DEAR, DARK

34. We will fall hard

Two years ago

.

"Have you ever built a sand castle?" Miss Diaz asked me, tapping the nip of her pen on the page of her diary.

"A sand castle?" I sighed, already frustrated of how foolishly she thinks this kind of talk will work on me.

"A beautiful sand castle we built with patience, calm and faith? A castle you want to see stand tall and firm. A castle that you think will exist for a long long time?" Miss Diaz swallowed, staring into my eyes while I was sitting on my chair, trying to ignore how blue her eyes is.

"I did." I nod, I nod even though I don't wanted to answer her at all. I told her to quit, I told her to fuck off and I told her to give up on me and yet, she is here. She is back with that optimistic mouth of hers.

"What happened to it?" Miss Diaz asked, placing her pen on the table as her palm rested on each other. "To the sand castle?"

"It fell apart." I answered. "It was supposed to fell apart. It was made out of a fucking sand, Miss Diaz, what kind of question is that?"

"We know it, don't we? We know the ocean waves will hit the shore and demolish the sand castle. We know it won't stand for long and we know what will happen if the wave comes." She exhaled, her voice low and calm.

"And?" I swallowed.

"Yet," She affirmed. "Yet, we pour our soul into building that fragile piece of an art." Her blues stabled on me. "For a few minutes of laughs, for a few minutes of proud and for the few minutes of happiness."

Her voice is comforting, like a warm blanket in the cold nights. Her tone is gentle, like a mother singing a lullaby. Her eyes are coolest shades of blue, the one we need after the blinding lights.