Come out!


That sound whispers loudly once again through the small gaps of ventilation. It echoes in the dark.

I don’t recognize his voice, but why does he know my name? He is not from the Fantasy world I suppose.

“Jill, it’s me…” the voice continues. “William.”

Should I trust him?

William, my dear best friend in the orphanage. He came to this orphanage two days after my arrival. We were 10 months old then, we grew up together and became the closest friends in this house. Nothing could separate us, beside the moment when I took the murky passage that led me to Fantasy world and went missing for years. How many years? I suddenly can’t remember.

“Jillian, I know you’re in there.” Will says. “Please, do come out!”

Warmth is blanketing all of my body every time he says my name. William knows my hiding place, though I never took him in. He always pretends he never knew to protect me. I also never confronted him for keeping my hideout a secret, to protect him , to protect both of us.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says once again, pleading me to do what he says.

I take a sudden deep breath. I wasn’t breathing this whole time, was I?

William’s voice is different from the last time I heard it. He sounds deeper, calmer, and more mature. How long have I been missing out his life?

I try to crane my numb legs, but they hit the wall so hard. William and I both startle from the sound.

“Jill, come out now please before someone wakes up!”

What should I do?

What if it is the Minotaur who talks to me all this time? Pretending to be Will. But how did the Minotaur knows who my best friend is?

“Don’t be scared,” he says that again. “I miss you Jillian. Please come out!”


My tears sting so bad in my eyes.

I miss him too.

I push my self forward and screening the illuminating light through the ventilation gaps. There I found his blue eyes with widening pupils, staring back at me.

It’s him. It’s William.

I push the small door ever so slightly and shift my body out slowly. I close the small and invisible door behind me.

He’s there fifteen inches away from me, staring at me with disbelief.

I can feel his warmth and minty breath from the toothpaste we usually share.

He’s smiling.

I don’t really recognize his face anymore. He hardly looks similar. But that smile, those blue eyes, that satin smooth hair that is now so much shorter. They are all the same that the old William has, my dear best friend.

The rumbling sounds come closer now.

The Minotaur is already crashing the front gate!

My body jolts upwards and so does Will. We stare into each other’s eyes. We know what we need to do next.

Run. Hide.









My instinct tells me to hide.

I am once again back in the orphanage, where I have spent all my life here. The only place that is giving me nightmares every night, the only place that gave me this bad insomnia. I have always been scared both to sleep and awake. But now, I am back. I know it’s just a place for hiding. I can still sneak around and run back to Fantasy world when the Minotaur has already gone. Will I ever be able to do so?

I have tried to hide and run away from here several years ago, but I kept failing until I gave up. Then when I had stopped trying, there was where I could finally disappear for good. It was the moment when I discovered the murky passage that led me to Fantasy world.


Someone is tip-toeing the wrong footing somewhere. I remember just well how one of the wooden tiles in this building, especially in several steps of the stairs, are not concrete that make squeaking sounds when someone steps on them.

I gasp.


My instinct is yelling now. I look around the dark and humid room to find a small opening. I know where to hide! I run as quietly as I can but fast enough to reach the spandrel closet under the stairwell. This small closet has never been used or opened before. Because just like me, we are oblivious. I used to hide here when I didn’t want to be bothered. They never found me.

The small door does not seem so apparent, that’s why everyone doesn’t notice it that much. But somehow, for me the small stripes of ventilation on the wooden door are the most visible in this house.

I hook one of my fingers to one of the ventilation and tug the door out, making a small gap just for my body to get in. I have to fold my legs and hug them to my chest now. So, I’m taller now since I went missing? Because I still could sit straight the last time I hid here.

“Who’s there?”

Someone is whispering loudly from the bottom of the stairs, just meters away from where I’m breathing.

I cover my mouth with my hand to hide the sound of me who is suddenly panting.

“Is anyone there?”

The footstep is getting closer to where I hide.



He sounds scared. We both are.

“Please, come out!”

His voice is now right outside the spandrel door.


“Are you in there?”

I can see his eyes wandering in the darkness.

They are so blue.


I gasp. My tears suddenly appear. My heart suddenly thuds and then stops beating. My hands are cold, but sweats spurting out from my forehead.

He knows my name.

He knows where I hide.

Who is he?

I’m scared.

Where do I go now?

Fire In The Water

When heat meets cold, one of them dies. When You and I are together, one of us is biased. I am the cold, with an arid ice, lethargically firm. You are the heat, with a raging fire, blithely intangible. The cold always loses. Yet the heat deprecates what’s claimed.

