Mother//Daughter

My size 7 was too big for her
yet attitude filled the gap between 
her heel and the back of her shoe
fitted her better

My mother's eyes
calm, but clouded
another layer in between
separates us

The storm seemed like rain
she stopped looking at the window
and ran out to welcome
the wet confettis from heaven

Her hair was glorious
long black gorgeous
grey and musty
they now luster no more

My baby stared at me
the to her first chicken feet
disgust and excitement
in her eyes

Trembling she reached out
slowly breathed
intangible words
of quiet love

a month of camp
without me
said it was fun
i wont be here forever


At first there was hope
but now it all seemed
clearly our time
is nearing its end


your bursts of anger
i hardly remember
there were too many
to count and still love

bright blue sky
a scorn to what may
mom looked out
touched my furrowed brows

as you walk in your robe
my nose stings
you told me not to cry
'save that for my wedding'

"Don't comfort me.. That's my role, that's why I'm here" 

"My baby"

"What was that, Mom...?"

One or two silent strokes, a bigger one two months ago, a trip and fall last night. mom's tongue is numbed, as with the left side of her body. Trouble breathing, but no trouble smiling. I don't know if that's a fight to stay alive, or just her waiting for all her children to gather around. A trip from the states took 2 days mom, so hold on tight. I'll be coming soon, my flight is in 2 hours.

sattelite

12/7/11 was the day I wrote this. I wonder what kept me from publishing..

A piece of two worlds

energized by longings to be 

one of the two

Your hands made it

with a dream to reach mine

programmed to your language

mine it won't understand

Your satellite looked back

as it left your atmosphere

grinning in excitement

it is hungry for space

It takes years of stillness

to ponder through maturity,

of many tribulations, and

taxing emotions

Because it misses you

so terribly

it thinks less of me

and my wonders

it looked back

to your blue planet

wishing for warmth

and temporary worries

for tight hugs

and traffic jams

for assuring smiles

and stupid shrieks at

horror movies

take back your satellite, earth

because it revolves around you

and it longs to be in you

no more looking from afar

waiting for something to happen

dan lalu
hari mendung kembali menyapa
kelas kelas gelap penuh nyawa
suck us all in
finals

An empty bottle of carlsberg, dusty and forgotten
remnants of the nights we spent together
dusty and forgotten
still very much alive

dusty and forgotten, but alive

we're not hipsters anymore
we're no longer subject to fashion trends
or naive parties celebrating naive things
the bottle a reminder

how old and boring
dusty and forgotten
yet still alive
team of parents kept the family going

we're not cool, we're not completely in love
but this love has run deeper than steamy kisses in the bathroom
or explosive anger towards each others' shortcomings
this love is old and boring
dusty and forgotten
but alive. alive and growing.

maybe one day our grandkids will know
marriage isn't a romantic-comedy
it's worth fighting for
bruce wills die hard

hurry-canned

a hurricane went through my room
everywhere is everything
paper charger
left over burger
wet towel
and dirty bowl
dry food, forgotten nutrition
everything is everywhere
none of me in one place
every me is divided

--
this is a much needed break, this thanksgiving
because i certainly has stopped being productive

please come online

dear mom,

Death is a weird thing. I don't get it, i don't understand why it still confusing when i know god got it covered. that oma is with tuhan. Mam, jujur kahanna beneran kaya kesamber geledek waktu mami bilang oma udah ngak ada. Sekarang kahanna mencoba buat visualisasi-kan jalan jakarta kosong, opa makan breakfast sendirian, dan dari jarak sekian kilometer dari kalian, semuanya bisa dipercaya.

I don't know much about oma, but her presence was always there. Things i remembered most are letters, and time i spent praying for her health, or times when i finally learned something more about her. Like when she had her birthday in that dutch restaurant, and oma dee started telling stories about how they started their lives in Jakarta. That was the most interesting thing i heard about oma until now.

