agave

Excerpt From

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

I went back there today, to the small sanctuary I had during my darkest hours. The walls were the same, the rooms were the same, even the porch with its mismatched set of furniture was the same... yet, nothing inside it felt right.

There was something so unsettling about the bareness of it all, that despite the fullness of the things inside it there was something missing. The sofa where we used to sit so closely, lounging about doing our own things were covered with clothes and random knick-knacks, with no where left to sit, the table we used to crowd while having meals, laughing in glee, basking in the warmth of each other was dead—there was nothing warm about that table anymore. It felt so wrong, to be there, in that house devoid of love and care. This is what is to be expected, I try to argue, but it didn’t make the sinking in my stomach any better.

My greedy heart still yearns for its comfort. I still peer inside its room, taking in the packed-up sheets on the bed, untouched by any living soul, hoping that somehow it would spring back to life. That somehow, I would find people inside, that somehow this wasn’t the reality of it all. I still stare longingly to the empty darkness of the backyard where a cloud of smoke would pool every time we lit a fire for us to cook with, wishing that the echo of music would fill those space with happy cheers once more. But it didn’t matter, no matter how hard I looked at the corners of this house, at the tatami that laid flat under the sofa, nothing changed and everything was still dull. Muddy, muted colors, tainted every inch of the once vibrant rooms. Such a stark contrast, so unbefitting. My heart twisted.

sayang1/sa·yang/ a feeling of great fondness or enthusiasm for a person or thing, a person or thing that is thought of with (great) fondness (used also as a term of affection)