Love Story (The Series)
Chapter 1
...Roman Picisan's...
Not the story of Romeo and Juliet whose story is written and also filmed, nor about the famous Rama and Shinta. Not a rich man, just an ordinary man, not a writer but just someone who wants to express every feeling through the verse of words and also the ink scratches that I pour with my heart and feelings.
The sweetly written annual temple of my love story with him that sits in the courtyard of love together with my heart that is always ringing with the whispers of his love so sweet, so sweet, indefinitely revealed but I can't say. I'm just someone who adores him in the distance, I'm just someone who tries hard to stay loyal to him even if I'm just behind the distance, don't ask me how I feel if you can't move on from the past that haunts you because it's so unfair.
The splashing sound of the rain rushing from the drops to the sound of a loud, not enough one but thousands of puddles of water swept over my shoulders and drenched me, not enough one, I just fell silent while letting every puddle of rain and also the boisterous sound of the wind blow fiercely on my face. I'm a nobody, I'm not the director who made my documented life journey into a movie. Even in the crowd I was still alone and feeling lonely, like there was only a firefly accompanying me in the silence. I'm just me and not him, let me keep this feeling at a distance because maybe you're not for me and maybe this feeling will one day go away on its own.
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Never the hell you like someone but only limited to taste and can never express it, he said, maybe you are afraid but actually also embarrassed if you have to face the same person you like so you just try to cover up your feelings and just be quiet and awkward or awkward if faced the same the person you like so you look like an absurd and strange person to expect. I am a poem of hope, of longing, of remembrance and of the past, of trying to forget but powerless, I can only hold memories and the past in the longing hopes I want to turn into reality. But I realize the past is still a past, it is not necessary to expect much from him if he comes back later his story is clearly not the same. So why does this heart not want to stop hoping, when it knows that the past has left it. And who leaves should not be pursued, right?.
Not the story of Romeo and Juliet whose story is written and also filmed, nor about the famous Rama and Shinta. Not a rich man, just an ordinary man, not a writer but just someone who wants to express every feeling through the verse of words and also ink scratches written with the heart and feelings.
The sweetly written annual temple of my love story with him that sits in the courtyard of love together with my heart that is always ringing with the whispers of his love so sweet, so sweet, indefinitely revealed but I can't say. I'm just someone who adores him in the distance, I'm just someone who tries hard to stay loyal to him even if I'm just behind the distance, don't ask me how I feel if you can't move on from the past that haunts you because it's so unfair.
The splashing sound of the rain rushing from the drops to the sound of a loud, not enough one but thousands of puddles of water swept over my shoulders and drenched me, not enough one, I just fell silent while letting every puddle of rain and also the boisterous sound of the wind blow fiercely on my face. I'm a nobody, I'm not the director who made my documented life journey into a movie. Even in the crowd I was still alone and feeling lonely, like there was only a firefly accompanying me in the silence. I'm just me and not him, let me keep this feeling at a distance because maybe you're not for me and maybe this feeling will one day go away on its own.
Not someone who is good at stringing words, not a psychic who is able to express words, not the predecessor who is able to say words, and not the painter who is able to draw words. Every despair paints a word, every thing provides information about the journey of life and every time will scratch ink about the meaning of happiness and also sadness. I'm just an ordinary person not a protagonist who deserves to be flattered and also not an antagonist who deserves to be made in the bully, not also a figure who just passing by, not just passing by, I am not a slang girl who is pretentious and also not a cool cool girl who is cool, I am not as romantic as Nicolas Saputra and also not as beautiful as Dian Sastro Wardoyo, this is not a story between Rangga and Cinta.
I don't know why I became a poetic figure when I was not a funny or romantic girl, and also not a girl figure who slang like noodles, not even a pretentious artist, not even a pretentious artist, let alone to be pretentious my quiet face might be considered a less friendly and not good at getting along, even though I really do not know anything. Why yes lately I often write in my diary until one day I realize my diary is full of my curses, the point is long at times wide is the same as either since when I became a romantic figure like a top pesinetron when in fact I am an ordinary and not famous person. Maybe it's not me if I don't have a taste, because every feeling will lead us to a love, or friendship like the story I wrote here. I don't know Lo want to read or not as bad as Lo yes the term bodo very, because from the first I did not like a lot of talk but once said a lot.
"Is Lo happy?" I don't know just words written with question marks, not firmly not elegant. Just want to be someone who is as special in front of him, even though I am not a perfectionist who deserves to be flattered. I'm being selfish, he shouldn't be a part of my life story when he's not a part of it. My move is stopped but I don't want this to be just a story about me and him, in fact now there is not only me but also there is him.
"What do you do Lo !" Ask
"Deh Lo wrote again?" Ask again while looking at me who is writing a diary
"Liat dong!" Say
"What the hell Lo, make a surprise!" Answer me
Even though it is delicious to be disturbed, before me.
My habits are written in the diary and scribbles until my book is full and also ink pen I run out, taking notes and writing is my habit, is my habit, I don't know since when I like to write I just like to write books compared to others because every ink stroke I write like the meaning of my life is shy and limitless.
"My eyes are gatel!" Taught me
"What the hell Lo !" Answer me
Suddenly there's someone who's watching us both holding hands.
"Woy's doing Lo both!" Say
"I told you about Master Lo" he said again
At once we are sitting together directly far apart.
"What the hell do you bother is that people are dating again" he replied
"Deh who else is dating Lo!" I answered him while hitting him with a book
"Cia's been romantic very much Lo both, so envious!" Answer
"What a boy!" Tell the others
"Eh Lo both-duan aar the third demon!" Answer
"Eh Lo has just come to mean Lo is both his demons" I replied as I left them
"Dev what the hell!"
Friendship is like cotton candy is very sweet, there is a sense of love, memories and also longing even there is also a sense of jealousy of betrayal and silly things. Yes that's friendship, sometimes crisp like crispy kayak, and like freshly peeled salted beans. That your best friend? Have a taste of what?
I just want you to know that even in the distance I'm always there for you, even though all the love I give may not be as great as the sacrifice you make for me.
If you remember the time you have spent with friends, everything must be fun, right? Although fights often color the friendship between you and him, but the feelings of annoyance and anger will be quickly replaced and never feel at home for long lodged in the heart.
Disputes there must be differences there must all happen because we are friends to help each other and need, remember about used paper? The old paper under my desk contains good memories with you my best friend, my best friend blasphemy splattered on me the problem came to me but you my best friend never complained to encourage me.
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