On my birthday, I remember, She was in the hospital, and I had baked this cake (or was it jello), brought maybe pizza and salad or something. We brought everything into her room, and had a little party there. Matrix was on TV. I got all nice and dressed, but at the end of the night, while carrying the dirty boxes of food, i realized that I was still wearing my swallow flip-flops. It was the biggest laugh i had in the hospital.

I remember the day before leaving for seattle, i had to say goodbye to oma. She was no longer sitting on the high chair, she was just laying there in the bed. The grandkids were crowding around her, it was hard to understand things that she was saying. It was hard to understand then, and more so on the last time we talk. It was her 50th wedding anniversary, i think, or is it more than that? I talked with opa, laughed a lot, then with oma... i don't get whatever she was saying but i compensate with just telling a lot of things about seattle. It was in the summer, and I was out with my friends. We were waiting for the bus to come to the Northgate transit center. The anniversary, coincided with Theo's or was it Daniel's birthday?

Mom, i really want to go back to indo. Just, to talk with you guys. I want to be hugged and told that it's ok. I want to see opa, and I want to talk to him. I want to make sure that he's ok. Then maybe i'll be at peace, and then I'll be ok. We haven't skyped for a long time. Not since oma's 100th day. I think I might cry when i see you guys' faces. I miss you guys, and I want to be there to make sure that everyone is ok, that everyone is moving on. I want to talk with dad about oma, i want to sleep in with you guys, for a night. Besides, i haven't tried the new bed yet.

Seattle is terribly mellow. God's been nice to me. He's been letting the sun up to keep me slightly happier. It worked. But, i guess i just watched 2 sad movies about death tonight, and I was sort of pulled into the mood too.

7 months. gosh. When did you get over Opung's death, Mom? I can't imagine losing papi, when losing oma is already this hard. So I let my tears rolled, once a month? It is definitely getting more frequent these days. Maybe school was tolling on me too.

But anyway, what i wanted to say is, please come online, i want to say happy thanksgiving.


Love,

your daughter

Free Writing: Alphabet

"Alright, you're ready?"
"Been ready since 10 minutes ago"
"Come on, let's just go" he sighed and walked out the door.
"Doesn't the sky looked strange?" she asked.
"Energetic maybe? Too bright of an orange, crazy neon purple?"
"Funny you said that, i thought it was quite melancholic."
"Going to be over soon"
"Huh?"
"I said, the sunset is going to be over soon. We better walk faster," the couple walked on in silence.

"Jump over that fence and the rest you know it," he said.
"know it by heart"
"Let me know if there's anyone following us."
"Make sure you keep things quite."
"No problem," they parted.

"Ok, i'm in" she whispered to her phone.
"Pull open the gate for me"
"Quietly.." she motioned to him as she pushed in some buttons on the panel in front of her. Then from the corner of her eye she saw two headlights coming through the road by the woods.
"Run!" she whispered.
"Shut the gate. Meet me there," he whispered for the last time to the phone, before running past her.
"Take this," she threw him a knife. He ran towards the building, and break open the alarm system.
"Urinate on it"
"Very smart. Then risk everything we planned?" he cut a line and punch a series of codes.
"You've got one minute before the cars arrive."
"Xylene. you got it?" he looked up. she handed him the poison.
"Your shot. Make it out alive, will ya?" she pat his shoulder and quickly disappear.
"Zen..." he muttered to himself and went for the kill.

Have you ever wish that you've never head that one tid bit about that cute guy you used to like? Because for me, everytime i think about travelling around the world, i think about you. Now that i am working on a travel-destination project at work, you are the guy who's always on my mind. I was supposed to be grouping styles of photographs of travel sites, and now i am constantly checking facebook to see when  you will like my status update. Did i just make myself sound like a teenager again? Twenty-something and still unable to face a long time crush. I am pathetic.

Crush

Everything is right when he says it. Everything is right when he does it. I tried it, doing the things that he did. But they just never had the same charm. Maybe he's a magician, or maybe he is magical himself. I don't smile the way he smiles, at least no one ever told me how my smile stopped the time. Technically, i've never told him about that, but his smile does that to me.

