post-love
I miss the touch of your skin -
scratch that, I miss the touch of another’s skin, doesn’t matter whose,
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Meditations on First Foolosophy - First Meditation
Part 3 - Desert Cries
But why do I always seem to yearn for it? The picturesque image of sharing everything, sending my diaries to you like what Kafka did with Jesenska. Is it just fundamental human desire to have their stories be known to someone, anyone? Perhaps we truly fear dying alone, unknown, in the universe so incredibly vast and empty. We spend our whole lives trying to make a mark, a dent in the fabric of the universe while in reality we are merely screaming in nameless desert, our voices run dry before the stars could even hear our cries.
Perhaps only in relationships, by asymptotically zeroing our distance, that we can hope to have a real chance in leaving a permanent mark, or at least the illusion of it. We thirst for consequence outside our own mental world. If we cannot be consequential in the physical world, we can strive to be significant in the psychological world of others. The cause of our fundamental desire to be understood is the inherent angst against the transient nature of existence.
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Living in the Past
And now it seems that I’m merely surviving for the brief moments we can finally meet again, reliving particles of memories that have, gradually but rather surely, faded against the unyielding flow of life.
“There will be time for ice cold beer in summer heat,” my mind insists on saying, reassuringly
“and sweet clove cigarettes against our chapped lips,
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On impulse
I want to be the radical with an odd outer shell, unstable and forever colliding with others, only to be replaced by other particles or agitated by thermal energy. I want to be the small ion that distorts everything in its way, that carries charges and bends the path of others.
I want to be the atom that has existed for as long as the universe existed, I want to be the proton that collides and started the chain of nuclear reaction. I want to constantly change my phase and shape and identity, I want to cause others to do the same. I want to decay and recombine and explode and release unimaginable amounts of energy.
I want to be the closed system that is the universe, with the ever increasing randomness, only reversible by the reversal of Time itself.
I do not want to be the close system that is the universe that settles down after a heat death. I want to be the universe that ends in a big crunch, I’d rather explode that be extinguished, I’d rather be singularity than expand indefinitely and fade into nothingness.
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Peter Pan
I’m in love with my messy room and hectic schedule. Hair undone, face unshaved, running away from classes and towards love. And upon arrival, finding the very object that I desired did not seem so appealing at all.
I’m in love with daily excitations and frequent disillusions. The fascination of novelty, and the restlessness of monotony that make our lives oscillate. The dizziness and lost of identity, the adventures and sense of urgency to pass by everything, to observe and learn from anything.
I’m in love with conversations over dinner and late night melancholy. The simple things in life that justify our transient existence on earth. I want to stay here forever, having lengthy confessions to the ghosts of you; perhaps we can discover ourselves. Heck, perhaps we can even discover humanity.
I’m in love with love, and no, I don’t ever want to grow up.
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I wonder if this is love..
Intermittently you would appear in my life, saying a word of wisdom or two. Sometimes you just pose a question, albeit a very difficult one. Most of the time I would be left scrathing my head, puzzled and dazzled by your inscrutable smile.
I often find myself running after you, directionless. You’re an enigma; I don’t even know where to start looking. I would get jealous if people seem to get you more than I do. Sometimes they would talk about your little quirks that I didn’t know existed. It is disheartening to see that my attempts to understand you always end up futile.
My main objective is not to perfectly know you. I know a lifetime spent with you would not be enough to fully explore the depth that is your complexity. Yet I want to just plunge in; I’m in for an exciting ride if you would be so kind to show me around. Even if that means being surrounded by the darkness that may lurk in your core.
Of course, I am not saying that you are distant. In fact, we are very close. We spend time together, often enough for people to get the wrong impression. And honestly, I enjoy wasting my time with you. Your blunt curiosity. Your cold hearted response to everything. Your schizophrenic personality.
In my universe, you’re the only one that makes sense.
Never before had I dreamt of falling in love with a subject, but yes, I might be falling for you.
And if this is real, life won’t be so terrifying anymore. At least I have your hands to hold on to.
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Insiden Malam
angin malam, berdentam, hantu diam
mungkin ada sejumput partikelmu yang dibawanya dari seberang sana
rehat sejenak, beranjak, suara memekak
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Aku Tak Perlu Berbisik
Aku tak perlu berbisik untuk tahu
Dan kamu tak perlu tersenyum untuk mengerti
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Sajak Tanpa Rima
Saat pagi datang membunuh malam dengan sinarnya yang kejam
Hati terombak tak mau pikirkan tentang kamu, tentang
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Tentang Cinta Terlarang
Meratap di tengah derap
Melihat bayangan
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