I am breathing heavily. Smoke is coming out of my lungs.

“I know what you are going to commit,” a hazy of entreat look deplores across your face.

“Define it,” You unsettle the heedless secrecy in you.

“Come with me!”

I sally in to the dark within your grasp. You follow submissively. We travel far into the forest. The deeper we get, the more I get my power. Your fire starts to dim, your heat starts to  dwindle. I don’t care, because that is my purpose all along. You don’t seem to waive. I treacherously abet the enemy. I take your hand in mine and we continue marching in a whim.

We come across to what seems like a misty lake. I let go of your hand and face you.

“Let your fire burst this forest into ashes.” such an omnipotent command that sounds.

“You know I can’t,” a prickle of fire sparks catapulted from your fingertips. They look like stars, yellowish red almost orange, they sting when they touch my skin. I don’t flinch. Not even a little bit.

You notice. Mirthless, your eyes.

“Take my hand!” I beckon the deference of your obedience by offering you the bridge to my power. I know whenever our power interacts to one another, a great explosion will occur inside each of us.

“But if I take your hand,” You are contemplating. “I am going to kill you.”

“Let me die,” I am writhed by the acrimonious remark of your condolence.

“I won’t!” You take a step back. My power kicks in and ice starts to grow around your feet.

“Do it,” I push the urge to curdle and battle your power I seek to get accelerated anytime soon.

“I said, I won’t!” You holler out the pain in you. Your body starts to tremble. The ice that starts to grow to your pelvis is melting rapidly.

“I know you want to let go of your power,” I smirk but I weep. “I am your adversary, fight me!” I hasten my power by entering the lake behind me.

“I will not,” You outcry the agony both outside and inside your body. I am killing you from the outside, and you are killing yourself from the inside. You seem to be obviating no option to die.

“Let it out!” I scream my mist out. “Kill me!”

You estrange whatever it is that you are scared of. The ice that I am growing up to your chin is cracking. You take slow and gentle steps into the lake. I whirl the mist into white clouds, shielding us from the damp dark forest.

“You want this,” Our eyes meet. You rise before me. “I don’t!”

“Tell me why not?” I don’t shift my gaze anywhere but your eyes.

“I don’t want to kill you!” Your eyes, the shape of diamonds, crystallizing and that makes me startled. You cry lava, those crystals are mine.

“I’m not going to let you,” I am getting closer to you. “Let your power out! Burn this forest down!”

You take my hands and we merge into an embrace. We both close our eyes. I let my power to be the armor. The ground is rumbling beneath our feet. But the lake keeps us up from falling. I control the water to penetrate your skin and to blight the fear of killing me.

I can feel pain, joy, love, and war zone between us. Air pulls me away from you, but you clasp me in sealed.

Fire in the water, we become stronger.

You are panting hard, taking in and out oxygen. I kiss you, agitate your lungs with my cold air.

“You see?” I smile. “This forest haunted me for so long. Together we are strong. Let go of your power when you’re with me, I will protect you from harming us. You are the soldier, and I will be your shield. But you have to listen to me, and put your faith in me.”

“I thought I was going to kill you with my fire because cold…”

“Always loses?”

A pang of guilt comes across your eyes.

“My power is just as strong as yours. When you’re in my zone, nothing can kill me. Even if I let you to, I will die because of my own power. Don’t hold back. I am more powerful than ever when you’re with me, and so are you.”


These I Have Loved

These I have loved;

Gooey yellowish thawed slime; the reeked stench of a cheese;

Brownish sometimes pitch black liquid; sizzling in a big coffee mug;

The twinging sensation from a pungent culinary; sweats of joy and satisfaction;

The purring sound from a ball of furs;

The rhythm of a piano and flute;

The petrichor of a heavy rain; freshly damped earth;

The sound of tranquility – in aesthetic forms of soul;


The smell of books; grayish white into moldy pages;

A group of impregnable people; humorous and loyal.

Love; friendship;

Memories from another time;

Life; Truth;

These I have loved.

Inspired by The Great Lover (1915) by Rupert Brooke


Everything and Nothing

The sound of thunder makes me shiver. The darkness inside makes me allay. The coldness all around makes me numb. Your presence makes me irate. I want to disappear. I want to go. I want to run away.

The room is starting to heat up without fire. The thunder has gone along with the dark. You are starting to fade away, but I become more concrete. One eventful moment as I am reaching for your hand but you’re not.

“Don’t go,” a laconic sentence that states the unspoken.

