would tomorrow cry for me?

O Muse, your words are music to my content,
The fortress crumbles, my soul's bent
To unravel the rust of this wretched body,
Devoid of existence, the temple of malady
For I hide beneath the mask of Apollo
And flaunt gaiety with face unbarred
The tears not seen under the veil,
For my pain is just a dust on the scale.

If I die tonight, would tomorrow cry for me?

Would the world shed its heavy plumes?

And dust my ashes to the winds?

Or would I crumble like the ruins

Or my memories fade under faint skies?

If my soul trembles, what would've become of my body?

If my fate is laid, what would my future behold?

Unrivaled woes and grievances,

Would tomorrow be uncertain if Death be its gain?

If I die tonight, would tomorrow cry for me?

Or would I be just another tombstone?

parting.

I am bad with parting. I am usually caught between the idea of "not reacting at all" or "the feeling that is almost there". I usually let everything pass. I let the time pass. I let the emotional side of each situation pass. I let the feelings of guilt and grief pass. Basically, I become frigid like a senile man. This time, however, it is different.

Today is the last day of school. The excitement is so overpowering that everyone forgets the real score. Parting is supposed to be a momentous event for tear-jerking experiences and emotional goodbyes. Or is it only real during my younger years? My students are hollering around with excitement. I still don't know how to react. Will I be happy that the school year has ended and that stress has reached the safe level? Will I be sad for the fact that I'll be seeing them after two months? Or will I be delighted that I can lavish myself with stress-free days later? Blank.

Maybe it is just the effect of lack of sleep. My mind is groggy and my emotional reflexes are anesthetized by coffee-less morning. But as I have told you, this day is rather different. I receive this card from one of my students (see the photo). And I said to myself, "What a wonderful world." Kidding aside, I am deeply touched by my student's token of affection. Each word is like a golden trophy. To tell you honestly, this is the nth time that I have read the words and I am still seized by the same feeling. Three years is just as short as his message but is as meaningful as the words used. To that dear student of mine, "Timmy, spending three years again with you would be delightful." 

This time, parting for me is meaningful. And I react knowingly.