
In the waves of Bantayan I remember our youth—selling shell necklaces playing at five and going home with wounded feet. The streets once laughed with us; now they’re silent. Those days are gone but joy lingers in my heart. Like Nang Delia’s Kalachuchi tree—weathered yet blooming—our friendship endures. Its scent still drifts in the wind just like your presence. To the young—cherish play for childhood never comes twice.
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