The morning sun brushed against my face.
I could almost still hear your footsteps, creaking on the loose floorboards upstairs, coming up from the kitchen.
“Good morning Momo. Oy.. Ada eggs ken nag loto ak ti mung beans. Mangan kan, tapos na pudot pay.” [‘hey, there are eggs and I cooked mung beans. Eat now, now that it’s still hot.’]
The house is way too silent now. I don’t hear your sink on, or the loud clearing of your throat, or the rattling buzz of your electric toothbrush. The TV isn’t blaring a PBS program. I don’t hear movement downstairs, no crackling oil on a pan, no warm delicious breakfast foods wafting through the air, no sagging of my bed when you come in and sit at the corner of my bed in the morning.
