Leaving Gate 10 on June 5


Photo by Aaron La Torre/THE FLAME

I WILL soon forget how your eyes would seek me in the crowd of goodbyes.

Soon, you will forget how my eyes try to capture your denying gaze.

The sun emits a light I have not seen in years. Its yellow hues complement your hazy brown eyes, full of dreams about you and me. So beautiful, so hypnotizing; I feel my feet move to get closer to you—what a shame I did not look at it every given chance.

After four years of dreading, we have finally freed ourselves from peace and familiarity. We have done it by denying every day that we would always be in each other’s peripheral view, that even though we bid ourselves goodbye in front of gate 10  at Dapitan, we would come back. 

We light each other’s candles because the cold and yet hot breeze of June put out my delicate flame. Your amber iris intensifies because of the fire, a reminder that this is the last time I will count how many times your eyes blink when your lips whisper my name. 

I question why we stayed, and you answer that we solely remained for the sake of holding back our tears; now, I realize we rather go blind by doing so. I will soon forget the colors of your eyes, and you will forget mine too. 

We are lovers at night, intruders in the day, and a memoir in the future. But can we cease it until later? Let me be the first one to leave so I can lighten up the baggage of my future. F

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