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The Worst Day of Every Month
diannenicole.ramos | 08 January 2018
Somewhere at the back of my drawer, I have this little plastic box full of all your letters. Once a month, my mother insists that we clean out our drawers and donate the clothes that we no longer use. I always dread this day of the month because I know that I will stumble upon this little box, fight the urge to open it but give in. The moment the lid comes off, your scent automatically fills the room and I am greeted with a little red drawstring bag. I always flip it around as if seeing it for the first time before taking out it’s content; a sunstone bracelet. I remember promising to you that I’d wear it everyday. I’m sorry, but now a days, it would remind me too much of you. I’d put it back into its tiny home and start reading the letters.You used to talk about how we’d last forever. You used to say that you loved everything I did, the way I laughed, the way I spoke, the way I cried. You used to believe that nothing in this world was too big for us to not get through. It wouldn’t take long before the tears would fall down my face as I realize what we’ve lost. We were so happy, we were so sure, we were so in love. For the past months after I’ve lost you, I felt like I have also lost a part of myself. And here she is, trapped into this tiny clear box.
A while later, 25 letters deep, my mother would knock on my door, inviting me for lunch. I shout “just a minute!!” as I close the box, thinking of the wonderful times we used to have and I whisper, “thank you”.