Metaphores had never been my forte, hah, i can't even spell it right. Still, there's no other way to describe a first love the way a poet does. He was the beginning of my journey, the city i've always wanted to visit. But though never reaching the destination, the journey was meant as a journey to overcoming myself, and to be okay with who i am stuck with. With my shyness, or confusions, or with my day dreamings - so foolishly about being his.

Yet, to sit beside him quietly, and to share the same air, i still feel like a victor. At least, our carbon dioxides, the love child of our lungs and oxygen, will meet and mingle.

Past Relationships

Adrift you send me away
let me remember the slight touch of your fingers
i was cold when you find me
the warmth of your lips
was my first breath
your tongue like i could taste you
but you empty me out
and you pulled me away
as you kissed my lips for the last time
and threw me to the sea
within me your message
not for me but the next person who will
find me and open me up
once again, like you did

you won't see me again
even made the sea promise you that

i fear his slightest stroke
tight shut my eyes
still he caress the words you've written in me
he's reading them
each word, soft whispers
i hear you
you're reading this to me
like it was written to me
to me was your words of farewell

then he slipped your letter
back into me
slided
pushed
a tap
slowly,
carefully,
i let you
be gentle
i sighed

he brushed my lips
lighter than your kiss
the sands upon my toes
he dusted
then he looked through me
saw the sun through me
and the sea through me
before he threw me again
a bottle with a message

I came back to say

I would love to hear you play the piano again. I mean, really, Jade, you were fantastic on it. For once i could forget who is the player, and just focused on what's being played. Music to me is melody, is feeling, is the heart. 'S not technique, it is not theory, it is not mastery, much like what you believe in. You've been fussing too about this crap called mastery. You think i'm not good enough, and i will amount to nothing, like i dont master anything, heck i aint got no masters on anything. That is what you expect your man to have, an MBA.

But do you ever think about me the way i think about you? You don't do you, Jade. Cause you said you see nothing in me, and i'm a fool to bare it and say still that i love you. So, no, Jade. This ain't no worship, admiring you is ruining me. Not anymore. I am not going to be in love with you, if you can't even say to me straight up that you honor me the way i respect you.

So i came back to say this. Knowing you made me know me. Thanks for that.

Silence

i told him i made him dinner, but he walked passed me, grab the wine glass and filled it with water. i waited, yet he drank two more glass and went away. He didn't say a word, didn't even bother to look at me. so i went to the bedroom, took off my necklace and my bracelet, and sat on the bed while the sound of running water filled the silence between us.

i thought to myself, the world isn't a perfect sphere. but who said that it needs to be a perfect sphere to be perfect.

I walked into the bathroom, Liam was taking a shower. I saw my reflection on the foggy mirror, and opened my hair bun. He turned off the water and sigh. again i waited.

If the world was black and white, this scene will be a beautiful shot. I can see Lydia's silhouette from behind the curtain. That same sculptural stance lured me into adoring her. Sensibility was the trick of her trade, logic her gravitas, composure her charm. God, like i need anymore silence!

Rust had crippled the strongest stronghold. The only audible thing was the beat of our hearts that was playing different tempos. I know mine was failing, with every second i pass waiting, my heart would eventually gave up. It is giving up.. it has been battered.

I don't need ears to tell that she was hurting, she was crying, and she was trying to conceal all that. but of course she doesn't have the heart to tell it to me. she doesn't.

i couldn't hear my logic. once it was the clearest part to me. now it's all muddied by these black tar of emotion. gone was the days of pros and cons, of statistical probability and of gain and loss theories. even death wouldn't be as heavy as this.

Yet that cold, beautiful, perfection was the only woman i was pulled into. Like i was the waves, moved hopelessly towards the moon's gravity but no matter how hard i was pulled, i was never close enough. never reaching. never one..

i opened the shower curtain. three seconds our eyes met. he was dry, and he was clothed. but his cheeks were wet.

