Sepia

The sky has turned a strange yellow here, and my heart washes over with memories for no reason. Maybe the smell of rain hitting the pavement means something to me. I miss my grandparents. There is something sad about that house in Section 17, something homely, something painful, something enduring. I find myself thinking, dreaming, blinking. For half a second, I am not where I am. I am back in KL or in a strange Singapore, and the mesh of time haunts me, preventing me from reaching yesterday. After 3 years, I still feel my loss keenly, my displacement, my grief. Home will not be home for a while yet, and only time will dim the memories I have that make it what it is. But time is my enemy and I fight it yet, straining to recall again and again yesterday's laughter.

Why so melancholic? Forgive my weakness.

Will you love me in December as you do in May,
Will you love me in the good old fashioned way?
When my hair has all turned gray,
Will you kiss me then and say,
That you love me in December as you do in May?
~James J. Walker