STAR-CHARTER

I'll start this with questions "In any sense, how does the time plays through your eyes? Does it hug you in its loving dance or does it hung a lure that hooks your lungs?"

I was 13 when I laughed at untied lace of my running shoes, until I blinked and realised that I'm out of breath as 23. I thought maybe time is not something worth running against to, but who am I kidding? Time is something so unbeatable, while this 23 star-crossed soul who's quite limping keeps bargaining for a balanced pace--he is trying, putting a trust on his running shoes.

Silly don't you think? To persist here, in one circle, with the unbeatable concept, always thinking that I can pace up with it. Does it ever haunts you? When memories, future, dreams, and goals are all linked by time and you don't have know idea how it will unravel in front of you.

As someone who does not really enjoy a warning sign, time does frighten me. For years until now, every time I can't sleep at night I will check on my loved ones, analyzing their breathing pace at their sleep because I'm full of worries: what if Time took them away from me and decide that it's okay for them to lose while I'm still running with Time? Cruel. What if Time is unmerciful and crushed all my well-planned dream that I've built these past years? What if Time was already there putting a yellow ribbon to mark my finishing line while I'm still 5.000 steps away from everything I'm longing for? Crazy.

Time is the ultimate enemy. How do you beat it?

At least that's what I think for now, it might hug me on the dance floor, later, sooner, only time will tell.

I once sat at the table, wondering the sandwich on my plate. Where my head wonders to go off—for something more tempting than this sandwich, which clearly easy on the eyes.

One look at the panini, then second look was thrown to the fresh green in between its softness, something tickles my brain: The stuffs that filled the bread is perfecting its tenderness, it might be solid just as their own, but a sandwich is a beautiful form—almost destined to be a perfect thing in life, or at least that's what I believe.

Now, I lost count at how many time I look at the stuffy bread on the plate, fact is in the blink of an eye it has gone dancing inside my mouth, kissing every sense of taste.

One bite is a blessing of grace, too good, seems like their best two strikers are on the run: dopamine and serotonin, kicking the nerves on my head, realizing that in this life you have to love yourself first in order to love everyone else, because your love can't be proceed without the help of your existence. So, in order to love, you have to stay alive, and perhaps eat a sandwich.

Every eye was praising your presence, Longing to touch your dulled armours. What tragedy that cost you to be such a Romance Survivor? What moves you to leave the knight in blood? When it surreptitiously hugging Her ribs, bathing its lungs with an ocean of misery. That one time when you were putting on your armour to fight, did it make you feel like a warrior? When I kiss your torn lips with fuel, does it light you up to the ground?

Was I deadbeat enough to be hanged at the sharpest edge of your stars?

Will you hang me in the nested shells of yours? Like how your lipstick touch your bruised hearts and how my praying hands were knotted by your romance, always begging to the greatgod.

I hate you because leave me tasteless.

How you rob all the spices from my kitchen—while you eat all the dinner that has been served, senseless.

And when your tongue licked the plate very clean… Leaving me with nothing but teared-up linen, shivering the broken plates; whose glimmer cuts are now kissing my cheeks to bleed. The poisonous wine.

Where everyone thought it was eszencia pouring down my tears, drowning my coat, shivering the bones.

You know it was not my dream to be the one who cooks, serving you a plate full of honey & nuts.

It was my duty.

My duty to make you crammed and alive.

But, God...

Nobody warned me that I was grinding Michelin for a cannibal.

I can tell by the way the Moon shivered her shades, or the way those red lines wasn’t amusing at all.