for you

from dina

dedicated to domi & lois

a sudden downpour hinders him from going back home. the sky is the color of sweet mixture between ash grey and delight blue. trapped within a minimalist bookshop with anthologies of poetry in hands isn't the worst case scenario he could think of. hence, he sits back down with a cup of coffee as a loyal companion, mind's wandering to subconscious dreamscape.

he is both a maelstrom of emotions and the cloudless, starry sky above; everything remains so idyllic despite the whirlpool of thoughts down bellow. his love is unwavering, his voice is steady and careful, his passion is a wildfire. one gentle individual, but hundreds of elements and thousands of ideas.

what he's made of is countless of celestial wonders:

  1. every dazzling, classical painting — even from afar, you could see the way his eyes reflect a coffee house, basked in the yellow of both moon and artificial lights; the sky is magnificent blue, accompanied by scattered cosmic objects; the farther alley is engulfed in soft darkness, but you could see no conventional color of black to describe the nighttime.
  2. every literature that reminds you of home“if a beautiful thing were to remain beautiful for all eternity, i'd be glad, but all the same, i'd look at it with a colder eye. i'd say to myself: you can look at it any time, it doesn't have to be today. / but when i know that something is perishable and can’t last forever, i look at it with a feeling not just of joy but of compassion as well.” — knulp, hesse.
  3. every loving reminiscence — his cherished past. the simplicity of a memory having breakfast together with his blood family. sometimes, he recalls it as he dines with his chosen one.
  4. every tranquil musing you could think of before the dusk interrupts — shades of green; the color of spring, rebirth, and trees. he gives off the calming vibe of a wooden cottage in the middle of a forest; of sparkling sunlight that's refracted in a pond surrounded by lily pads; of living a delicate & unhurried life. he's that everlasting warmth.

you want to keep witnessing, never stop admiring. treasuring him with childlike curiosity while knowing too well he's the sanctuary.

it's been quite some time, eh? still, it never gets old: learning. learning with him, through him, about him. about yourselves.

“as we walk on this path of flowers and stones, let's never stop discovering new things.”

dedicated to ata

ke samudera, aku akan bermuara. ke cakrawala, aku akan bercerita. tentang remaja menghabiskan cinta di tanah eropa. segala puisi dan lagu yang tercipta pada jam tiga dini hari; tulisan tangan yang hampir tidak pernah dibaca dan lenguhan perasaan yang hampir tak pernah didengar. suatu hari aku akan mendayung kapalku ke pantai dan mengisahkan itu semua. namun, saat ini, biarkan aku menggenggam tangan abang ketika matahari mulai terbit dari celah pegunungan di depan mata. Tuhan, biarkan momen ini berlangsung sedikit lebih lama.

ketika rasa hampa menikam saat aku berada di tengah-tengah ruangan seolah empat dinding beige menghimpit dada, aku tekankan kepalan tanganku di mana jantung ini berdegup. kata-kata seolah mantra kubisikkan dari bibir yang setengah terkatup: “ini tidak terlalu buruk. ini baik-baik saja. ini yang kuinginkan.” kemudian semua akan baik-baik saja jika aku sudah keluar dan menapakkan kakiku ke rumput hijau di luar tempat tinggalku, atau berjalan di sekitar thames ketika langit berubah warna menjadi campuran antara oranye dan merah muda.

keesokan harinya, aku akan membuka buku dan belajar lagi.

andai aku tahu bahwa berbulan-bulan kemudian, akan ada seseorang yang mengeluarkan kertas lusuh dari buku pelajaranku dan membaca tumpahan kata-kata yang aku tuliskan ketika memori tentang tanah air menghantam. “ini indah banget,” abang akan berkata. aku menahan senyum. dia akan berkata lagi, “kamu punya yang lain nggak?”

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dedicated to cathy

the diner didn't come out of nowhere. it was forged by the finest, blazing hammer. the walls are made of the strongest red bricks. the floor is coated with the oldest teak trees from the south. a strong, particular magic layers the whole construction just similar to how the clouds cover the sky during a gloomy day.

gwen is sipping her morning coffee when the shop starts to hover above the sea, streaking as fast as a jet plane. everything outside the windows is a blur of motion, everything seems moving when she's actually the one moving. it's like riding your personal train but with top-tier, unusual facilities. the nasty, scrunching sound of her stomach is nowhere to be heard anymore for she's practically used with this whole voyage now: the nauseous feeling of heading toward somewhere alien, the anticipation of meeting strangers, and a new adventure to face.

her own train of thoughts stop when junhui interrupts it with a noise of excitement from his studio, a sign of him successfully pulling out another invention to support their diner. the first invention that didn't emit unnecessary amount of gray smoke is a machine that could both preserve and marinate meat. gwen remembers exactly how junhui's smile stretched out on his glorious face and how she jumped along with him. she remembers how dean was clapping excitedly from the corner of the kitchen while the rest of the crew slept soundlessly.

“good morning, gwen!”

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dedicated to tasya

darkness was what people would associate him with; a creature of night, living among humans, unknown presence, a controversial topic, a conspiracy. his kind was not many; humans were still dominating, the world was ending, the air was polluted, and the water was soiled. the world was a catastrophe and no one would live peacefully as thirst and the desire to overrule would be the only things matter. he was a monster and he had come to that realization that it was who he was and it remained unchanged.

until what he thought was a mere girl appeared.

-

there were moments like this where wonwoo wanted to claw his flesh out and condemn himself to hell: moments where his throat was burning and the desire of blood overpowered his senses.

villains on the alley and corrupted men on their estates, wonwoo had tasted it all. no matter how much he convinced himself that playing vigilante wasn't that horrible since heroes in comics did that too, he condemned himself more. who was he playing god and decided which one was worthy of life and which one wasn't? but he ended up hunting more rapists and abusers, their blood was as filthy and bitter as their action. but it sustained his life—if he could call it a 'life'.

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