A small square box. Inside is a black streak with no meaning, no meaning and frozen. I want to finish the graffiti by adding bebrapa lines and dots to make it more meaningful and able to convey a message to anyone who sees it. Sometimes I want to decorate it with droplets of colored ink to make it seem more alive. But, until I ran out of ideas and his witchcraft decided to end it, the little box was still filled with a meaningless graffiti. Unconsciously, I have represented my thoughts on the graffiti. Scattered, obscure, and dark. Similar to a night that is now imprisoning and drowning me in an infinite reflection.
The next morning, I was awake from my sleep. After I washed my face, I left the house when the world was not fully awake. Accompanied by my father's dumb bike, I cut through the village road I had been in for so long. I always used to be alone because I prefer myself. I think it's free. We are free to do anything on our own. No one says like or not when we do weird things. No one says whether or not it's okay when we do it. No protests. Everything goes entirely with our control. The point itself is free. Once, I had to be hated by my school friends when I was in high school just because I was never interested in dating. So this morning, I myself myself 1. itemthrough the cold morning.
I'm still pedaling my bike as the sun slowly pops up and undermines the world from sleep. Behind the reflection of the sun that formed the silhouette, I saw the shadows of my body with other images and strangers. The shadow seemed to take me to another world. I found myself not like that. Everything clearly looks different until I realize that all this time I live not with myself. There is another soul now playing with me. It seems that I still have not been out of meditation last night. My mind is still messed up.
'Oeeee ...' I shouted when I came to a valley and the sun was visible across from him. No response. Even the singing of the wind and nature was inaudible. I smiled broadly as I became convinced that I felt more comfortable when I was alone, even without nature as it is now. I remember, about five years ago I've been to this place and I was not alone. Like now, that day was still reluctant to move in the afternoon. I who came to see a young woman sitting alone leaning against a tree. A sheet of paper and a pen tucked between his fingers. Every now and then his face was bent with eyes staring at something. I watched him from afar and really enjoyed every move, moreover his sweet, uhm-looking face, caught my eye, but he did not seem to notice me at all. I watched for a while.
'What's up?' I asked as suddenly appeared nearby.
'More writing poetry.'
'Do you frequent this place?'
'Yes, if you want to write a poem.'
'So you're here just to write a poem?'
'Yeah.'
'What's so special about this place?'
'Not available. Just feel comfortable writing here. ' His smile is interested. Very sweet.
'I'm Andi. You?'
'Wira.' The answer was brief and the smile again.
After we chatted for a while, he left. Walking casually while carrying paper and pens. The next day, I went back to that place. I'm sure he'll go to that place again because his poem is not finished yet. Sure enough, when I arrived, he was already there with his paper and pen, and leaned against the same tree.
'You come again?' He said that as expected my arrival.
'Yeah. How's your poem? Already finished?'
'Yeah. Do you want to read? '
'Can.'
He thrusts his poem towards me with the smile again. Very sweet. But have not had time to read it I've been surprised.
'This is what the title is?'
'Not available.'
'Why is that?'
'I did deliberately finish it without a title.'
'Udah? Got here aja? '
'Yeah.
I was arguing with my mind. Why is this poem untitled? I mumbled to myself.
Silent
Wait
Hold on
When is it free?
I want to get away from this silence
Today we made an appointment in the valley. He said he wanted to give me a poem. Unusually, he was not there when I arrived. After a long wait, he finally came. This time with a neater and more elegant suit than usual. His eyes were bright and his smile was sweeter than usual. Exquisite.
'Here's the poem.'
'Still the poem that yesterday?'
'Yeah. There is writing behind the poem, but do not read it first. ' He said then ran away from me. I can not keep him away. After he disappeared from my sight, I turned the paper over.
'I'm waiting for someone to name it and after seeing you, I'm sure you're the one.'
The next day I came back to the place to meet him but he never existed. The next day, the next day, and the next day always the same, he never came.
Now, after five years I still have the poem. I have also completed with a title as you ask. When do you come back to complete the dots you deliberately provide it and finish it beautifully.