FRIEND BUT MARRIED
agitatedly
I saw everything, I saw when you left. I saw when Dusk was crying. What are you thinking? Is this the beautiful twilight you're proud of? Dark, without the sun's glitter coming down. Is that the beautiful twilight you crave? Black, covered in dark fog with unmoved silence and sorrow? Hey, those memories are for me to remember. However, if the memories are to hurt, don't take the pain away. Do you think only dusk can be foggy?”
“Do you think only a dusk can be covered in black clouds? Didn't you think about Dawn? It could be dark. During the rainy season, Dawn was not seen. Closed by fog. However, afterwards? There was a bright afternoon removing the fog. Although not too glare, but there is beauty. And I can meet the next Dawn. So even dusk, you should be happy. Because after dusk, there's a night with a sprinkling of stars. And after that, you can meet Dawn.”
“You should know, Dawn is not always beautiful. Just like dusk. And me? I am Dawn, I am not as beautiful as Dusk thought. You don't know because you haven't seen Dawn. And you should know, that I, just like you. The accident three years ago left me with a prosthetic leg. Then you? You're lucky you only got injured for a few moments. Is this the kind of art I had hoped for long ago? Is this the kind of person I wanted to meet first? Really, it's not like this Twilight I know,”
The girl's cry was getting broken. Flowing the swift flow of tears of regret that greatly makes his heart and eyes sore. She cried. He screamed at his consciousness. Back, on the sidelines of an aging night, twilight spelled out a nearly dead rainbow temple. It brings together every color neatly. Until the miss appeared, miss the figure of a mother and her little friend's man. He began to tell me at night, about all his longings. Longing with hope can return together with figures so precious to him.
At the end of the day, when his cries began to stop, he blew away all the dust of grief. It eliminates all depression. He assured in his heart, before the word was worn out, before the sentence disappeared, he said, “Yes, dusk should not always be dazzling. Because the dawn is not always beautiful. I must continue to carve beauty even without my beautiful weapons. Because after all, after a dark twilight, next I will find my beautiful weapon. And I, is Senia January. I am the Twilight, which though not always enchanting, is today restrained by the mist of imperfection with disability, but I deserve to carve the perfect life path without the slightest flaw. Even though the twilight is dark, but my weapon, I who become the Twilight, must still carve beauty,”
Compassion. I've received walimah's message from you. I have read with helpless soul fragility. I have said “I am also happy” despite being kept a lie lara. The love.. You have taught me to love
Brother..”
“Do not cry Wi. Your tears will melt my heart. Brazing my feet. Melting asaku. Iring me with love. I love me with prayer. For our future life.”
“I'll be loyal there. I was there to study. I promise to visit you every year.”
“Secret promise?”
“Appointments.”
letting go worry. Tears accompany your steps across the ocean with the loss of twilight. How can I breathe calmly, while half my soul wanders far away? Want me to be a part of her body, to be together, together, forever. Learn really, remember the Goddess. I will faithfully wait for you here, in the shade of twilight.
The love.. Knowing you is my happiness. Waiting for you is my promise. Survival is my choice. Being with you is my dream. Brother.. Feels quite my nest. Feeling your loyal vows beating me. I'm tired! I want to go home to see my true lover. He who never disavows. Brother.remember me as the one who loves you. I keep my promise to stay loyal to you.
Dusk filled the horizon. The sky door opened, unfurling the screen of death. I ready. This is God's gift to me. When dusk comes.
Later in the twilight, your son and my son will tell each other about his parents who valued twilight and no longer orange after that.
Your weapons are no longer beautiful, miss. Ever since someone cut it a few years ago. Empty weapons. Later I saw, you always go to the corner of the harbor and paint orange twilight when the ships release their anchors. Your strange habit of throwing your own paintings into the Barito River and repeating them every day. Your boyfriend thinks you're crazy and he doesn't accept it. You repeat again your behaviors that your boyfriend considers less sane at every twilight. You repeated it hoping that the ritual could bring us back together. But the truth is, we've never met God, have we? You're just fantasizing, miss.
You're no longer my gun that ever rang during the crickets' silence at the end of the night. You once said, admiring in fact, the rhetoric and the intonation of rhythm as I recited twilight poems in public delicacies. Which at the time, you weren't there, miss. You only admire me in the virtual world. But not in the real world.
A city is preening to represent our taste, and meaningless words like longing are drowning at the end of the night when first making love on the royal no man's couch. Plus the scent of the body you left on the bed linen room we were in last night.
When that sense strikes at dusk, you say, don't want to love too much. Not wanting to bring feelings too deep. Bemoan. You admit you do not want it to feel missed too much until you are willing to share the longing in two places that in fact, the distance is not much different. Which strength can cover his waist twilight as a reminder of the memories between you, me, and him. You're just fantasizing, miss. Not loving me completely.
You, Miss. The jet-haired woman with round eyes sat in the corner to the left of the harbor. The palm of your right hand is sweeping the neck while the left finger is combing the bangs that cover the face. You said you don't want to paint anymore because every scratch is no longer a miss, just camouflage your heartache because we no longer meet.
Some time later, you become diligent to the bookstore to buy a notebook, write down longing words. You said there was a perfume on my cover that made you have to have the book. After the sun has almost left our city, you take it to the end of the harbor.
The notebook that had been located above the thigh moistened because of the bulir dripping from the clear eyes of a mother. Your cheeks are wet. In a moment, the orange will blush. The last pebble you threw into the river. The book is still empty, you haven't written anything because the orange twilight you think is no longer beautiful. Since leaving me, you no longer feel like there is anything special in the universe. Your life is empty, Miss.