pada senja yang terlalu panas.

tak ada kesendirian yang berarti saat diri terlalu terbiasa dengannya,
justru rasa kosong yang menggema dalam hati adalah yang menjadikannya.
perih seumpama rasa asam saat menyapa luka,
getir seumpama rasa pahit bersalutkan gula.

pada senja yang terlalu panas,
angin bertiup sangat kencang : mengacau jejak, mengacau jarak.
debu-debu yang bersaling-silang mengelus jemari
jadilah mereka selubung kesendirian.


so, let me clear things up,

five years ago i used my own vote, a freedom to choose a leader, to elect the president running the country, which, unfortunately five years later let his subordinates in crimes (they are not his partners, or are they?) to walk out the house, after stabbing the back of the country's citizens while stealing their right to directly vote their leader, a one way of how he is now standing theeereee (not there),

the question is :

how am i suppose to hold the responsibility of using my right to vote back then?


"ketika kepalamu terasa berat,
coba bayangkan kantung air matamu :
apakah mungkin isinya sedang membatu"



...and the north-eastern wind tells you a story,
some paragraphs about trust,
and about time that does not actually heal. 

you know it does not, and will never...


Sunday evening might not be my most favorite times of what they called as weekend. Not even a random breeze on a one fine day with maximum heat could change my mind. However, I don't deny the message it carried. A message from a faraway land. Or a faraway heart, I must say.

The message is something about being upset upon seeing one's giving up. I laughed while reading the rest of the message. I read it calmly, word by word. I even interpreted every dots, or extended dots, a period and a coma, as if the message was written in some sort of secret codes. I smiled when reaching the part that indicated a slight disappointment.

And finally a closing, "a changing heart is just as unpredictable as a changing season with this global warming issue, isn't it? or it's just my false perception?"

Me, seven years behind, would definitely went all emotional. Texting with no second thought, with no considerations. Even his heart.

"you know what, global warming is not an issue."

But it's me, now. The version of which I prefer to have a long time thinking before answering. Not even gave a damn though the time to answer was up. Well, he demanded an answer. No indication of time was ever given. So I took my own amount of time. Leisurely. Pressure free.


It was Thursday. After ninty-eight of hours. And twenty-one missed-calls, And sixteen unreplied text messages. And one blank text message.

I decided to make it handwritten.

"a changing heart is not to be predicted. it's just changing. that's all. 
even the changing season, no matter that's unrelated to this, is not to be predicted.
you learn to read the signs, and later you learn to read the patterns. that's how the life of our intertwined hearts goes.
have you ever thought of this : maybe it's not the heart that's changing. maybe it's how we read things differently, now and then. maybe, just maybe, our heart intertwined in a way both of them resisted.

maybe it is your false perception. on trust."


And I wait for the South-Western wind to fly along with the love letter. Because I don't believe in time that heals. It is coming home.


stay with me,

"For worse or for better
Just stay with me forever

You have the same sad face as me
Won’t you stay with me, come to me
Your lips don’t agree but your eyes tell me you want me
Won’t you stay with me, come to me"

(Credits : BBU)

because i don't want to plan this alone.