"to accept that not everything you just could understand."

- day 3 -

"the need to be justified, maybe it's not a sincerity to begin with."

- day 2 -

"to understand is a matter of perception, which is a matter of to know very well, that would only happened by choice made out of consciousness and clarity."

- day 1 -

. let me go .

. . .

"They say that time flies

but you keep breakin’ its wings."

. . .

. . .

"You wish me well.

You wish me well.

I wish you hell."

. . .

(Tablo - Eyes, Nose, Lips Cover via YG LIFE)

[notes] a broken heart : a clarity.

when you had your heart broken, time unconsciously stopped for you.
so it's no surprise that for certain pairs of eyes, you're always be eight. or fourteen. or nineteen. or twenty one. and the bigger universe sees you, still, as a passer by.

when you had your heart broken, you blindfold yourself with what so called 'a cancelled future'.
it is indeed a future. it's just not yours.
you know that very well, but nonetheless you marked it. with the permanent marker.
(but, you see, in actual world it was untouchable. nor temporary marker, nor permanent one, could ever left a dot.)

when you had your heart broken, you wrote as much on your journal, thinking it was a therapy.
but there's no such thing a therapy for broken heart, is it? well, pragmatically it's broken.
you don't do therapy for a broken heart. you just wiped off the pieces, clean the dusts, and make up the mess. and all you need, is really, blank papers and ink. or pencil, without an eraser.

when you had your heart broken, you just can't trust people's eyes.
simply because you're too afraid to find a place of escape on them.
because, you know, running away from a broken heart, your heart that is, is way too much.

when you had your heart broken, it might be a clarity.
a clearance of all doubts. a cleaning of all unspoken self-hatred.
a serene vision towards a quietly-queuing-in-line future.


#notes : this post was meant to be something fictional, a proof of too much listening to Coldplay's Ghost Stories, Taeyang's Rise, Gorillaz's On Melancholy Hills, and Damon Albarn's Lonely Press Play & Heavy Seas of Love.

[notes] a short take of an "i miss you".

every now and then, i always promised myself
not to be in love,
of which the "i miss you" is too hurtful to say.

nonetheless those're just words.
a kind of
melted ice, evaporated water, sublimed steam.

i dare not say it a 'too late',
i dare to say it a 'not that mature enough'.

"i miss you" is like a signed-out messenger,
a terminated telepathy.
yet, a prerequisite to a love letter.


talk about now,
i'm about to promise myself
to fall in love,

this time to a kind of which the "i miss you" would bleed my heart out until its last drop
so then i would had only emptiness as an "i love you".


i miss you.

langit kepada hati.

berkeputusanlah kamu di atas gunungan rasa percaya padaNya.

keindahan ada di Timur dan di Barat,

ketenangan ada di Utara dan di Selatan.

sekali bersandarlah pada waktu,

kesempatan tak pernah kenal kata terlalu cepat, atau terlalu lambat.

ia hanya kenal kata "siap", dan bukan persiapan.

sekali minta saja semesta memutuskannya untukmu,

dengan menitipkan setiap lembar rasa percaya yang utuh tak terlipat.

ia tak kenal berkhianat pada titipan rasa percaya.

langit kepada hati :

untuk bintang-bintang di atasku,

dan awan-awan di bawahku,

untuk resah di kirimu,

dan ragu di kananmu,

tidakkah selalu ada sesuatu di antaranya?

sebuah sementara yang fana saja.

[notes] butterfly.

sometimes, a dream was like a butterfly in the making. at first, it was so ugly we wouldn't want to admit it as ours. later it was so immersed in its transformation process, so lonely we don't even bother to be its company. and finally, it turned out as a shiny beautiful butterfly, so bright we felt so little to embrace it.


so at the end of the day, we could only watched it fly away.

but you know, there's a tale which said that if that dream was really ours, it would find its way to fly back to us. again, a tale.

pematik

malam berhenti pada satu titik yang bukan pagi,
berdiam diri di tengah kebebasan sejati dari waktu.

ia bungkus detik-detik yang berlalu sedemikian ributnya tak tembus,
hingga manusia sejenak lupa, malam pasti berakhir.

setiap cerita selalu dimulai dari malam,
berakhir pada malam, atau berjalan sepanjang malam.
ia adalah nafas tercadang.

malam berhenti pada satu titik yang bukan pagi,
sambil sibuk berpikir mau berkata bagaimana.

ia menjadi setapak bagi waktu-waktu yang berjalan pelan,
lalu pasti menuju pintu keluar alam mimpi.

setiap mimpi selalu dimulai dari malam,
tanpa akhir, tanpa perjalanan.
ia adalah nafas pertama : pematik kesadaran yang sebentar lalu mati.

.
malam berhenti pada satu titik yang bukan pagi,
dengan mimpi di tangan kanan dan kirinya,
dan api yang menyala pada jarak tahunan cahaya.

1 | square one.

Good thing doesn't wait at the end of the road. Rather, they tag along us all the way. Unfortunately, most of times they choose to be invisible. Or, just a might be . . . 

. . . it was first noticed not by our heart, but by our pride, or our fear. So in the next second, it would be vanished. And all that's left is what wee see as an emptiness, a mere absence of wholeness. 

Good thing is on its way. Not necessarily on a separate way from us. But, instead, on the very same way. It's not really something to be expected or to be waited for, but it's more of something we brought along with from the beginning.

Square one is just a square anyway :)