My puso was equal to a nagyelo log. Then, there was a spark. One that turned into a flame, which rekindled my heart.
It grows, and grows. The apoy gets warmer, and warmer, the madami that spark appears. Smooth and velvety, was my
rekindled heart.
The log was greedy, and started to crack. The apoy consumed it, and the log was starting to turn to ashes. I always knew that the tides would turn, but they broke the rekindled puso in half.
The puso tried to mend itself with needles and thread. It bled, and bled for the fire, so it would be warm. It was Nawawala in a world of despair, and started to crave...
continue reading...