“Come here,” you are a lethal weapon that tries to deprive my existence.

“If I come near you,” I become a stone. “You will disappear.”

You are a lucid form of my dream. The best dream I have ever had.

“No,” you are lying. “I won’t go anywhere.”

“But you are not real,” I lower my head. “Not anymore.”

“Come!” you are masquerading as a motley creature. I don’t dare to touch you. But you are beautiful and I am hypnotized.

“Stop pretending!” I am half screaming in a nonchalant tune. You are stunned because of my sudden morose temper. “Go back to where you were!”

“But I’m here for you,” you look hurt. But I am hurt even more. I don’t want to waste another 8 years to just see you cease away again. But you came back out of the blue and I am scared now. “Reach my hand and come with me!” you want me to do something that does not even make sense. You don’t reach out your hand for me to take. What am I supposed to hold on to?

“What do you want?” a murky expression comes across my face.

“I want you to come with me,” you obviated the dark secret in you to allure me into a frenzy. “But I don’t want to be with you, too. But I loved you, maybe I still do.”

Such a paradox you tell me.

“I can’t go anywhere,” a reflection of his own pensive thought is pervading across my mind. “Not until you tell me what is your purpose to come back!”

You give me a slight peremptory pep talk, but then you stop.

“You are haunting me,” I start to tremble. “Three years and then another five years. You have always been haunting me, haven’t you? You love it to see me like this, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” your feet are starting to touch the ground. I’m thinking you might be staying for good for a second, but I don’t want to conclude that fast. Because every damn time when I think of you might come back, I always get disappointed by my own paradigm.

“I am suffering!” I am screaming at the top of my lungs. I am standing in the zenith of mountains between us. “Can’t you see that?”

“Please, I want to feel the heat from your body because I’m so cold right now!” you are walking or more like floating towards me. “But your heat will kill me.”

“What exactly do you want?”

“I want nothing.”

“If you want me, say it!”

You are writhing in pain. “Stop!” you are in a great pain, but I don’t know where it is from.

“If you don’t want me, just go!”

“No!” you’re still clutching your temple. I hear sobs coming from you.

“I don’t mind waiting 8 more years just to find you coming back here in another form of ghost.” I am getting closer to you.

“Stay where you are!” You halt me with a gentle push.

“You want me to come, I’ll come!”

“Don’t come any closer!”

“You want me to leave, I’ll leave!”

You are angry. You are fighting with your own thoughts. I don’t care what they are.

“Just say it!” I demand. “Say what you want! Just say it!”

“I want everything and nothing at all,” you are crying but there are no tears on your face.

We are standing there, facing each other. One floating, one petrifying. One is a ghost, one is a stone. One is fluid, one is congealed. But we are both unsure for what might come next.

We will always be this way.



I remembered that night.

The first time that we met,

you smiled at me,

my heart pulsated.

I remembered that day.

The first time we ever talked,

your voice was so gentle,

my body shimmered.

I remembered that morning.

The first time we laughed together,

your eyes shone so bright,

my head spun in circle.

It was a quixotic scheme,

that I will never erase.

One day you disappeared.

Where are you?

I need you!

Every time I kept saying goodbyes,

you wouldn’t let me.

You were there once again,

blocking my way.

I was trapped,

for the second time.

I was settled by your affection.

But you wouldn’t let me.

Then you were gone again.

I tried to run away.

You were suddenly right behind me,

pulling me into a deep trance.

I was in frenzy for the third time.

I pleaded.

I begged you to stay.

I didn’t want to disappear,

I didn’t want you to.

You would not listen,

would you?

Before answering,

you were gone again the next time I opened my eyes.


Leave me,

or love me!


I knew you were scared.

I knew we both were.

We were lost.

But we could find a way,

I know we would.

But it’s too late, isn’t it?

What are we?

We can stop pretending.

We can try.

What’s the hurt from trying?

We got nothing to lose.

Or did we?


stop this whatever we are doing!

Whatever we are now!

Be gone,

if you wish.

Don’t come back!

Don’t ever come back!

I’m begging you.


The Meadow

Green grasses and colorful wildflowers.

I see them waltzing with the breezing air,

using the sounds of the wind’s direction.

It is like living in a house with a soft ground,

with a green rug full of dew drops,

and the most bluest roof so high above my head,

with an invisible illumination of bright light.

At night, all is dark and hazing.

But I can touch the sky now.

The invisible illumination of bright light is now visible.

Red, blue, yellow, purple, and green

all in one blurry and complex line.

