Empty Closet

It's that time of the year again. Why does it still feel the same way it did four years ago? I still cried a fresh set of tears this morning at the thought of what transpired at that fateful day.

I look at your room now. Your bed is a mess, if I can still find the bed underneath the high stacks of clothes piled on it. Your closet that used to store your favorite shirts, jeans, and those floral uniforms that the previous Manila city mayor imposed you wear (and you used to hate) is now full of just blankets, bedsheets, towels, and an even higher pile of our clothes up for ironing. Your dresser that I used to raid for any new stuff I can borrow (and not return) has turned into another mini altar. All of your stuff are gone. But why do I still feel every inch of you here?

I miss you, Tita Lyn. Sobra.

By the way, that blue shirt with pink collar I took from your cabinet, I use pa rin. Fits me perfectly now.

My last Christmas pic with Tita Lyn (Christmas 2006)