|The lone wolf cried out toward the moon,
Its tears of agony barely contained;
As it yearned for a responding call to come soon,
For the distant comfort of another who pained.

Again
The deafening silence filled the sky
With a cold calmness of still.
The wolf sobbed loud,
towards the moon,
as quiet as it willed.|

Sunday|

"Dante, wake up. We haven't gone to church for two weeks already." Dante stirred a little on his bed, but decided to stay in dreamland for longer. "Mom's working overtime again, come to church with me, will you?"

"No."

Two whole weeks we've settled here, two whole weeks of treading through the streets in scorching afternoons, trying to grasp the heartbeat of this city.

It seemed it didn't exist.

And two more weeks of Dante not being Dante.

I really wished my little brother would get himself together, and be that spark of madness I loved so much. His current state pained my heart; who knew he would get hurt so badly?

He was only three years younger than me, but I saw him as this precious, trustful gem, always having a reason to burst into his lovely peal of laughter, like the sound of shimmering bells glistening clear and bright. How could someone hold happiness in such a beautiful and splendid way? His laughter was like the tintinnabulation of bells echoing across a marble hallway, never failing to chase away the greys and blues of my days.

But not anymore.

After the avalanche, after we lost everything, everyone; every sliver of happy memories strewn wasted amongst the rubble lying on what used to be our loving home, he never laughed again. The fire in his eyes died, and all that remained was a ghost of dull embers.

Yes, my heart shattered into smithereens when I came to know about my father's death. Yes, I've caught myself staring blankly at the ceiling in the middle of the night, tears streaming down my cheeks as the haunting memory found its way into my dreams yet again. Yes, I have lost my trust that everything would be okay. But that doesn't mean I lose control over everything. After all, what would happen to us if I too let myself sink into the blackhole of despair?

Our mother had made the grand decision of moving away from our grief, in a desperate bid to forget and move on. She hadn't realised that although she was here, with us, physically, she really was a thousand miles away. Preoccupying herself with endless toil kept her sane, even if she was acting rational on the far side of crazy.

Here, in the city, I was surrounded by people. Every corner I turned, every street I crossed, a medley of colour passed me by.

But truly, I felt terribly lonely. I really wanted to go back, but where to? I had no home to speak of, not anymore.

I took one last look at my little brother, before heading out as with every other day. Except this time, I wasn't just wandering aimlessly, searching for the city's rhythm. I was actually going somewhere, taking the first step of setting my life back into order.

The church's doors were already closed; I must be late. Quickening my pace, I rushed towards the sanctuary and took a breath, bracing myself for the attention I was going to call to myself. Cautiously, I pushed open the door, which was surprisingly heavy.

The cool, stale air gushed in my direction, momentarily stunning me. Eyes from every direction glanced my way, and I did my best to find an empty seat as quickly as I could. The only pew left was the last one, with only one church-goer seated.

I met her gaze and she immediately looked away, fixating her attention on the pastor.

Did I scare her?

Nevertheless, I felt myself glancing at her yet again. Her hair was the colour of honey umber, streaks of gold glistening in the warm light, and her eyes spoke of a painful past in that flicker of mutual eye contact. As I approached the pew, I saw that they were the most magnificent blend of oceans and skies known to me.

"Hey is this seat taken?" I asked casually, hoping not to intimidate her any further.

"Oh, no, no it's empty. It's always empty."

Her voice was soft and careful; every word she said seemed to hold deliberate intent. I looked into her curious doe-eyes, completely mesmerised by the story of hurt and tenacity I found in them.

"Oh great, may I sit here?"

"Yeah, sure."

She clasped the side of her neck, a look of hopeful uncertainty washing over the ocean of her eyes. I couldn't help but smile -- this beautiful stranger was a patchwork of contradictions; hurt yet trustful, vulnerable yet strong, fragile yet unafraid to face the world. How could she exist in this fearful, subdued city?

I sat down and tried to focus on the sermon being preached, it went something along the lines of 'seek and you shall find', but all I could see was her gentle features out of the corner of my eye.

I think I might like her.