"if you could just hear me," i whispered.
"if you
could just hear me,
if you could
just hear me,
if you could just
hear me,
if you could just hear
me,
if you could just
hear..
hear.."

and he wiped my tears. he is deaf, but he understood.

A Word from Non-Fiction World: for reals

Hey, This is me. The writer. I am currently enrolled in this class that requires me to write everyday. So, i will be writing my stuff here, on this blog (i'll keep them fictional, yes) when i am not tired of looking at the computer.. or else i'll be scanning pages from my notebook (i'll try). Wouldn't that be great? You get to see my handwriting!

Anyway, I am thinking of either short stories or poems, or longer to-be-continued stories. we'll see, i'm keeping this thing open, but with special constraints.

i miss you,

i miss you regardless of never seeing you

is it not enough to say that the imaginary meetings we've had

was the best part of my sleep

i thought that your handwriting was enough to keep me infatuated

but thoughts only carry you so far, a touch, however

will sear my skin so hot i'd never forget

i miss you. let's meet soon.

good bye

sometimes what was there in the past

what was provoking and mysterious

that steamed up conversation

made up of our names

just our names

the gripping rhythm

the beating you gave with every

illusory punch in my heart

on my chest

just my name

sometimes satisfaction asks

for another try

again and

again

alone

lima puluh persen mereka cerai

mungkin suatu saat nanti

kita berdua bisa saling berani

untuk melihat fakta

bahwa perasaan yang kita pendam

tak pernah sama

namun tuk sementara

mari nikmati rasa

yang membodohi pikiran

bilang saja ini cinta

sampai akhir musim panas

saat demam mereda

Have We Met?

I had not returned to the city ever since I left it. Not in a very long time. Not until today, four years after. Nobody picked me up from the airport, it was supposed to be a pleasant surprise. After 10 phone calls each year, and at least fifteen letters sent home, i bet these people miss me.

Jakarta decided to mellow the day out for me. It rained, the little drizzle of rain that brings me back to the day I left for Africa. I walked out of the baggage claim area, into the sea of people, waiting for someone I know to pop up. But nobody was waiting for me. I took a cab and asked to go to a restaurant. A late dinner is better than nothing.

In the midst of the sound of spoon and forks against plates, I heard a laugh I know so well. In the corner of the room, he is there with his parents, talking. They just finished their meal and he waved to the waitress for the check. The waitress smiled and went to the cashier, taking a second glance back at the man I once knew. We never talked since I touched down in Africa. I sent him a letter, but he never replied. So I stopped after the third postcard. He looks good tonight, tux and all.

I returned home after a quick dinner. No, he did not notice me when he walked past. His mom took a glance at me, though, but soon looked away like I was a mirage. My mom and dad was asleep when I rang the bell. But I could hear them gasped when they saw my shadow over the fence. We talked all night, but all I could think of was Will and how I missed him.

A couple of days later the word got around that the africa-girl is back. Friends, and family gatherer in the house and they sat around me asking for stories. Everyone was there, Will was there too. He sat in the back of the room, sipping tea, eyeing me so tightly. It was weird at first, we have not even talked yet, just him looking at me constantly. So after three or five stories, I stood up and walked towards him. He stood up, slowly, and walked towards the verandah, I followed.

We stood in silence, all I could see was the garden and how things looked unbelievable similar to my memory. My mom still got her magical green fingers, my dad still raved about his own roasted coffee beans. I drank what was left from the dark african beer I brought as a souvenir and sat down on the floor. "What made you came back?" he asked. A question I have no answer for.

"Honestly, I went back on a whim. There's still much work to be done in the area, and seriously it's a long term thing. But I figured, there will always be something to work on. Be it getting new teachers for the elementary school, or building a new hospital, or irrigation system, or... us."

"Was there something wrong with us?" Will walked in front of me, and looked me in the eye. A confrontative trait I had not known he possesed. Possibly built in the three years that I was not around.

"Unfinished, yes. not wrong," I looked back at him. He could never beat me in a staring game. "How have you been?" I changed the subject.

"Getting there. I got two promotions since you left. You can say I'm the boss now," he smiled and I chuckled.

