E P I L O G U E

Crisp leaves are scattered around the pavement, covering the grasses that are supposed to be adorning the lonely tombs of those who would never be forgotten. Every step Kris takes creates fragile sounds that distracts the hawks gawking in sight. He stops in front of a freshly covered one, under the shade of the tree where everything is so tranquil.

There on the stone, he places a snow globe---with a miniature bus inside---along with a bouquet of white roses that resembles the personality of the one lying peacefully underneath that ground.

Rose Rubiano Rizabal

A beloved daughter, a cherished sister, and a treasured friend.

July 13, 1997 - May 12, 2016

"Hey, Rose," Kris starts, setting himself seated beside, to what he presumes, where Rose is sitting. "It must be tiring, isn't it? Lying there all day?"

"Because for me it is. It's exhausting to lie to myself that you just cross the other side of the road because you have to buy something at the grocery store. I've managed to make myself believe that one of these days, you will be back with a can of pork and beans in hand and tell me everything is just a joke."

"That's what you are, right? You like surprises. And in my life, you're the biggest one."

He looks up at the sky, admiring how the clouds, thin or thick, will move as if they are defying time; as if there are so much to waste.

And he infers that maybe people are like clouds. They have different forms, different cores, and just like clouds, they like to challenge time. It's only of matter of circumstances like what Kris and Rose have, when they will choose to spend everyday like it is their last.

"Raphael and I goes to the same college under the same scholarship. We take the same course, so we wear the same uniforms. Funny isn't it? I found the brother I've lost in him, and I'm happy."

"Do you know I'm part of the college newspaper now? Yes, I thought I should write. Someone told me that it is a way to vent out when you can't express yourself orally."

And it works, I have less nightmares and I bounce my feet only on times when I'm listening to music; I really like Ed Sheeran songs. And oh, I don't bite the nails off my fingers never again." He laughs and takes a momentary pause as he averts his gaze to gradation of tombstones that will taper into a thin line before it will mix with the lane of trees.

"But I would be honest with you," he continues. "I still dream of you and the moments we had together. I know we don't have that much, and we only did the simple things, but that's all we know and somehow, that has made my everything."

"Rose, I can't promise I will be able to forget you because I won't. Maybe there comes a time when I have to carry on and will have to set your memory aside, but I promise to commit your remnants in my mind until maybe, we see each other again."

He slips a piece of paper and a tiny box from his pockets. He opens the box first and there lies a rosary necklace. It's Rose's last gift for him. Mrs. Rizabal had given it to him the day after the funeral, along with a folded paper. Until now he hasn't opened it, and maybe it is because he's been reserving it for that day.

It is a piece of paper torn from a notebook. It's a long one but the words written on hasn't filled the whole page. Just by looking at the strokes makes Kris bite his lips; just by seeing the struggle brings back the pain that she's dealt.

The ink of the pen is flying all over the paper, the words are barely comprehensible---no straight lines and are written over the lines instead on the spaces.

Kris,

There's a reason why I don't want to take the transplant. When you're a kidney patient, it's inevitable the one conflict can do your other organs wrong as well, that's what the doctor has told me. I find trouble releasing toxins because it hurts to even pee. Sometimes it gets hard to breathe when I have overindulged water.

But the worse thing is that my heart has enlarged. It becomes big yet it becomes weak. They have told the consequences of the operation, and that includes a fifty-fifty percent chance of survival.

It hurts, Kris. It really does. There are nights when I can't sleep and when I do, there's nothing I ever wished for but to never wake up. It pains me seeing everyone I love cry every time I will clutch the sheets of my hospital bed because I can't breathe; and when I will scream in pain when the nurses will bury the syringe in the wrong vein so they will have to do it again.

Every simple move hurts. I feel so fragile that I can't even manage to smile and I hate it. I hate that I can't smile for you so you don't have to feel alone.

I hate that I can't be with you when you were dragged out of your house because of telling your parents the truth. I hate that I wasn't there when your mother died. I hate that I couldn't tell you to cry when you're holding your tears back.

It is okay to cry, Kris. Let the pain out until there's nothing left so you can smile again. That's what you should do; always find a reason to smile.

With this letter is a rosary necklace I personally made in our art class. Always wear it, and when things somehow get bent and you have no idea what to do, talk to Him. You will always find what you need.

Live for me, Kris. A life for a life, you promised me. Live for the both us and get the life we deserve. I've found my purpose and it is you.

Now, promise me you'll find yours.

Remember me,

Rose

Kris is smiling but he can't hide the sadness his tears bring along as they fall. He's just too upset that Rose is not able to know that he already knows what his purpose is.

And that is to live for everyone who finds themselves lost in the darkness. Like what she's done for him.

She's saved his life but she couldn't save hers.

He has always found himself lost in the middle of nowhere; alone and getting nothing but more darkness.

But also, in the middle of nowhere, he's found a light that has showed him the way out.

He's found a flower. He's found Rose.

And just as he has found her, in the middle of nowhere, he has also found himself.

He thinks that if life is full of metaphors, then life is colors.

He is pitch black, and she is white.

A single touch can create a difference, but two being one can make changes.

A life for a life, that's what they've done for a new variant of color to spring out of the nothingness.

Gray is the color of a sworn promise.

"You've showed and taught me a lot of things and now I'm sure, Rose," he balls his fist and raises his pinky finger, pointing to where he supposed hers will be, "I'm gonna be okay."