stone ground smash hard at your back. The monster pressed down upon you heavily, biting and clawing; its claws burying deep at your arm and shoulder. Hot saliva from its mouth splatter on your cheeks, and you felt your own warm blood spreading across your chest. Your entire body was suddenly in unbearable pain; every inch of movement excruciating. You shouted, and cursed beneath your breath; pushing desperately against evil upon you.
Never submit!
She’s there, waiting. She needs you. You remember her soft touch. You remember her sweet voice. You remember home.
You gripped tight your axe. You took a deep breath, drowned out the pain, pushed up and swung the blade hard at the side of the beast bearing on you. You gripped again, focused, pushed up, and swung harder; into its tough white fur. The monster gave a loud grunt and its weight seemed to slacken. You turned your head and stared straight at its pale blind eyes. You pushed up and, with all your strength, swung hard. You felt warm blood splashed down your axe to your hand. The monster was still. The moment seemed endless. And then, you saw the beast winced in great pain. It abruptly fell on the ground at your side, but quickly pushed itself up and, breathing heavily, ran into the mist on all fours.
You laid down there for a while catching your breath. The mist it seemed began to dissipate. You can partially make out the smiling pale moon of a cerulean night sky. Then, you remembered her again -- Princess. You sat up slowly; pain returning to your entire body. More slowly, you urged yourself up. Standing straight there in sweat and blood, you look out at the fading mist, slowly revealing towering old trees. You are sure someday it will return. But, by then, you will know it. You took a deep breath, turned and walked back; the sound of fallen leaves rustling beneath your feet.
- - - - - - -
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, July 06, 2009
Spell despair.
“You need to study 6 hours every day,” says the law professor in class. “To have any chance at passing the Bar.”
OK, I thought, then hurriedly-- not quite desperately-- looked for anything to write numbers on.
Let's see. There are 24 hours in a day, I calculated, writing on the margin of the 3-days-old issue of PDI I had with me. This issue has this cool front page photo of the coolest balcony in the world. Anyway, 24 hours minus the things you generally can't do anything about, 8 hours of sleep and 8 hours at work. So, minus 16 hours. That's only 8 hours left. Minus the other important activity you need to do to be able to study well: Eating food. Which of course you likewise need to actually, you know, live. I mean, if you don't you won't have your 24 hours at all. So that should be there, and that should have been calculated with the first two, you beanpole. Hookay. That's 8 minus 3 hours. 1 hour every meal. And that's... 5 hours left.
OK, ok, don't loose hope. Maybe you could adjust your 8 hours of work a little, and a bit of your hours of sleep, and, yes, your meals. I think you can still fit an hour of study there. Yessiree, that solves the problem, right? Ah, but you still have your classes, dumbass, and that's 3 solid hours out there waving goodbye.
“Syempre, you still have to count those hours you need to travel to work, and school, and of course, taking a bath, brushing your teeth, doing chores, talking to people, blogging, and the usual staring blankly at the air in disbelief at all the important things you didn't do. Which is roughly around 2 hours,” whispered my seat mate as he looks at my calculations in the same way we'd generally look at roadkill. Tsk, tsk.
“6 hours,” our good professor iterated for emphasis. “Minimum.”
Yep. I'm doomed.
- - - - - - - - i
OK, I thought, then hurriedly-- not quite desperately-- looked for anything to write numbers on.
Let's see. There are 24 hours in a day, I calculated, writing on the margin of the 3-days-old issue of PDI I had with me. This issue has this cool front page photo of the coolest balcony in the world. Anyway, 24 hours minus the things you generally can't do anything about, 8 hours of sleep and 8 hours at work. So, minus 16 hours. That's only 8 hours left. Minus the other important activity you need to do to be able to study well: Eating food. Which of course you likewise need to actually, you know, live. I mean, if you don't you won't have your 24 hours at all. So that should be there, and that should have been calculated with the first two, you beanpole. Hookay. That's 8 minus 3 hours. 1 hour every meal. And that's... 5 hours left.
OK, ok, don't loose hope. Maybe you could adjust your 8 hours of work a little, and a bit of your hours of sleep, and, yes, your meals. I think you can still fit an hour of study there. Yessiree, that solves the problem, right? Ah, but you still have your classes, dumbass, and that's 3 solid hours out there waving goodbye.
“Syempre, you still have to count those hours you need to travel to work, and school, and of course, taking a bath, brushing your teeth, doing chores, talking to people, blogging, and the usual staring blankly at the air in disbelief at all the important things you didn't do. Which is roughly around 2 hours,” whispered my seat mate as he looks at my calculations in the same way we'd generally look at roadkill. Tsk, tsk.
