I’m still standing on the same spot where I first met you. How the glaze in your eyes met mine, how the breeze in the air follows the pulse in my wrist, how the time suddenly stopped and the people around us disappeared. I know this is some kind of mainstream that mostly happens in movies. Where the positive side of this comes within. Where everyone will cope up the pain, where the ones whose left behind will recover and the scenario of ‘time can heal’ will be applied. But I say, No. None of these are true. Time do not have the capability to heal. Maybe the memories within it, yes. But literally speaking, you’re not totally healed. These memories are just concealing those precious moments I must be on your side, laying my fingers through your hair, sharing you stories about how I criticize the book I’ve just read, feeling your lips while it touches mine when the momentum is right.
You don’t know how I’m dying to do anything to let everything back. How many ropes I’ve been trying to pull just to turn back time. I’m not blaming anyone, anything or any what. The thing that matters the most right now is how I want to touch you in flesh, Again. I’m still seeing every move you make, every food you left uneaten for a couple of days, every workload you still didn’t able to finish, every glisten your teeth produce every time you smile, gosh your smile. It still driving me crazy, making me melting into the most liquid form. You’re still on with the world where both into, back then. I’m really sorry for leaving you alone, in that such forest where it takes me and you to survive.
Baby, can you do me a favor? Please do tell me stories. I’m wondering what I am in their eyes. Did they remember me as the guy who’ve been with them in their toughest times? Or the guy who always teases them? Tell me if I’m their guy as keeper of secrets, or the guy who constantly absents during hangouts? How about mom? Yours and mine. Did they try that spa they’ve been talking about before I get the keys from our coffee table? If they didn’t, well please accompany them. To at least, lessen the stress. Please tell me more. Talk please. Speak to me. Don’t just close your eyes or stare into nothingness. I want you to know that I’m still seeing you. I’m still here. I’m still hoping. I’m still.. me.
I’m still standing on the same spot where I first met you. How the glaze in your eyes met mine, how the breeze in the air follows the pulse in my wrist, how the time suddenly stopped and the people around us disappeared. Now I’m turning back. You’re recovering, it hurts me. I don’t know what to feel. But now I’m into somewhere and the thoughts of you saying that symbolism is my art are still running on my mind. I reminisce how I called those car headlights as glazed eyes, how I described that flat line as breeze in the air and how I suddenly fascinated by death as the hands of the clock stopped.