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The leaves are falling now, as they should have fallen. The house is empty. Even when the lights are on and the water overflows. It is but a shell, where the heart no longer stays.
Inside, I hope for it to be true. That things will go back and be better off. When January comes. The curtains will be drawn and sunlight will no longer be far from sight. There will be laughter, as there always was in silent terms. My mom, when she returns, will come home to the hope of a newborn in life and perspective.
Everyday, I chase after the hours of each hour. WIll it be dark soon? Must sleep come so soon? Can I stay up for a little more? I have not grown more than I should. Right now, there is no space, just stagnance. I am still and yet I am moving, not necessarily to where I’ve always hoped to be. I no longer think farther than tomorrow.
Christmas is on its way. It will be a test this year, to see how far we’ve come. And gone.
Things will be hard at times. But I will learn to try.
As much as I want to climb ashore, I know I am still beneath. Sometimes, I’ll stumble upon a buoy. A boot in the sand. Fishes, that’ll lead me to another cave. Temporary, that’s what they all are. I don’t know where’s home. I don’t know of this thing called land. I am but underwater.
Perhaps, I will learn to live without breathing.
