Uncertainties.

I felt a bead of sweat on my forehead. 'Twas enough reason for me to slouch on the couch facing the window and stare at the 'summer-look' the outside was wearing. I've been in this place for so long and it hasn't changed one bit, not at least when the sun blinds. This is the very spot where I was five or so years ago, what I can see through the open window now is just the same. Only, there's a string of silver paper strips hanging from the guava tree across the street to the mango tree that is ours. The silence that used to make me sad is now broken by incessant chirping of a pair of African lovebirds. With what the window can offer, those are all the differences I can tell. The sun still shines and sets here, still makes weird shadows against the walls it can reach. I've left this place so many times I can hardly remember how often, and I've been back for good. Or so they promise.

If I leave this place one more time, things will be different. I can never say for sure, but there is a huge possibility I won't be back ever again. Not for good, at least.

I can't believe I'm talking about leaving. If I do now, I'll live a life of "I-wonder-what-could-have-been-if-I-never-left."

This square of the outside, a glimpse of the place most common to me, it just might change. One day, one sunny afternoon, my thoughts will be disturbed by the mere sight of a cut tree branch, or a pink-painted gate, or a new car. Soon changes will be so much they will eat the place up until I sit on the couch and cannot even remember how things used to be, no matter how bright the sun shines. That one day, it will come in at most four years. If it doesn't, or if it does later, I won't be sitting on the couch to watch.

But then again, I can't be so sure.