“6 hours,” our good professor iterated for emphasis. “Minimum.”
Yep. I'm doomed.
- - - - - - - - i
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Verse of the Day
Leafear said to Aya, she who is beginning and end,
“Do not let one reason to be unhappy make you forget happiness.
As long as you can be happy, then be happy.
Always choose joy over sadness, life over death.”
(Diwat 2:13)
- - - - - - - -
“Do not let one reason to be unhappy make you forget happiness.
As long as you can be happy, then be happy.
Always choose joy over sadness, life over death.”
(Diwat 2:13)
- - - - - - - -
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Staying at Mae's house after taking her home from the airport and eating dinner of sea shells
Sweet scent of lavender.
Soft secret kisses.
Long tender talks at night.
My baby is home.
- - - - - - -
Soft secret kisses.
Long tender talks at night.
My baby is home.
- - - - - - -
Saturday, April 04, 2009
bit: Seeing Scales
This morning I found out that someone I know just passed the BAR. It was still early in the morning when I did, just a little before sunrise. It was still dark in my room, but outside I can already hear the occasional carefree twittering of early morning swallows and roosters cautiously crowing as the day was slowly stirring awake. I was stirred from my sleep, and remembered that yesterday at the office we were excited to check out the results of the bar exams, which was due to come out anytime yesterday. We know people, acquaintances and friends, who took the last bar. I guess we were excited for them. We waited the entire day, constantly checking the Supreme Court of the Philippines website for the results, but it didn't come out as we have expected it would during our office hours. We left the office still wondering about the results. So after I woke up this morning and said my morning prayers, I took out the trusty Aspire One and went to the supreme court website to see if the results are already there. It was. I browsed through the name of the passers and found that familiar name there, in silent black and white. I grinned.
You see, I'm studying law right now and someday I'll take the bar exams too. They said it's the most difficult professional licensure exam in the Philippines. Having seen that name there of someone who studied Law as I did, who went to the same university as I am now, who studied while working as I did, in the same agency where I worked... Ah, my heart was filled with hope. If someone roughly four years ago was in a very similar situation as I am now has passed the most difficult licensure exam in the Philippines - so they say - well, I might do too.
There are very few things in my life that I can say I really worked hard for, things to which I have given enough of my heart and soul, of all that I am, for me to actually remember them in great specific detail. I think I just found the second one.
- - - - - - - - i
You see, I'm studying law right now and someday I'll take the bar exams too. They said it's the most difficult professional licensure exam in the Philippines. Having seen that name there of someone who studied Law as I did, who went to the same university as I am now, who studied while working as I did, in the same agency where I worked... Ah, my heart was filled with hope. If someone roughly four years ago was in a very similar situation as I am now has passed the most difficult licensure exam in the Philippines - so they say - well, I might do too.
There are very few things in my life that I can say I really worked hard for, things to which I have given enough of my heart and soul, of all that I am, for me to actually remember them in great specific detail. I think I just found the second one.
- - - - - - - - i
Friday, April 03, 2009
On welcome farewells
Ah, I needed this.
I just came from this SALT Activity – the Despedida. It's when the community celebrates the success of members who are done with their fourth year in college. Despedida is Spanish for, “Farewell.” Salt is essentially a community that revolves around friendship and college life in the Ateneo. Since fourth year is usually graduating year for members, the year's end would be the time the member would move on and say farewell from life in college and from life as member of the community as well. It's not totally goodbye though. Friendship remains strong, if not stronger, after college. And if there's one thing about Salt that I know for certain, it is that it is about friendship – total, true, human friendship. Thus, former members still do stay part of the community as Alumni, who are regularly invited from their stress-filled responsibilities in the real world of life after college to again feel that magical feeling of loving togetherness and be reminded of a community of friends we will always belong to. Which is exactly what happened with me tonight. So, Despedida will simply be a transition from one state of belongingness to another, from a stage of relationship to the next. And its celebration is always one of bittersweet emotions, always between letting go of a life filled with fulfillment, of wonderful experiences and heartfelt gratitude, and welcoming another life of promise and great things to come.
For this and much much more, we will always be grateful for Salt.
On a side note, I personally think taking one's Despedida – that part on becoming an Alumni from a member – is quite less like a retirement and much more like getting a promotion. I mean, in every Salt gathering, which is usually a dinner party when it involves Alumni, the Alumni would be the ones to take a shot at the buffet table first. Members are the last. And then, the Alumni get to be entertained by this beautiful series of song numbers, wonderful serenades, while they eat their dinner – heartily. Members are the ones doing the entertaining and serenading, and preparing the entire event. Alumni just go there and enjoy themselves, reminiscing their beautiful memories back in those college days when they were still Salt members. So, like less work, more privileges. Sounds like a promotion to me!
