No one can replace me. Our presence seems to permanently linger. Only those who dented the essence of nolgastic  memories can remain. The others fade in our memories as they had no significance. Others are forced to embrace your absence, a few morn. It seems that to only a few, we were the sparks that composed their fire, the water that nurtured them until their blossoming. But it was only few who noticed this. It was only few who felt with their hearts and thought with their minds. We are gone, like ghosts who romp with the hope that one day their animation may come into play. But our shoes have been filled and your clothes have been worn by someone else. But forever those leather shoes are too big to fill. We have no option but abandon all hope of revival, for our presence is no longer felt, our words are no longer heard, and our names are no longer spoken.

I came to the conclusion that all I ever do is talk. There was no taste for words in my mouth at that moment. So I sat up on my bed at 3am on a school night. I hear my mothers' pill bottles rattling and my father's almost inaudible snore. My sister sleep talks about her rough day at work and my dog exhales loudly as he changes positions. The fridge is buzzing and water drips outside as the snow melts. There is a high frequency sound coming from the charger across the room. The roars of cars from the express way and the whistle of the wind from my cracked window. Police sirens fade as they go farther and father. My bed frame creeks as I reposition my left foot. My ears ring when all sounds seem to seize. I got it. Something, I'm sure. Now I know why they say "peace and quiet." But that phrase is redundant because now I conclude that peace and silence are synonomys.

I crave your warm skin against mine.
And the tickle of your breath on my neck.
I want to grab your thighs.
And kiss your soft lips.
Feel your peach-fuzz on my cheeks.
I cannot stay and love you.
It would not be fair.
For what I feel is not love,
But simply Lust.

I wake up every morning and immediately think about the previous day. It fascinated me how swiftly things could change. The Earth makes no promises, but it does offer us a sight. A sign of hope. The rejuvenating essence. The cliche, yet rarely seen sunrise is merely invisible to the Western World. But this is no matter of the subject. The earth itself does not judge. We simply hinder ourselves with the pains of yesterday. We ignore the fact that everyday we can reach our hands farther and hold our breaths longer.

Heeyy Cerrena