The last time that I will call your name.

By Christian Rai Soriano

Some people know me, some people don’t, and there are some, who really knew every page, and chapter of my life’s
story. As I see their faces when they read every chapter of the book that I’ve lent them, it just makes me wonder,
what if I never tore pages of the book

I came from a town called Labasan. It means “to come out” in tagalog. I found it strange why people named the place
Labasan when there’s really not much going. You could count the population in 10 minutes and human chatters were
swallowed by either the sound of waves crashing the shore, or the sound the church bells ringing every evening.

I love to go outside every day, I can walk for hours and never get tired, how could I, when the breeze sent out
laughters of children, and the rays of the sun gave spotlights to people’s smiles and faces. Whenever I go outside my
mom told me to not go out past 6. She warned me not because of how bad people could kidnapped me,

but, when I was older, I found out that they were ghosts, that they never were people. But souls with foul mouths

The ghosts have told me that I have relationship issues. They say, that I spend more time caressing my books than
someone’s shoulders, that I’ve written thousands of poems and love letters yet failed to send it to a recipient. Sunday
morning, I’m at my province, I was basking in the cold winter breeze delivered by the sea. The sound of waves
crashing down the shore gave me a slight tingle, like how someone would give me an embrace, at the moment, I
know what love felt

The ghosts told a joke you see, for every time that I would love they would chant together like what we do on a
Sunday mass, the responsorial psalm.

I felt love when I slowly walked down the stairs and tripped, I hit my head to the corners of your heart so hard I started
seeing fragments of us together, even if you didn’t know how this heart of mine felt, for your dark irises, and painful
smile.