You know nothing.

She was by herself, at the swing set.

These past days she really seems hell-bent on ignoring me. She finds ways to evade me, neglect me, making me feel as much of an asshole as I really was. But right now I’m hell-bent on apologizing and returning on speaking terms with her. Whatever it takes.

The moment she saw me coming towards her, she started swinging. Higher and higher.

“Hey.”

All I got was the whoosh of her swing.

“Look, I’m really sorry for what I did. Okay? I’m really desperate here. Not talking to you kills me, and knowing that you’re really frustrated at me... it’s, just—it drives me crazy.”

Nothing.

“Go ahead and slap me, or lecture me, or punch me to your heart’s desire, I’d be willing to cooperate. Just please, don’t give me the silent treatment. This is the worst.”

Still, nothing. She just kept swinging.

I don’t know what I was thinking but the moment she was at the highest momentum, I stood right in front of her. A second later I was lying on my back with the wind knocked out of me.

I can hear her scrambling out of the swing and cursing. Then—

“Dan!” It was precious, hearing her say my name again. I saw her looming over me. “Seriously, what were you thinking?!”

I cupped her face and kissed her. Once, twice. Softly.

“I’m really sorry,” I whispered.

Her eyes looked glazed, but she laughed. “You asshole,” she said. “You sweet, cunning asshole.”

We are all born to this world as blank canvases.

Palettes and palettes of different colors are shown to us as time goes by, and we are free to choose which colors would define us.

I saw a lot of colors, I did. But what I liked best were pastels. Serene and delicate, the soft shades of yellow, pink, orange and beige suited my entity.

And then you came. You barely had a spot of pastel in you except for those rare streaks of pale blue, but you sure are a sight. You showcased colors in all their brilliance, and I was bemused. Amazed. Enthralled. And you, surprisingly, took notice of me as well. Me, the pastel-colored canvas. You said I balanced your bright aura.

Little did I know, I was changing bit by bit. Blithe became joyful, affections became passions. My pastels were slowly intensified into much lustrous colors, and I liked it. You also changed, on account of me softening your extremely bright hues.

Sometimes we bordered on turning monochromic, but we always found a way to balance our clashing shades and return to what we really are.

I love you.

 A knock on their bedroom door woke her. She had her eyes open, but cannot see a thing because of the dark.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

She grabbed her phone and used it as a source of light. “Oh, honey,” she said, seeing her eight-year-old son’s scared face in the dim light.

Daddy was awake as well and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared... and I’m alone in my room... can I sleep with you tonight?” he squeaked.

She shared a look with her husband before saying, “Of course you can. Come here.” He climbed in, and sleep came to the three of them afterwards.

Over breakfast the next morning, she asked her son how he’s feeling. “I’m okay,” he said casually.

Daddy explained. “Son, you’re turning nine in three weeks, and that’s past the age of being scared of monsters under your bed. You ought to sleep in your own room and be the brave boy that you are, understand?”

They took my compass, thinking I’d be left lost and without direction, but 

Sometimes you take risks and do things against your better judgment. Sometimes you act and rely wholly on faith and hope.

It’s like a door—no, scratch that. A door is too safe. It’s like a cliff, standing God knows how many meters high above the ground.

You never know what’s waiting there for you. Maybe down there is a trampoline of regret that you hope will bounce you back to where you started, or someplace else. Or a lake of hardships and aspirations, which could overwhelm and drown you unless you know how to swim through them. And if you think about it, being scraped or hurt a lot worse by the jagged rocks of consequences resulting from your recklessness isn’t so far-fetched, either. Whatever it may be, the only thing you’re certain is that you don’t know what’s waiting for you below, because it can be absolutely anything.

But you jump, anyway.

“So,” he told her one morning on their way to school, “your seven-year-old sister asked me something.”

“Yeah?” It was their ritual. Every morning, he would drop by her house and wait on her, and they would walk to school together.

He held her hand. “She asked me if I love you.”

“Really.” Where is this leading to? she wondered as she felt the rush of blood tinge her cheeks pink. “What did you say?”

He pinched her nose. “I told her yes, of course.” Of course. He sounded as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if he couldn’t help it. Her heart skipped a beat. “But,” he added, “her follow-up question was what made me laugh. She asked what chocolate our relationship would most likely be.”

The kind of questions children think of! It made her smile. “That question’s loaded with...sweetness,” she commented.

“Wow, classic pun.” He chuckled as she mock-punched him.

Chocolate? she thought. Well, if their love was like chocolate, it would have to be...Snickers. Bits of nut, bits of caramel, bits of nougat. It was never smooth, that’s what makes it exciting... and why Snickers is her favorite snack.

She thought all of these in just a second, until he asked her, “Wanna know what I told her?”

“Well, what did you tell her?”