It is like a long snake,

moving slowly towards me,

and I reach it with my bear hands but I feel nothing.

The northern lights, is it called?

Yeah, they are all everywhere above my head,

enchanting me to go to sleep.

The sounds of beautiful creatures become a lullaby to my ears.

The howling of a wolf,

the hoo-hoo sounds that an owl makes from somewhere beyond the trees,

the crickets make sounds too.

They are my nightingales,

and I don’t want them to stop.

Keep singing, my friends!

We are the dwellers of this earth.

Let us be nocturnal,

let us witness the parade of lights along this meadow’s taste.

This meadow, my friends, is our home.

Home, Family, and Myself

Home is supposed to be the only place where you want to rest your head.

Home is supposed to be where family gets together.

Family is supposed to be one of the vessels you can rely on.

Family is supposed to be the place where secrets are shared and sorrows are obscured.

There is no I among family in a home.

There is only we.

We are supposed to be a family.

I am supposed to be a member.

But we and are not one.

Myself is the one to take care of on its own.

You are the ones that supposed to be.

When myself demands the license to do as one wants,

no rights to be given and a hex you label it.

When myself pleaded the love of a family,

no mercy should be delineated and an enmity you turn over in one’s mind.

What kind of home where the war is between you and myself as supposed to be a family called? 

No home is supposed to be a death penalty of its own self.

No home is supposed to be a punishment for being born.

No home worth a life when one broken soul is still being annihilated.



The bond is now broken. The love is now fractured. We’ve been shattered, we’ve been burned. We’ve been through everything together since we came to this world. What’s the use of having each other’s back now if we’re only going to turn it all the way around? I don’t know how this happened, all I remember is that she came home with bruises while I was busy playing house with our youngest twin sisters.


We live in a farmland and sleep in a small house full of people. My father is a farmer, he grows fresh wheat and fresh vegetables and fruits. My mom is a baker, she always bakes so many kind of breads every morning and sells them to the city. Hannah and I were the ones who deliver them down the town My family is known for our fresh goodies to sell and special deliveries. People in my town love my mom’s Brioche and Manchet. Hannah and I used to pedal our hand-down bicycles to the market to sell the breads and dairies. In the evening, my mom bakes pies and muffins, sometimes biscuits. Then, Hannah and I back to rowing our bicycle to deliver them to the market. We visit houses to deliver our daily customer’s request. They order and pay a day before the delivery, so my mom knows what to bake and how many she has to make.

Hannah and I were so close like twins. Hannah is two years older than me. She was 16 and I was 14 when my mom gave birth to twin girls. Hannah wasn’t happy at all, elseways I was elated. Nevertheless, my parents weren’t too keen either. I was the only one who couldn’t understand what was happening. The three of them reckoned on adoption by stealth, I found out and begged them to let me help raising the twins. Moreover, no one in town wanted to raise twin girls. “There have been too many females in such a puny town like here,” an old woman who’s been friends with my family for years said. Eventually, they agreed to keep the twins and made me promise to watch them while my parents working. I said yes. Hannah stayed silent.

For a year of battles between outcries and  dirty nappies, my family had been receiving frequent complaints about the babies and their slackness of producing fresh goods. “Their cries can be heard from my house which is six miles away, that’s not normal!”, “Your bread does not taste as sweet as it used to, I am going over to the new bakery for further order. Thank you for your lovely services these past three years.”, “I found pieces of baby wipes in the bag of potatoes for almost a year, I did not want to acquaint you such complaint in prior. But it is my grief, suffice to say that I have to finish my order from your farm furthermore. Thank you.”  and more harsh letters came in the following year. Half of the town refused to buy more from our farm. My parents were on the rocks of impoverished and Hannah became more desolated.

Three years had passed. Gratefully, the family survived hungers, exhaustion, and sickness. My father carefully packs the bags of fruits and vegetables after he insisted to move the babies to my room (which is also Hannah’s room). Hannah was not happy about the idea at all. The night when the decision was made, Hannah asserted in disparity. “Why, Father? It is her decision to pet the babies! Don’t talk me into it!”

“They are humans, Hannah. You don’t pet them, you raise them with love!” I practically shouted.

“Hannah, I need the shed back for storage.” The twins have always shared a spare space with the crop yields in the shed. That was why an old man sent us a letter about him finding baby wipes in the sack of potatoes. Too often the twins get rashes from the wheat. There is no room for the twins inside the house. We only have one room which is for me and Hannah, my parents sleep in their own room full with packed vegetables and fruits. The shed is outside the house, I always sneak the twins inside the house and sleep with them on the carpeted floor near the furnace. The sofa is too small for the three of us, but somehow I managed the ugly tapestry became a warm and comfortable mattress. The twins never woke up in the middle of the night or cried, nobody knew I have been sneaking them inside the house for three years. I put them back to the shed early in the morning before everyone wakes up.