Disclaimer: I sort of remembered I work in the government. So I might have twisted concepts of promotions. *sigh*
- - - - - - - -
I just came from this SALT Activity – the Despedida. It's when the community celebrates the success of members who are done with their fourth year in college. Despedida is Spanish for, “Farewell.” Salt is essentially a community that revolves around friendship and college life in the Ateneo. Since fourth year is usually graduating year for members, the year's end would be the time the member would move on and say farewell from life in college and from life as member of the community as well. It's not totally goodbye though. Friendship remains strong, if not stronger, after college. And if there's one thing about Salt that I know for certain, it is that it is about friendship – total, true, human friendship. Thus, former members still do stay part of the community as Alumni, who are regularly invited from their stress-filled responsibilities in the real world of life after college to again feel that magical feeling of loving togetherness and be reminded of a community of friends we will always belong to. Which is exactly what happened with me tonight. So, Despedida will simply be a transition from one state of belongingness to another, from a stage of relationship to the next. And its celebration is always one of bittersweet emotions, always between letting go of a life filled with fulfillment, of wonderful experiences and heartfelt gratitude, and welcoming another life of promise and great things to come.
For this and much much more, we will always be grateful for Salt.
On a side note, I personally think taking one's Despedida – that part on becoming an Alumni from a member – is quite less like a retirement and much more like getting a promotion. I mean, in every Salt gathering, which is usually a dinner party when it involves Alumni, the Alumni would be the ones to take a shot at the buffet table first. Members are the last. And then, the Alumni get to be entertained by this beautiful series of song numbers, wonderful serenades, while they eat their dinner – heartily. Members are the ones doing the entertaining and serenading, and preparing the entire event. Alumni just go there and enjoy themselves, reminiscing their beautiful memories back in those college days when they were still Salt members. So, like less work, more privileges. Sounds like a promotion to me!
Disclaimer: I sort of remembered I work in the government. So I might have twisted concepts of promotions. *sigh*
- - - - - - - -
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Butterfly Wings
Seven days ago I told the girl who taught me how to love that I'll marry her. I saved my entire paycheck for half a year to take her on a summer vacation to this island in Visayas. As I sat beside her on the grass on top of a quiet hill, watching the sun majestically set like a crimson ship sailing slowly over the horizon, I took out an ivory gold ring, which cost me my paycheck for the other half of the year, took her hand and gently slid it around her finger. She sweetly laughed and gave me one of her warmest hugs that made me feel like I won the whole world. I starved to death for a year and almost got kicked out of my apartment, but she made everything worth it, and made this life filled with disappointment and uncertainty seem perfect.
She wanted to have lots of pictures on our wedding. She wistfully told me then. Her hands were holding my hand. Her head resting on my shoulder. She said she wanted to remember every detail forever. I got a bit worried. I told her I might ruin a lot of her pictures. Getting pictures taken makes me nervous. It's the flashes. You see, I have this rare condition called squama echromata syndrome. I see light at a higher rate of brightness than normal people. It doesn't really bother me much except that my irises and pupils are ashen gray in color, which is most of the time far too noticeable than I would have wanted. And bright flashes would really hurt. She knows about this, of course. She stroked my hand reassuringly, and told me it's OK. She grinned at me and said I can close my eyes in all the pictures if I wanted to. Then she teasingly told me that it's my ashen gray eyes that made her notice me in the first place. Without them, she would never have found me.
We first met in college. I was a sophomore and she was a freshman. It was ten years ago -- the first day of the first semester of the school year. I met her when I was sitting in one of the school corridors. I remember I was thinking of cross-pollination. I was wondering if red flowers can pollinate with blue flowers of the same type, and whether that's the reason how violets started. If that's the case though, what started primary-color-colored flowers, like yellow? I was a weird kid in college. While lost in between thoughts of red, blue and yellow, I felt a tap on my shoulder. And when I looked up, that's the first time I saw her. She was in a white summer dress, and she had that sweet smile that I never really fully recovered from even now. I sort of thought she was an angel. Honest. She really looked like one then. Not that I've actually seen angels. But, I'm pretty sure that when I do, they would look pretty much like her at that moment. She told me she was a first year, and had no idea where the College Audio Visual Room was, which was in this pretty-difficult-to-give-directions-to place. And it took me an awkward while to explain to her where it really was. That made her smile that enchanting smile of hers a lot though, and when after I was done making a fool out of myself trying to give her the best directions, she was very grateful. And then she commented on how cool my eyes were. That gave my self-confidence enough boost that I was actually able to offer to her that if she wanted my contact number to text me in case she got lost or something, I'll gladly give it to her. I'll gladly give her anything for that smile, actually. But she told me she had no cellphone. So, much to my embarrassment. Although, being the strangely self-confident person I had suddenly become then, I quickly took the notebook I had with me, wrote my number on a page, tore that page, and gave it to her. Just in case, I said. She smiled another sweet smile, thanked me, and left. I caught myself stupidly waving. Although, it would not be until my fifth year in college that I finally received a text from her. But, that's a story for another time.