"Sexy secretary?"

"Sexy ones aren't all that dependable. I've got a lady twenty years older than us, she's a proud work horse, and she gets me whole-heartedly."

"Sounds like wife material to me," I replied.

"Do you know how I looked forward to a day like this three years ago?" he switched the topic back to what I fear it would be. Can't we just have a chat?  Geez.

"Do you know that going to Africa was my last resort?"

"You mean like, taking a break from everything and start fresh? You were so excited to do it though," Will stood up and looked away.

"It was an exciting prospect. I couldn't see myself doing anything else."

"To the point that you can't go back to Jakarta a year after you left like you promised me. Sure.."he shrugged sarcastically.

"I have my reasons," I got pretty annoyed by now.

"Yeah, then explain why you act like a total stranger in the restaurant?"

"The wha-" I stood up and stormed towards him. "Look, Will, if we're gonna argue about the times we missed and the things we wish we had said or done, it's too late for that now, ok? If you want to say something, just say it, cause beating around the bush gets us nowhere," seething in my boiling point.

He walked away, and said we should talk again when both of us are in better condition, which is another month from that last meeting, tonight. He came over to the house and picked me up for a dinner out. It was awkward in the car, but we've got the radio to aid the situation..

I Missed You

It has been 2 years, 9 months, and 14 days since i last saw your face. In the land where the sun will always come on cue, 6 am and 6 pm never fails.

Presumably the damp air of my rain city had took over, and toned me down, you say. "Your hair isn't doing that lion mane look," you spoke to the camera, half way across the world. I shushed you and confessed that you did not look like a 16 year old anymore. Confidently you touched your short beard and wag them furiously at me. You sniggered and i yawned. "It's twelve already, you should go to bed, Princess."

You always called me Princess for no apparent reason. Sometimes it's that, some other times, you called me Pine Tree. The reason behind the second is similar to the former. I was never the tallest kid in class, so i couldn't blame others' growth sprout in high school to blame for my height, and i did not smell like pine trees or the fresh mountain air, so the name wouldn't suit me anyway. I asked you once before, why you gave me that nick name. But you just smiled like the secret wouldn't be fun when shared to the subject of the secret. "well, duh" you would reply, rolling your eyes with the look i think would be the most disdainful - coming from an already weird-out face.

"You're not going to your next class, mister?" i asked. You were sitting down on the floor of your campus, looking like a beggar. "We still got 15 minutes," you said as if i was going to attend the same class. "Hey, where's all the cute girls in campus? I haven't seen any of them."

I remember growing up, you were always pretending to be the big guy, the man. One day, in a school tour, we played house and you made the cutest chipmunk voice that i would never forget. It was flattering to me that you did that to keep the playtime going.

"Dude, out of all the questions you could ask me.." you turned your laptop towards a hall, all i could see was silhouettes passing. Then a girl came closer towards where you were sitting, sat beside you, and you rolled back the laptop so i could see the two. "Hi, kak," the girl bowed her head a little bit, she made it sounds like she knew who i was. Dang, i'm in my pjs and my hair is all over the place. Is this how i'm going to meet your girlfriend? She's looking all cute and well dressed, and i'm drowsy and snotty from the cold. I put on a quick grin and tuned into the nicest future sister-in-law she could ever met.

Utopia

destroy the old

the new will sprout

burn what was there

the young will take over

if death is what needs to be faced

then face it smiling

cause the kid who's gonna fill your space,

is there with a new dream of

utopia

For Jamie: If I Was Brave Enough

In the library, listening to my head spelling out the things i want to say to you. Things that i could never put in my mouth. Things that maybe you may never hear, unless i decided to hell with the strained peace between us, and just scream it in your face.

I would scream because words cannot contain the amount of pain it cost me to pull this out of my heart. I would scream because you will not understand the amount of energy it took me to carry the message for the whole three years now. I would scream because the man inside of me had decided to show its true color.

