"Ulog 1 Day: About you
There is one story. This story never shared with anyone, even with my closest friends. Because this story is mine, only mine. I write and enjoy myself. I keep it neatly at the bottom of the drawer in my heart. At the bottom of the bottom drawer, there was a stack of rainbow-colored papers that read a piece of story.
The story about you.
Yes, you. This story tells about you. You are the character of the story, the core of the story, and the story itself. Well, actually there's me in that story too. So to say, the story tells about me and you. Your story and me. Story about us.
"About 'us'? WE? Yeah, you sure do not use phrases wrong? We?", Asked the cleverest organ in my body.
Yes! Yes! Thank you very much, O greatest organ that is often forgotten, has reminded me of this fool. There is no 'us'. There never was 'us'. There is only 'I' and 'You'. 'You and I'. Because I and you are never tied together.
You know? To me, you are the sun. You are warm, bright, and always shine on me dark. Although at the end of the day you will disappear, but the next day you will always come. If you are the sun, then I assume myself the earth. And as the sun, you stand proud, far away. You are always there, I always revolve around you, but as the earth, I realize that you will not be there beside me, that's for sure, because we are the sun and the earth, apart distance but there is always a connection that connects me with you.
The sun and the earth.
And I forgot an important thing: The sun does not just shine on the earth. Earth is not the only one that gets the warmth of the sun.
Chewing on my first bite of quiche-which was super good! -I opened slowly the bottom drawer of my heart. I pull out a pile of colored paper from the bottom of the drawer. This is my most precious treasure: all the memory of you. About your laugh. About your kindness. About your lies. About being together you and me. About you. It's all about you.
Along with the second bite, I read the first page of the story about you. This page is black on the top of the paper, gray in the middle of the paper, then pink at the end of the paper.
Black is when I was with my man. At first, I walked straight north, hand in hand with my man. In the constantly enforced tasteless relationship, we persist. Keep walking together even though our feet could not go any further. In the end, we gave up. Releasing his hands on the steep rock road, we parted ways. In a quiet whisper, my man steadied toward the west, while I was stranded to the north.
Then you come from the south. With a smile, the attention and warmth you provide, you are able to turn me around. I followed you like a beam of light following the light. You're headed southeast and I'm happy to be by your side.
We do not touch each other's hands, even if we are side by side. It's okay, I said at the time, because I know love takes time. But without hooking each other's hands, you scratch the red on this story sheet.
In the third bribe, I reread the second sheet full of red. But at the end of the second sheet, you scratch the black on my favorite sheet. The second worst painful memory. Then the defense mechanism works. My brain provides scenarios that are contrary to what I saw at the time. A stupid scenario that closes my eyes and can convince me that I can be happy with you. And this scenario made me keep this story myself.
The fourth bribe, I read the next page. The sheets are clean white. Because you are not there. You disappeared somewhere. My life seemed to lose ground. I'm waiting for you, until almost this sheet is up, you do not show up. Suddenly you come a smile that is more beautiful than usual, with more warmth than usual. But you carry black ink that is more dense than usual. The first worst, painful memory.
Along with my last bite of quiche, my tears drip slowly down my cheeks. I stared at the bottom of the last sheet. Black. Farewell color.