dahlia had fury

she is not even breathing when it started

she couldn’t believe what she just heard

her chest beating so fast

and her eyes felt so warm and wet.

“tell me what am i suppose to do, okay? you can’t treat me that way again. we barely talking to each other for the past 3 months. you said i should wait until you’re ready to talk. but i can’t see it anytime soon. are you planning to leave again?”

i’m not ready yet

i’m not ready yet

what do i do

what do i do now

i have to tell something

something.. please.. something..

“you can’t even look at me in the eye. is this really what you want? you’re not going to talk again? it hurts me too seeing us like this. but you can’t just pretend like nothing happened. you can’t just run like that. unless...”

please don’t say it

please don’t say it

i’m sorry. i’m sorry.

“allright then. i guess i’m the one who pissed about it”

he’s leaving

yeah of course he is

he’s packing his stuff

damn it

just take a deep breath and say it.

Thank you.

It's been a lot.

Thank you.

i see this couple online and all i think about is that i have to write something

the world is falling apart because this pandemic problem

and i still figuring out how to present my final project nicely.

college life is no longer like it used to,

i didn’t attend to any class anymore

i didn’t have to arguing whether eating lunch in which cafeteria

i didn’t have to running in hall before getting late to start any test or quiz.

so many things happened for this past year.

i somehow trapped in a corporate institution, played around with this student organization, finished my final project for bachelor degree, had fight with some friend, laughed and hugged some new friends, and so many tears wasted to become i am today.

well.. this shouldn’t be about me at first

cause i wanna write after seeing a cute couple thru instagram

but yea whatever here it is

-

i still remember the first story i wrote beside diary,

it’s some mysterious short story about kids and their neighborhood.

i kept them in my book and carried it where ever i go.

that short story made me write over and over again,

sometimes it was about fiction story,

in another day it was short poem about love and surviving.

back then i wrote because i was mad,

i wrote because i was upset,

i wrote because i was in love,

i wrote because i was guilty,

i wrote because i was pretending,

i wrote because i was so grateful,

i wrote because i wanted people to see it, to read my words.

and i am satisfied with all of it.

it’s so relief and i’m so happy about what i have wrote.

years later, i keep busy doing anything i could.

i only write in one orange little note sized 6x4 inches.

a friend suggested me to that to help me controlling what i shouldn’t think of.

it does help

you should try

then after half of the note pass, i filled the next page with pieces that will remain me about what happened, places i went, movies i watch, things i got, and many more.

i stop writing and collecting pieces.

i only write when i want to put something here now,

i only write because i want to remember now.

i still talk a lot in twitter and mocking how human should and shouldn’t be,

but that’s not what i want to remember.

-

this can keep going if don’t feel sleepy

so yeah, we talk later

gotta stay fit to keep sane because this pandemic