Only a bit of the orange sun was left on the horizon, and the wind was starting to get cold. I asked her if I had ever told her that she was the very first person, aside from family of course, that told me that my eyes were “cool”. Most comments before hers were somewhere around the lines of, “weird”, “eerie”, “scary”, or “that's so sad, I'm very sorry for you.” Hers was actually the very first positive comment I got for my eyes from any first encounter. She laughed. She teased that I was the only boy that did not ask for her number, but offered to give his number instead. I laughed with her at that. Right then, I'd give up anything to stay at that moment forever. I wished I can stop time and things would stay perfect as this. I told her that. She snuggled close, and we were quiet for a while, the only sound was that of the waves on the beach nearby. Then she told me that time does not stop because we need to have sad memories to make our happy memories truly happy. Besides, she said, if it does, we cannot have other happy memories, like our wedding. That would definitely be a very very happy memory to look forward to. I couldn't agree more. And I guess the sun did too agree because it was totally gone, and it was getting really dark and cold, and we had to go back to the summer house we were staying at. As we were walking slowly back to the beach, she whispered that she will be making me breakfast tomorrow. I was surprised. I stared at her and then grinned in absolute delight. It would be the first time she'll cook a meal for me. I guess the excitement showed too much on my face, because she laughed at seeing how silly I must have looked. I wonder what she'll be cooking.
I never did find out though. The next day, six days ago, what I found out was that it was fifteen years in the past. When I woke up, I was in my old bed at my family home, in my room with my brother sleeping on the other bed across mine, and I was thirteen-years-old. What happened here? Was my life all a dream? No, it can't be. I remember in clear detail a whole fifteen more years of life I have lived, I was to live. I lived it. My memories in that life are far clearer than the ones I'm supposed to have in this past life I'm in now. Will I be able to go back to that life? Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find out that this is the dream. I sure hope so. For I have an unsettling feeling that this life will not be the same as the one I had, the one I love. For the morning of that day I first woke up here, I was so startled and confused, and was desperately trying to figure things out that I was late for school that day. That day was my first day in my first year of high school. You see, I remember that day clearly. I know I wasn't suppose to be late that day. On that morning, I was so excited to see the new place I was to stay for this next big stage of my life, that I came early. The sun has just came up from the horizon and the morning air was still very cold. I supposed to have been curiously exploring my new school building that day. I supposed to have found myself on the top floor. I supposed to have stopped for a moment right there below the flag pole attached to a wall. I supposed to have been there watching how the flag danced quickly as strong winds rushed all over it. For on that fateful moment, as I stood there watching, a lightning hit that pole. It burned the flag, blinded me for seven days. It turned my eyes to ashen gray, and made me see too much light for the rest of my life. But now, I wasn't there at that morning seven days ago. I was still at home confused when that lightning hit that pole. Far away. Perfectly safe. My eyes, they are now fine, black, normal as can be. And that may be for the rest of my life. I had always hated those ashen gray eyes when I was growing up. But as I found myself now beginning to write again my life, I can't help but be haunted. Without them, how will I ever find her again?
- - - - - - - -
She wanted to have lots of pictures on our wedding. She wistfully told me then. Her hands were holding my hand. Her head resting on my shoulder. She said she wanted to remember every detail forever. I got a bit worried. I told her I might ruin a lot of her pictures. Getting pictures taken makes me nervous. It's the flashes. You see, I have this rare condition called squama echromata syndrome. I see light at a higher rate of brightness than normal people. It doesn't really bother me much except that my irises and pupils are ashen gray in color, which is most of the time far too noticeable than I would have wanted. And bright flashes would really hurt. She knows about this, of course. She stroked my hand reassuringly, and told me it's OK. She grinned at me and said I can close my eyes in all the pictures if I wanted to. Then she teasingly told me that it's my ashen gray eyes that made her notice me in the first place. Without them, she would never have found me.
