LITERARY: "These seasons, I wait" By Isela Ingrid D. Pabunan

Published by: April R. Despi

Date published: February 26, 2022

Time published: 9:24 AM

Classification: Prose

Theme: Cycle of life and death/Seasons

Synopsis: Your unfaltering slumber, I ponder when to end. Every piece of you I miss, until when will I wait to feel your kiss?

"Isn't it too early to leave yet?"

Those were the last things I said before he pecked my cheeks goodbye. He was still that stubborn person I knew. He never even listened. 

Now the season started, flowers scattered everywhere and the pond shined against the sun. I snapped some branches and collected them to form a bouquet.

I covered it with an orange ribbon, the way you do. The vibrant color glimmered as I strapped under the sun. 

—

"Don't look yet, you'll ruin the surprise."

Fine, I said. I had enough with his games. I just wanted to see, why couldn't he just—

"Turn around!"

My dress twirled as I faced him, holding out flocks chrysanthemum along with marigold and plumeria.

"What, they looked out of season!"

—

I chuckled, remembering the time you gave a bouquet in summer. It looked like it was starting to die. Until now it was kept. Not as the whole, but renewed as a fragrance.

That would happen again, and I didn't want that. I searched for a glass vase and splashed water for sure it will keep its freshness.

I put it by your doorstep, left it there until it bloomed. You never got to gift me fresh ones, so I would do it.

I poured your favorite tea, as I did on your wake. But now I was wondering when do you plan to rise? 

It had been quite a while until when did I intend to look for the spring and summer alone?

A memory flashed. You and I were sleeping side by side when I looked into your sleeping face.

My mind wondered aloud, why were you so pretty?

You giggled and continued to sleep. I thought you heard me but it was just a dream. I wanted to know what was your notion at those times.

Now, I was in your room; resting. I could feel you spooning me. With that, you just slept so easily.

"What do you dream of? Would you mind telling me after your deep slumber?"

I whispered, knowing nothing would be heard in response. The wind growled through the night, to which I expected to be dead silent. We were sleeping together, in the same cushion and position. Yet I couldn't feel you.

—

Two seasons had passed, and I decided to draft a letter. It contained the poem you had fallen in from that day on.

'When in a season, I failed to face,

Would you mind repeating the words

I've loved ever since?'

You never told me to underline anything, but now I did. I placed it in your mail slot. Promise to read it to me when we meet.

—

The cold air came again, another end right? When did you even plan to read it for me? I was getting more impatient.

I could feel the chill between my bones. I knew I needed to hug you.

"Hey! Until when do you plan to sleep?"

My tone dropped as soon as I reached the last sentence. I was here. I planned to visit you because you never planned to come back.

Tears trickled down my eyes to my chin. Didn't you get that I miss you? Didn't you promise to come back after a long time…

"Isn't it too early to leave yet?"