A day in Jun3

Page 30

Philippine Arena: Portrait and Letter

Someone sent me a portrait and letter before, some months back, which I have to pick up at somebody's house in walking distance from us. It was held to her.

That portrait of myself made me appreciate myself more. Not because it was me who was in it but it consumed so many words;  it was full of stories and told in a thousand different ways.

It was place inside a plastic envelope and the letter is not easily visible back then.

That someone has a good penmanship, I loved it imidiately. It was not written with ink but by  graphite.

It was not the words or portrait itself that moved me that much although I am always fascinated.

But the thought of, sometime, somewhere, someone had known me and seen me from afar —

someone took an effort to sent me gifts, miles away, between islands and seas.

“Am I dreaming?” I asked myself. But even if I am not, It feels like a good dream from April who I still remember 'till this evening.

"I finally understand that no matter how beautiful the sunset is, it signifies the end." a sorrowful metaphors. For sure, not many will dare to write someone a letter of apologies and goodbye.

Not many dare to give a portrait to someone who is not around — leave it to that someone who said I should take care of the portrait so someday when I get old, I will see from the frame how beautiful was I when I am still in my  teen age years.

I was overwhelmed. Drown in misery with  happinesss.

And I needed to pinch myself twice or much as I can.

I did not reply, yet a letter have already been sent to that recipient. It was an unexpected and unconnected feedback, I guess.

I let it hang for some days, waiting and deciding.

I guess I did the right thing after that soul came again full of apologies; regrets and dreams.

It lasted again for months before letting everything go again with full of understanding to that old soul.

I watched the sunset cover the sky until it becomes black. I know I should not stay awake anymore until sunrise. Yet, I choose to live 'til midnight and waited until that  someone says his last 'goodnight.

The night ended lightly.

I'm still floating thinking how nostalgic April was.

I stare at the portrait as much as I breath in morning and night. I read that letter again and again.

It has my full name; It was still the same paragraphs and metaphors.

It is rightly written. It's just that maybe, it was our thoughts that created the sentences wrong.

Encontrémonos de nuevo. 🌇✨