Monday, July 4

My Embrace

By CZERIZHA KAIZEL S. ADZUARA

Photo by Arwin Romano/The Flame

I remember the day I held you close underneath the mahogany trees in the park. I was grateful for the shade, for I could let go of the umbrella and finally embrace you with both of my arms.

Several people were strolling. Some were with their friends, while others were with their parents. And there we were—cherishing each moment like we had the world for us and only the two of us.

All of a sudden, you began to weep and squirm away from my grasp. I tried to calm you down with a lullaby, but you nagged and pointed at the slide. You always preferred to try new things over my song.

I placed you gently at the crest of the slide. The beams of afternoon light illuminated you, and you were finally at ease. 

I let you go and gave you a glimpse of freedom from my hands. Yet they remained to linger around you— ready to sweep you up before you fall.

You laughed as you swiftly glided down the slope. You did not need me for the first time. I know that there will come a time when you will need me the least.

I apologize for only giving you two arms to hold on to even if you deserved four. It had always been the two of us, and I know you still yearned for more. Even so, you will always have mine whenever you need some gentle care. F

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