Yang Ditemukan, Yang Menemukan

image

Ada ruang hatiku yang kau temukan
Sempat aku lupakan kini kau sentuh Aku bukan jatuh cinta namun aku jatuh hati


Dia memahami bahasa kalbuku, dia yang mampu melukis rindu meskipun terkadang menyisa hanya pilu dan sendu. Dia yang memikatku dengan mata hatinya, menafsir dunia dalam bingkainya, dia yang mengikatku dengan tanyanya dari kesan yang tercerap jiwa. Yang lantas aku tak menahu harus seperti apa dan menjadi apa hingga aku hanya pasrah menanti alur sembari meyakini yang tersurat tidak mungkin memungkiri. ‘Jangan cepat berlalu, sebelum aku menyelesaikannya dalam cerita, tetaplah disana! Dan aku rela terbawa angan untuk sementara.”


Ku terpikat pada tuturmu, aku tersihir jiwamu
Terkagum pada pandangmu, caramu melihat dunia
Kuharap kau tahu bahwa ku terinspirasi hatimu
Ku tak harus memilikimu, tapi bolehkah ku selalu di dekatmu?


Semuanya bermula, dan aku ingin merangkainya dalam kata tentang kita. Akan kupastikan tidak akan terlewat yang membuatku terpana karena menyebabkan mengapa yang kini aku rasa dan membuatmu berbeda. Dan aku ingin kau tahu pada saatnya nanti, entah melalui waktu atau tersampaikan dalam diamnya rindu, pendarmu yang begitu menghangatkan, aku tertawan impresi tentangmu.“Terima kasih untuk menemukanku, untuk pernah hadir dan sepintas menyapaku! Aku mencintaimu, seadanya kamu, bukan selebihmu.”


Katanya cinta, memang banyak bentuknya
Ku tahu pasti sungguh aku jatuh hati

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Song of Solitude (6)

She wasn’t sorry. She was meant for glory.

There’s no make believing
The sound of the wings
Of the flight

, of a dove

“I have been crafting stories of not meant to be, but it is so deceitfully heartwarming. We fall off steps the same gravity, but we hover different skies. I never thought this could be painful, but so painfully exalting. “ She flustered by the thought of enterprising and of expanding, the possibilities were endless but her brazenness so firmly grounded; like it was where it was supposedly cultivated but she knew full well it was to no avail because at last their taken roads were en route to the different brinks: she was of low, he was of high.

She traveled backwards memories, if she were given a chance, if there was anything that could reassure her, she could tell without slightest hint of hesitation. But it could turn upside down, “Why do I have to involve myself in the game if I’m not even qualified for it. We are both of the same moral compass, but of different intensity, quite significantly.” She throwed up the sponge at last, “Juliet is just plain gullible, and Romeo is only taking her love for granted, he knew she could turn him into a romantic hero.” She continued rewinding the scenes, for insofar as her scattered brain always failed to count, had been of great nursery ryhmes. She acted out a foil to his being a statue, she chose to believe to have been trapped in his luminous nobility.

At least, she could nail an “Ozymandiaz” dignity and wore proud her tranquil composure as she refused to have been carried into his bandwagon, “I’m not drown, if seemingly so, I can’t swim at the first place and I’m a coward.” She abhorred from her possible deteriorated ends, if entitled to account for her adjourning. In remembrance, she found herself but left frantic.

Song of Solitude (2)


If the world isn’t turning
Your heart won’t return
Anyone, anything, anyhow

She wandered aimlessly and wondered the beauty of seemingly pleading for attention night, in her cubicle, statued. The last time she felt so unsteady was when he left her without goodbye. He didn’t return the hello she once gave to him. But it was a nuance, now she buried it in her brain ‘ancient’ part. It was almost surreal to her. It was the evident epitome of guilty pleasure. She pondered, pondered hard, it should be her mind controlling her heart. She laughed at herself, hard enough to make her fall off from the chair, if so made believe. He played out a great protector. The sky was empty from the window peek. The Romeo probably forgot he had to greet her or got lost in his way of meeting her. And there she waited, waited endlessly, hopelessly and helplessly. The sky wasn’t any better consolation, served her no consolidation. If anything, mourn intensified. She let loose of what supposedly detached. But she couldn’t seem to do it with the soul she had been standing staring the gloomy skies so hazily, so keenly for. She waited and waited still, “Romeo must be so preoccupied.”