Timeless Love

I felt anxious about knocking at the door. The same door I left closed more than four decades ago. The luster of its surface had melted away and some flower engravings had been chipped off. I was not sure who would open it and neither sure if I'd be able to recognize them or they'd be able to recognize me.

I made two hesitant soft knocks, though. I never used the doorbell. The door slowly creaked in. An old woman in pink duster released the knob in her rheumatic hand and set her eyeglasses up her nose. Her surprised eyes strove to lock with mine. Then tears glistened on her wrinkled cheeks.

I forced a smile although something lumped in my throat. My eyes swelled up with tears, too.

"Kumusta," I said, my mouth shaking.

Silently, she drew slow steps to me and touched my cheek. I felt her coarse palm. She embraced me, pressing her ear against my chest seemed to convince my heart is beating.