“The shed is big enough,” Hannah sulked with tears and angers. “Besides, you always use your room for storage. Why couldn’t you just keep using it, Father?”

“Because your mother has troubled breathing!”

“Then kill them or give them to someone who can afford to pay our debts and their needs!” She yelled. This was the first time Hannah lost control, she used to be so sweet and happy.

I roared and lunged my hands at her. I felt her skin inside my nails, both her cheeks bled. She cried. My mother was too weak to intercede, she has lungs issues when my father started to use their room for storage. My father pulled us away and screamed, “STOP THE FIGHTING!”

Hannah broke off from my claws and snarled teeth, “You should all go to Hell! You are a liar, Father! A liar, I say…”

My father slapped her so hard, she thumped her head into the wall beside her. There was silence. I clutched my hands over my mouth, stopping myself from both crying and shouting. My mother, she passed long ago in her chair breathing slow, grasping air for her wasted lungs.

“You are not grateful for what I have given you for years of your life. You never acting up like this, Hannah. Where is my old Hannah? WHERE IS SHE?”

Hannah stood up with her head bleeding. “Can’t you see her, Father? She had died when you promised her a lie, the day when they were born, the day we lost everything!”

“Hannah, I am still keeping my promise!” he reached out for her hand. I cold feel the guilt in his voice.

“And in what manner would you compensate? We have nothing but disgrace and unworthy drudgery! See all around you, Father!” Hannah left the house that night and didn’t return for a year.

My father and my mother searched all around town for her, sometimes I rowed my bicycle with my twin sisters sleeping comfortably in the sidecar I made. I found the broken sidecar near the pond across my farmland, then I fixed it and attached it to my bike. We would travel to the next towns and neighborhoods from dawn until midnight just to find nothing. I asked my father and my mother what Hannah kept talking about when she indicated that my father was lying, compensation, and promises. My father never said a word because he said he’d failed himself as a father. My mother, she’d cried and suffered a greater lungs problem. She died a month after Hannah disappeared. Then suddenly, Hannah became just a slight name that used to fill up my mind.

A year later when my father was away in his old and rusty truck to the next town for selling the crop yields, someone knocked on the door. The old woman who’s been friends with my mother came to visit and to deliver a news. “My son in Reno found your sister,” she said. “She is working as a baker assistant. She is married with no children. She said she was fine.” I delivered the message to my father that night. In my own scenario, he would be delighted and sobbed from happiness. Instead, he said to me in a murmur “Don’t mention that name to me again!” then he left the table without finishing his dinner.

My father found new customers in the other towns and even the people who used to buy our goodies came back and because our regular buyers once again. I bake the breads every morning and pies every evening, delivering them myself straight to them with my twin sisters. My twin sisters are walking on their own now, I modified Hannah’s old bike for them to use as their own bike.

One day when I was playing house with my twin sisters and my father was away, someone barged in to the kitchen and made loud banging noises. I hurried myself to the kitchen and found Hannah sitting in a chair, crying with bruises all over her body. She was holding a cup of water, her hand trembled relentlessly spilling the water onto her lap.

“Hannah, what happened to you?” I rushed over to her side.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed the words under her wails. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“For what?” I brushed my hands over her swollen face.

“For everything,” she looked like in a great pain while sobbing her tears out. “I’m sorry, Father…” her voice trailed off and she continued her cry.

I put my hands around her and embraced all the memories we used to make back into my arms. I weep along.

After hours we spent catching up the time we lost, she looked a little bit more like Hannah, my Hannah. I desensitized her bruises and a newly cut injury in her left brow. She ate almost everything on the plate I gave her. Almost the whole loaf of bread I bake this morning, a half strawberry jam I also made, three pouched eggs, two slices of cheese, and a big bowl of chicken soup. The food was supposed to be for Father’s dinner, but I noticed her ribs are almost poked out of her skin and she said to me she hadn’t eaten anything for three days. After she settled, we shared stories. I asked her where she’s been and what happened to her body.