We first met in college. I was a sophomore and she was a freshman. It was ten years ago -- the first day of the first semester of the school year. I met her when I was sitting in one of the school corridors. I remember I was thinking of cross-pollination. I was wondering if red flowers can pollinate with blue flowers of the same type, and whether that's the reason how violets started. If that's the case though, what started primary-color-colored flowers, like yellow? I was a weird kid in college. While lost in between thoughts of red, blue and yellow, I felt a tap on my shoulder. And when I looked up, that's the first time I saw her. She was in a white summer dress, and she had that sweet smile that I never really fully recovered from even now. I sort of thought she was an angel. Honest. She really looked like one then. Not that I've actually seen angels. But, I'm pretty sure that when I do, they would look pretty much like her at that moment. She told me she was a first year, and had no idea where the College Audio Visual Room was, which was in this pretty-difficult-to-give-directions-to place. And it took me an awkward while to explain to her where it really was. That made her smile that enchanting smile of hers a lot though, and when after I was done making a fool out of myself trying to give her the best directions, she was very grateful. And then she commented on how cool my eyes were. That gave my self-confidence enough boost that I was actually able to offer to her that if she wanted my contact number to text me in case she got lost or something, I'll gladly give it to her. I'll gladly give her anything for that smile, actually. But she told me she had no cellphone. So, much to my embarrassment. Although, being the strangely self-confident person I had suddenly become then, I quickly took the notebook I had with me, wrote my number on a page, tore that page, and gave it to her. Just in case, I said. She smiled another sweet smile, thanked me, and left. I caught myself stupidly waving. Although, it would not be until my fifth year in college that I finally received a text from her. But, that's a story for another time.
Only a bit of the orange sun was left on the horizon, and the wind was starting to get cold. I asked her if I had ever told her that she was the very first person, aside from family of course, that told me that my eyes were “cool”. Most comments before hers were somewhere around the lines of, “weird”, “eerie”, “scary”, or “that's so sad, I'm very sorry for you.” Hers was actually the very first positive comment I got for my eyes from any first encounter. She laughed. She teased that I was the only boy that did not ask for her number, but offered to give his number instead. I laughed with her at that. Right then, I'd give up anything to stay at that moment forever. I wished I can stop time and things would stay perfect as this. I told her that. She snuggled close, and we were quiet for a while, the only sound was that of the waves on the beach nearby. Then she told me that time does not stop because we need to have sad memories to make our happy memories truly happy. Besides, she said, if it does, we cannot have other happy memories, like our wedding. That would definitely be a very very happy memory to look forward to. I couldn't agree more. And I guess the sun did too agree because it was totally gone, and it was getting really dark and cold, and we had to go back to the summer house we were staying at. As we were walking slowly back to the beach, she whispered that she will be making me breakfast tomorrow. I was surprised. I stared at her and then grinned in absolute delight. It would be the first time she'll cook a meal for me. I guess the excitement showed too much on my face, because she laughed at seeing how silly I must have looked. I wonder what she'll be cooking.
I never did find out though. The next day, six days ago, what I found out was that it was fifteen years in the past. When I woke up, I was in my old bed at my family home, in my room with my brother sleeping on the other bed across mine, and I was thirteen-years-old. What happened here? Was my life all a dream? No, it can't be. I remember in clear detail a whole fifteen more years of life I have lived, I was to live. I lived it. My memories in that life are far clearer than the ones I'm supposed to have in this past life I'm in now. Will I be able to go back to that life? Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find out that this is the dream. I sure hope so. For I have an unsettling feeling that this life will not be the same as the one I had, the one I love. For the morning of that day I first woke up here, I was so startled and confused, and was desperately trying to figure things out that I was late for school that day. That day was my first day in my first year of high school. You see, I remember that day clearly. I know I wasn't suppose to be late that day. On that morning, I was so excited to see the new place I was to stay for this next big stage of my life, that I came early. The sun has just came up from the horizon and the morning air was still very cold. I supposed to have been curiously exploring my new school building that day. I supposed to have found myself on the top floor. I supposed to have stopped for a moment right there below the flag pole attached to a wall. I supposed to have been there watching how the flag danced quickly as strong winds rushed all over it. For on that fateful moment, as I stood there watching, a lightning hit that pole. It burned the flag, blinded me for seven days. It turned my eyes to ashen gray, and made me see too much light for the rest of my life. But now, I wasn't there at that morning seven days ago. I was still at home confused when that lightning hit that pole. Far away. Perfectly safe. My eyes, they are now fine, black, normal as can be. And that may be for the rest of my life. I had always hated those ashen gray eyes when I was growing up. But as I found myself now beginning to write again my life, I can't help but be haunted. Without them, how will I ever find her again?
- - - - - - - -
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