i.

Midnight on the road; nothing to see but the measured interval of roadside lamps. I breathed in the air that carried with it scents of the salty sea, the molasses from a sugar mill, kalachuchi trees in full bloom, detergent from a gas station.

I replayed the events that took place hours ago. There was a beautiful sunset on the way to the bus station. How does one look at it – an end to a day or just a start of a night full of promise? I’ve decided to only say what I mean. That way, I wouldn’t be regretting a word. But how often I say things just to be polite, to be mean, to be some person I pretend to be. What to make of it – that sunset, that little encounter, the words I said and the words other people told me?

ii.

We docked in an island they say was enchanted. And there was the blue ocean, the nice weather, the old churches, and the ancient giant trees; and I got a bit selfish. Why were there so many strangers? All these weren’t here only for me, but I wished I could be that special.

iii.

There were actually no plans of keeping in touch with people I haven’t talked to for six years. But there we were, cramped around the table, eating soup and laughing at some silly joke. When someone reaches out to you, you got to take their hand because sometimes you regret it, but often you don’t.

The time we spent in the mountains was one of the loveliest memories of summer, in which there were hearty meals, cold spring waters to swim in, singing songs with a guitar, and drunken conversations I oddly would not take back.

iv.

Sitting at a balcony after a sweaty nap, I heard no sound at all, not even the swaying of trees because there was no wind. I looked up and saw hanging at the doorway was an old, beaten up windchimes, which made me wonder how much of its life was actually spent on creating sound. We should get out of the house and explore this island instead of sleeping the day away.

So, the rest of the afternoon we trekked for ten minutes in the woods that led up to a beach they named paradise. Not quite. We squeezed places into an hour, spending five- or ten- minutes somewhere touristy and the rest at a back of a tricycle. I thought the island was eerie. If we end up at some local’s hut with our hands and legs tied up, I wouldn’t be surprised. The sunset was strange, too. For a second, I thought we were mystically trapped in a painting where the setting sun gave some light to the cows grazing on a grass field.

The next day, we went back to an abandoned house near a diving cliff. Last night, we were the only ones there, groping our way in the darkness, making sense of the graffiti on the walls. I jumped off of the cliff into the ocean. I wasn’t really afraid of the fall; I was more afraid of how to get back up. 

with love,

abelink