He had a preconceived notion in his head; an idea of what mornings would be like waking up next to her. The outline of her lips, the scent of her hair and the shape her body makes as her limbs lie askew on the other side of the bed. Even in her slumber, she rendered him speechless.
In his head, hundreds of different ways to tell her how magnificent he found her but only one he managed to muster up the courage to do. With his hand gently grazing the side of her face, he landed a kiss on her forehead. Immediately after, he whispered into her ears despite knowing that the love of his life was still very much asleep.
Such simple, beautiful words escaped his mouth; words that not even she would ever expect coming out from his mouth.
He's like that little tiny crack of light peeping through your curtains on a lazy Sunday morning, when all you wanna do is wrap yourself up in your blanket, from your jaw to your toes, as if you were a burrito and hide from the sunshine - despite your eyes only being shielded by your delicate eyelids - but you are more than aware that his very presence signifies your existence for yet another day in this mortal world.
The way he touches your body - irradiating your skin while he's at it - makes you exhale a soft moan as you stretch your body from an overnight slumber, trying to fix that kink on your neck. With your eyes barely open and mind half-conscious, you take a quick glance at your window, reassuring yourself that this is no dream. That this is very much reality.
Your reality.
As you lay awake in bed, you ask yourself whether or not you deserve to be given another day. You question the daylight, the birds chirping, everything. And then you look over at the source of light emerging from the left side of your room and you find yourself cracking a smile. Softly, you lift your hand and trace the sparkle in the air with your fingertips. He's so simple, so straightforward, but why does he put a smile on your face?
And then you look at your window again. As the morning ushers in a new day, it gets brighter and brighter by the second. Next thing you know, your entire room is illuminated by him. He is there, in your very room, greeting you. You say hi back in the subtlest of ways, trying your best not to scare him away because you know for a fact that he will leave you as the day goes by. But you also know that no matter how many times he says goodbye to you, he returns to you every morning with the faintest of wake up calls. You may think you hate him for waking you up, but we all know that you really just don't want to say hello to him only to have to say goodbye again.
He's never actually gone though; he's just hiding behind the moon, admiring you as you stare up at the night sky because he knows how much you love the stars. what's another word for frustrating?
Friday, August 9, 2013, 6:38 PM
You're like that strand of hair
caressing my forehead to my dismay,
the little tiny pieces of baby hair
that puberty left to annoy my every second,
like a bad prank on April Fools,
except the only thing I can do with you,
is take a pair of scissors, blunt or sharp,
and cut you out of my life.
But even if I build up the courage
to pull those scissors out from my drawer,
could I grow the ladyballs to actually use it?
It's morning here in Kuala Lumpur, and the haze has passed through. What used to be a blank blurry canvas is now once again replaced with the stunning sight of the skyscrapers thrusting into space. The mirror panels that make up the Petronas Twin Towers now reflect the rays of the sun once more. Oh, how I've missed the clear blue sky and non-acid rain. Amazing how one single phenomenon can re-instil my love for something I once took for granted.
This is a beautiful city that was - for a short period of time - taken over by intruders in the form of airborne particles.
This is a beautiful city, and it's my beautiful city.
Agustinus Kresnobudi Nindito,
a name longer than the hours I tidur,
likes to link me cheesy Indo songs,
then forces me to listen to it all night long.
With Xavier hidden somewhere in his long ass name,
sounds pretty cool but too bad he's still lame,
forcing me to write and post a poem about him,
so I'll include in here legos, cigarettes and the gym.
When I went to his house for the first time ever,
he showed me his Lego helicopter with no shame whatsoever,
it was yellow and green and red and blue,
now when I think of LegoFagget I think of you.
Trying to quit smoking by giving me the power,
letting me hold his cigarette pack to reward him every few hours,
but I should keep a closer eye in case he cheats,
cause I'm pretty sure it's his fault the haze is taking over the streets.
Every day he'd ask to teman him workout,
but I'm pretty sure he spends most of his time on Skout,
see Kres, if you spend less time cyber sex-ing,
we could all go out so I can kick your ass again in bowling.
So there you go, a poem just for you,
and I can only think of one way to bid you adieu,
you fagget,
fagget.
jupiter's moon
Thursday, September 5, 2013, 1:42 AM
