The colors make her smile.

"Time passes by in just a wink,

but a friend like you who would never look down on me,

and befriend me despite of my status,

will always be treasured and remembered forever.

Thank you so much for accepting me as your friend.

May God bless you."

____

Day by day I ponder upon trivial things.

I think about the downfalls of unrequited love.

Of the cunning abuse of loneliness.

The kind that never shows it's form physically,

but slowly drains you from the inside.

It's hard for you to ask yourself.

Have you held the hands of a child who's been abandoned.

Have you brushed your lips across the scars on their skin.

Have you felt the need to comfort and protect them as they lay asleep in your lap.

Have you felt your heart burn when they cry as you leave.

A 4 year old curls up in your lap and plays with your Uno cards.

A 5 year old always smiles at you and motions for you to carry him.

A 6 year old falls asleep in your arms.

An 8 year old tries teaching you Tamil.

A 9 year old laughs at the highlights in your hair.

A 12 year old tells you where her presents all go to in the end.

A 14 year old promises to call before you leave overseas.

An 18 year old tells you that she wonders what it's like to have people to call father and mother.

In the end, when you ask for kisses,

they may shake their heads,

they may draw circles with their feet in the sand.

Some give hugs so reluctantly,

because they know nothing of how to.

But in the end,

they will love you with all the can give.

The awkward tangle of limbs,

even the cold stain of the saliva from their pecks,

they leave the greatest marks across your heart.

See, when it was time to go,

the girls stood waving by the glass door,

blowing as much kisses as the can,

trying to touch their fingers against yours through the panes.

The Chinese boys give you high fives,

and silly handshakes,

and swipe their hands away even before you touch them.

The littlest Indian girl with the biggest eyes looks up at you.

She wears her oversized bagpack,

wipes the back of her hand and starts to cry.

The tiny Indian boy who doesn't speak much,

who constantly asks you to carry him like 'Superman',

gives you and only you a kiss.

And the only thing they ask you before you leave is

'Are you coming tomorrow?'

And knowing that it isn't compulsory for you to come back,

knowing that this is supposed to be your last day with them,

you can't help but wonder how the college students who came to help out

can just leave the orphanage without ever returning again?

Though promises are intangible,

it's never black and white.

But with all of me,

I promise I'll be back.