That he is afraid. That he is ashamed. But to appear just a little braver than the coward he really is, he chose to yell it off. For fear of the quiver in his voice, the tears that would come out, the vulnerability that would show and the look that you would have in your eyes.

Then all the same, i would cry, i would cry today in your arms. Because for three years i've been the strong man for you. Leaving my wounds in the corner to rot, hugging you tight as i whisper our prayer to sleep. For this one day, the third year of our son's death, i would show you that a chunk of my heart was ripped out too, and that there was no man so strong he could be your anchor.


-- Read this for happy ending, or leave a comment now --


In the end, she hugged me and said in the calmest tone i have every hear you speak, "Our strength does not come from horses or chariots, but from God alone. You are not my anchor, but you are certainly the main sail of my ship. I love you. So much."

Still Waiting

She always saw him labor upon little leddings and trackings. No, not on the computer, but the tangible, cold hard metal that you put between metal stamps of letters. It's an old man's game, what he is doing. The art of type setting was big in the 1960s when printing was an extremely time consuming, labor intensive, intricate hand work. Nowadays, you've got design softwares to get you going fast and easy with that. He told her those digital crap just made designers sloppy. Type setting is not just an art form. No, it's a workmanship.

"I'm just old school," his eyes smiled through his glasses, but not toward her. "At least, i'm on my last paragraph and as soon as i get this done.. you know, printed and all cleaned, we can head out."

She replied with a sigh, "Fine, three hours." He got the car, and the weather had not been so kind to let her take the bus home. It's not like there's much choice for her, is there?

The clock ticked away. With every passing hours it's telling her that each hours she spent in silence with her type-setter boyfriend is a waste of time. It's a waste of her four years of high school to college life. She could have been in more exciting relationships with hotter guys she met in all those parties she attended without Rob. Tick tock tick tock. She could have had her saturday nights freed up to talk with people who are not 'type-setting-zoned' monsters. Tick tock tick tock. She could be just as single as she is now, yet feel so much better. Tick tock tick tock. How could someone loves tiny pieces of type, none bigger than my pinky's nail, more than a breathing, talking human being? Tick tock tick tock. He's not even talking to her all these while. She bet he would not even move if she stormed out. Tick tock tick tock.

Jane took the bus for two hours to go back home. If she was on the car with Rob, she'll be home dry and warm in thirty minutes. However, waiting for another minute on a guy who would not even look up from his 'labor of love' to say good bye to the girl he said he 'loved', is plain pathetic. She didn't care if he had the sweetest smile, or if his hands were always the warmest thing she could think of, or the fact that he could do the darnest acts of love. She was not going anywhere near him, she would not pick up his phone calls or listen to the messages he would leave at her voicemail, she wouldn't even look straight into his eyes to tell him what he did wrong. She had it.

-- a week had past now since the day she walked out of the type-setting studio. she had zero phone calls, zero messages, zero spotting of the man she once claimed hers. utter failure. life sucks, and she knows it by the handful.

He Said (2/2)

Today is going to be my last day with the girl i've spent too much time with it's almost a sin to my future wife. She's moving away, not to another city, not to another country of the same continent, she's not even moving way up north she had to learn how to ride with the snow dogs, she's moving to Africa. The remotest village in Africa. No internet. No cell phone signal. Heck, there's not even enough water to bathe there. She had always been the pure hearted, sincere, good samaritan girl. She's not the prettiest girl i've met, nor is she the most charming, or the most cunning, she's just..her. Nothing so romantically written in one of your Austen books, or depicted in your korean dramas. She would have just blended with the rest of the world. Her face will not stand out among the hundreds and thousands faces of your facebook friends. But this girl had filled the niche in my heart for too long, it's idiotic not to grasp it.

I was too comfortable and too prideful to change anything between us. The friendship that we built must now come to a suspenseful halt until we saw each other again in one year time. It was the boy within me that kept me from seeing how important she was to the man part of me. It was the boy within me that playfully wrestled with her in front of public just to show the rest of the world that she is mine. My best friend. Now the man part of me suffers because he knows that she is not really mine. She belongs to the poor, thirsty kids of Sub-Saharan Africa.