“I was walking without knowing where to go. It was dark that night, so I was blinded by my own direction. I didn’t notice how long and how far I had gone, all I remembered that it was already morning and I stood in the middle of an empty road. I sat there for hours, thirsty, hungry, and tired. I thought I was going to die, until a nice man in his nice car offered me a ride. He asked me where I was going, but I didn’t know where. So, I let him to take me anywhere he wanted.” she paused for a moment.I gave her a glass of water and she sipped the cup empty. Then she started to speak again.

“I fell asleep in the car and woke up to a dark surrounding. I panicked, but the man who took me said we were still on the road looking for a gas stop. We found one and he let me change clothes wearing his and he gave me food. I thought he was a very nice man, so I stayed with him. He took me to Reno, where he owns a tool shop. He gave me shelter, clothes, and food. He even let me worked in a bakery shop across the house. We got married a month later.” her voice trailed off. Her body shivered from a great pain or maybe it was the memory she holds that harmed her.

“I was pregnant two months later. But I lost the baby in the 8th month pregnancy.” she started crying again. She took in a deep breath and continue the story, “I was working and I slipped down the concrete floor. I tumbled down back first then my head. I woke up three days later in the hospital. There was something different with me. I couldn’t feel whole when I woke up. I felt a great pain around my back and there was something missing.”

I could guess it though she didn’t mention anything. She was too weak to recall the past. “I was in the hospital for two weeks. My husband never came to visit, not even once. He said he was busy. So, I came home and I found him there watching TV. We had fights every night since then. He wanted a child, but I can’t give him what he wanted because I ruined almost all my every part of my body. He cheated on me and became violent. He hit me with a baseball stick, sometimes he smacked me with a his own hands. I ran away the night he tortured me, I would die I said in my head. In a slight second, I got a flash of images from the past. How I used to treat the twins and you. How I became so harsh and changed into a monster. I believed it was my debt to pay for all those years. I took that with all my heart. But I didn’t find myself dead the next day, so I ran away. I can’t remember how I got here. But, I still remember where to find my own home.” she smiled weakly. She reminded me of mother before she died.

When the thought of her came into my mind, it was like Hannah could read it.”Where is father? or mother? Are they all right?” I could feel a pang of guilt for not telling her my story before she could ask.

“Father is selling the crop yields to the town,”

“And mother?”

“She died a month after you left,” I said without any guilt. Father had always convinced me that she died because of Hannah. I wanted to believe him, but I never could. Instead, I always blame myself.

She nodded like she already knew.

Father came home with tears when he found Hannah and me laughing with the twins. He didn’t really welcome her at first and he hated the fact that Hannah was still alive. But when he saw her himself, he couldn’t resist the tears. We talked all night, and after a year father and Hannah would tell me what promise they made. Father had promised her money for school. Hannah always wanted to be a dancer, and father promised to sign her in to a dance school in town when she turned 18. But the twins were born and the family went short in money, so father used all her school money for the twins’ needs. That was why Hannah hated them so much. I was the only one who wanted to raise them, so it was all my fault. But father and mother told me that it was their fault. Somehow, I knew but I pretended to disagree.

A month after she was home, Hannah suffered from malnutrition. Her body was still weak and damaged from the miscarriage. Her body refused to heal itself, she ate in a rat portion. She refused to be taken care by doctors. She died from complication a week later. She is buried next to mother’s grave. The twins are now old enough to understand what is happening around them. They are learning to bake breads with me. Father has collected enough money from selling in different towns for one of the twins’ tuition. He signed one of them to the dancing school he promised to Hannah, one of them stays home to learn baking while helping with other matters.

Hannah is my sister, now and then. The twins came to this world for a reason. Hannah didn’t lose herself, she just lost her way. She went to the wrong direction. She’s paid her debts and now she is happy to watch us living our lives back, even better than years before, from Heaven with mother. They reunited. I hope they’ll wait for us to be reunited once again. Hannah, don’t forget me. I won’t forget you. Forever and wherever, we are destined to be sisters.



Promenade Sentimentale

I walk across the globe just to leave trails,

expecting you to adhere,

to chaperon my being for your bestowal.

I cross different universes just to descry your world.

I wait a thousand years just to draw near your hailing. 

I encounter deaths and lives to draw up the hereafter of your soul.

I master lessons in hence your kind performs. 

 Thus a Lion behaves as a Lamb.

What I devour shall I treasure. 

For you, 

The maw I shall lade in emptiness.

For you,

I desire to reiterate the thousand years journey.

I am willing to endure another torments and mortality,

just to find the girl with the Flaxen hair once again. 

Amid, the sentimental walk avails your love.

Based on; Edward Cullen & Bella Swan

Inspired by; Vladimir Cosma.