I awoke from chasing tigers to chasing the cold in spaces beneath my pillows, edges of the bed. I kicked off the sheets, my face covered with sweat, sought solace by pressing it against the window. Outside, it is raining. From the corner of my eyes, raindrops against glass looked like a thousand butterflies beating their wings to a rest. I breathe until my head is surrounded with haze, and out of fancy I squeeze my face harder on the surface to see my face at sideways glance, painted with the beyond window view, my own breath as foggy backdrop. But there is no world outside the windows; at least none I knew of. No-World is white and gray. The rain sounds like a louder silence; the calendar stuck on March of last year. Shoes lay with notebooks, strewn across the floor, indifferent to the cold; discarded clothes lay as I left them, keeping the joints of chairs warm. Had I chosen to, I would have lain still and have become included in the room’s secret conference. Had I chosen to, I would have lain still and not gone out to the empty hall, the empty rooms, to see that I am left out of this conversation, uninvited to this grand event. The wall clock is frozen at six; I look under the blankets, pillows, bed for my phone for hopes of telling time but as the search ends in vain, outside, the rain could only fall harder and I, in surrender, could only lie still.
Katrina Del Rosario
