Muralla St. Intramuros, Manila

The chasmic cavern of my heart always knew that where I am now is not the place I belong in. 

The moment I took one step outside of purity and manipulated ignorance, I always knew that someday, I will fly. Higher than the fall. Farther than the doubts. Stronger than the agony of hope and doom all at once. To live for the bliss of forget and release, tucked in the single sized bed I bought downtown, turning off the nightlamp I chose, the piggy bank paid blanket, whilst surrounded by the faint smell of roasted tea and almost burnt sourdough.. ain't that the pot of gold peaking at the edge of colors? 

A thousand and a half days. Counting on my fingers. A tick-tock sound from afar. Terabithian bridges constituting themselves one brick at a time. 

It's almost here. 

Seconds after seconds. 

Look at how near. 

I took a deep breath and the spur of whirlwind familiarity kicked in. This might be it. This might be the endmost pre-august breeze kissing my face. Who knows if yesterday was the first and final time I'll ever hear a stranger's violin orchestrating the walls of an underground passage, the last time I will ever wrongfully take the longest gates instead of the path facile on its own, cross-walking with strangers to walking past fallen soulmates. From keeping one-way tickets in closets, to picking up the paces after the torturous fall. From the nights I deprived myself of tranquil, to days I quiet. From looking behind bars, to walking around walls patched up with stories of the century. From bland and stale croissants mockery, to baguettes baked right before the chimes sing a song. 

It's almost here. 

Seconds after seconds.

Look at how near. 

From nowhere to home.