I wipe the fogged mirrors of the bathroom, and lean back on the cold tiles as I maneuver in front of the sink. Soon as I stop, I stare at the startled naked man looking back at me, dews from the hot shower still hanging on the tips of his hair, trickling down his face, onto his neck, down his clavicle and below. No words are exchanged. No views are changed. Only a steady, impenetrable gaze, thick as mud, exist in unseen friction. I hold on to the moment, the expanded seconds of peace, when the things which always matter are temporarily reduced to consequential noise; when the people I love are mere blurred lights of a distant skyline; when the place I call home is left to strangle the crimes of existence. I pull a cigarette, suck the dangerously soothing coolness of a Black, and exhale years of my life, pushing it towards the burdened Manila sky. I look back at the mirror, at the man I am, the man I’ve become, the man that can soon be just another cocoon. There is a tinge of sadness in my blood stream, and prickly nostalgia sweeps across my flesh. I miss myself, and I will miss myself. Will he still be there to remind me of this frosted afternoon?