Dear Erick

Forgive me
for the missed birthday greetings.
Lately, I forget the days,
I forget the hours.

I found my God,
on a bus ride to the office—
years of walking and dragging my tired feet,
years of disbelief—
ending quietly in that moment.

You were right.
I hate its people, maybe…
but I still love Sta. Magdalena.
Its midnights, the stars
that belong only to her and me,
the memories she keeps safe for me—
for the still August sea,
for the soft rain like curtains
drawn over her mountains,
for midnight barefoot walks
despite the wary dogs,
for the cemetery’s wildflowers and shrubs,
and for the few friends, like you.

I still grieve for Kuya Ente.
I still miss Laya.
I still dream of the dead—
Mamay, Papay Sunny,
and the me who died long ago with them.

I remember
the hearts that were once mine,
and the church—
when it’s empty.

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