"You're my best friend" was a lame excuse to run from a commitment that i knew i had to make one way or another. Now the man part of me hates the comfort we felt before. The knowing glances we passed was more than just grateful gaze to a friend, there was something more in that. I know we were never the serious type, but i'm not that daft not to feel the change in the air when we played the last round of staring-contest over sushi and hot matcha. At that moment, she was not my play-friend, or was she the gullible friend that i know. There was a piddling gentleness in her eyes that almost mocked me. She twitched her half smile, and moved closer till we were eye to eye. She stared down the boy inside of me and shunned him back to the dusty photo frame he belonged to. She won the game, knocked down my pride and got me very confused over feelings i've never even felt before.

Is this feeling the blank verb i have to put between the word 'i' and 'you'?

She Said (1/2)

Because we never really talk. No i mean, we talk, but it was a sad range from minor insults to pathetic conversations about things that doesn't even exists. We exchange abnormal ideas and stayed way outside of the man-known realm of communication. The conversations we had was surface deep pokes to each others' humorous sides, and never more. It wasn't a surprise that our relationship never took off.

I, for one, was to blame for my incapability to express my emotions other than those that requires a huge smile and a train of laughter from the opponent. On the other hand, in my exasperation to say things i wish i had, he never really see what i see. He thought we looked great together, i played piano and he was an alto saxophonist, i make the stupidest faces and he tell the funniest jokes, he's a great cook and i love to eat, i can clean and he appreciate order. But looking great together means nothing in comparison to what i want from him. I want security, i want man that could lead me and a man that shows me how he lives and gain my respect from it. I want someone who is not afraid to feel, someone who's smart enough to feel. Isn't there something more in him than just that stupid grin i like so much? Sometimes i just want to give up on this kid.

We danced a waltz together once, in his parent's silver wedding anniversary. I thought nothing felt better than his hands holding mine and my head on his shoulders. Physically he was tall and strong, but i don't think he was that way inside. Maybe i should just wait a year. Maybe.

WE TALKED

"I tried not to think about it," i told him, "You know, about the scandal..."
"Of which you are not, in anyway, involved?" his raspy voice replied over the phone.
"Well, maybe more like a friend of the suspect. That makes me... a... um, witness?" i made do. I heard nothing but his breath. I know he was just lounging around on his sofa bed, listening to my rambles as he watch the night grew steadily cooler.

"Just watching a rudimentary problem grew into a messy tangled complication was.. funny, i guess.. in a thick-black oil-spill way," i continued while sipping on my morning coffee.
" Ha! A contrary to the former adjective!" the wise-ass hath spoken. "Doing nothing does no one good, don't you know that?"
" That was me being subtly sardonic, thank you very much," i playfully smiled at my reflection on the coffee maker. I imagined him rubbing his hair in irritation and changing his sitting position to a more comfortable one.
"So you were saying?"
" Im half-way around the world from it. Nothing can be so bad when you're this detached. Physically and emotionally" It's gonna be a long night talk - at least for him.

"Being of great distance from you doesn't make a scandal all the less menacing."
That's true, i thought, i gotta give that to him. But it's not like this scandal is any of my concern. Having a friend playing a part of a movie doesn't grant me a spot in the plot. "Distance isn't a factor that could change the way you perceive, the way you feel, the way you be," suddenly he got philosophical.

"Agree, distance can't unhook what's been hitched." I was referring to something else.
"Hmm..." that's all he said. The little rustle behind him got me curious.
"What was that?"
"I'm hugging this girl-imagined-pillow," i can hear his smile as i tried -unsuccessfully- to sip my coffee after pleasantly startled. A familiar warmth fills my chest, "You're enjoying this aren't you?" he asked, we laughed. That warmth wasn't from the caffeine.

"Hey, have you heard, there's this doll in the shape of two, long micky mouse hands that you can wrap around your body and think of me as it hugs you.. i think i should give that to you on our next chat date,"