You are something that I can't define

I can't define it as love though. It's too easy if I say that I love him. I don't know anything about him. How can I say that I love him? This feeling is heartaching, so much, yet fascinating. This is so good to have someone to be a reason why do I still live in this cruel world and he is my truly reason.

I can't define it as an obsession though. I can sleep, I can eat without him. I'm not that hopelessly like him that way. I still have a life to live and dreams to catch. And even if I don't have him, that's not a big deal for me.

I can't define it as an admiration. I like him just the way he is. I like his soul. I like him not because his ability to do something, not because his beautiful and perfect face, I like him with no reason. At all.

I can't define it as lust either. I don't want him to laid with me. I don't want to making in love with him. I have no idea about sex thing, though.

I like him but I look at him like he is the only earth I could live in. I look at him like he is the only star in the sky. I look at him like he is the only thing that increase my interest to live my life better than before. I look at him like he is the mouthful of flaws and sins but I still like him that way. The world seems disinterest for me, but I look at him like he matters.

Is it love, obsession, or admiration or--the worst of all-- lust?

Hurricane

At 3 a.m. I wake up and you too.

You say, “Lets sleep again,”

“No, i don’t want to”

“You have to, babe, come on”

“Don’t make me do that,” I yell at him. I don’t know why I yell at him. I just feel my brain is full of memories that I can’t stand. It hurts.

“What’s wrong?” you ask me and looking straightly to my brown eyes.

“I don’t know. I feel like the demons are coming. And it hurts my fucking mind because they keep yelling inside me.”

“You had nightmare, babe. There’s no demons inside you.”

“When you and me...” I remember what I dreamed about.

“Yeah?”

“When you and me, were nothing, when you and me were only a space of dust.. I don’t know I just remember all of sudden,”

He is quite. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say but he wrap me in his chest. I can smell his parfume and I can hear his beating heart. This is home, a truly home. The warmth, the smell, the sounds of his beating heart is my home.

The words finally came from his mouth, “I read your poems back then. Is it about me?”

“All of my poems is all about you, idiot.”

He laughs. That laugh again. I swear I could die if I can’t see that laugh again.

“You said “When time is right we will meet again. When you are ready to hold a hurricane in your naked arms.” Do you know how hurts my feeling when I read that sentence?”

“I am always a hurricane for everyone. I am complex and fucking complicated. I ruined me. I ruined people. I ruined you for loving me all this time.”

“You are right. You are complex and complicated. You are a ruiner. You are hurricane. You are not as simple as that. Behind your simple smile there’s a fucking thousand knives. But you are something like that. A beautiful mistakes, a beautiful storm, a beautiful and wrongful soul.”

Every words that came from his mouth becomes a wonderful poem. I can’t do anything, all I can do is to kiss him. And then he says something again.

“You are something but actually everything. But I love you anyway. You are the most complicated art that I have ever had and the most meaningful art that I have never had, either. Nobody owns you like the ocean, nobody owns you, even me.”

I start to cry but also smile.

He says something again, “You said “Maybe we will meet again when you are ready to kiss my scars away” are your scars exist because of me?”

“All of my scars exist because of me because I can’t love myself. I hated for being me.” I replied.

He hugs me and I’m freezing. He says something.

“I love you. I love you too much. I love you when you can’t love yourself. I love you when you always wake up at 3 a.m because you had nightmare. I love you. I never regret anything about you. I am sorry for coming late, because of me, you hurt so much. I am sorry. I am sorry.”

“No, babe, I am sorry for this fucking mess.” I said.

“You are the mess that I always love and I will always love. I’d be glad if I own you, your mess, your flaws, your soul, your skin. I’d be glad if you let me own them.” You said.

“You own me,” I kiss him. I can’t stand myself to stay still when his lips demands me to kiss him.

“Yeah, I own a fucking fascinating hurricane.”

Surat Dari Si Bajingan

Ada laki-laki yang termenung di stasiun sore itu. Kala itu cuaca sedang di tengah musim hujan, tentu saja dingin. Ia menyalakan rokok dan dihisapnya pelan. Perih, hidupku. Bajingan, diriku. Aku hanya ingin membakar paru-paruku ini dengan sebungkus rokok seharga tiga belas ribu. Aku sudah menghabiskan tiga bungkus ditengah hari seperti ini.
Paru-paru sialan, pekik hatiku. Ia belum juga berhenti dan mati bernapas. Jaketku juga tak berguna, karena hatiku masih juga dingin.
Aku bertanya pada Tuhan, jenis manusia apa aku ini? Apakah Tuhan memberikan perasaan padaku? Apakah ia lupa memberikan hati padaku, si bajingan ini?
Sudah ku kecup bibir wanita, beribu-ribu wanita di jalanan. Si Tufa, si Mova dan si Jani, sudah ku kecup semua bibir wanita-wanita itu. Tapi tak pernah aku memberi hatiku pada mereka. Bukan aku tak mau memberi hatiku pada mereka, tapi karena aku tak punya.
Masih kuingat malam itu, Tufa membenamkan kepalanya di dadaku. Lalu mulai menciumi leherku dan juga bibirku. Aku hanya diam, tak terasa, pagi pun mengetuk pintu kamar kita. Dan kami melakukannya malam itu.
Setelah itu aku melangkahkan kakiku keluar dari ruangan tersebut tanpa menuliskan sepatah kata dalam secarik kertas.
Aku hilang jejak,
Aku angkat kaki dari hidupnya,
Aku sudah menghancurkan badanmu, Tufa.
Sudah membuat kalian berteriak, memekik dan bahkan mencintaiku.
Tapi aku bajingan wanita-wanitaku.
Aku bajingan yang tak punya hati.
Aku tak waras dan tak pantas untuk dicintai, bahkan oleh diriku sendiri.



- Surat Dari Si Bajingan
5 Agustus 1998 pukul 11:23

You.

Back then, i didn’t know that I would heal.
I would be alive again.
I would be human again.
But you came, you changed me.
You changed my perspective about life,
you changed my smile―it grew bigger.
You changed my cold heart―it is warmer now.
You changed the way I hug someone,
the way I kiss someone.
I kiss you the way the sun kisses the earth,
warm and full of life.
But there’s one thing you didn’t change,
the way I love someone.
The way I care about them,
the way I give them my whole heart.
You have never changed that, and you said
“the way you love someone is
the most perfect way―of perfectness― the way human love someone.” Thats what you said.
After that, I can’t stop loving you.
Loving you perfectly, loving all of your flaws,
loving the way you sleep, loving the way you laugh.
You sleep like a baby through the night.
You laugh too much when something hilarious happen.
I live for that beautifulness, babe.
I can’t stop―and I don’t want to― loving your confused face when you wake up,
loving your embarassed face when you fart,
loving your childish side when you want me to cuddle you.
I really can’t stop loving when I kiss your lips, your nose, your neck, your hair, your dimple, your everything.
I kiss you whole heartedly. I kiss you with all my life, all my love and all my lust.
I kiss you ‘cause your lips demands me to kiss you.
It hurts me so much when I can’t kiss you,
your lips is more addict than drugs and nicotine or alcohol.
I kiss you ‘cause your lips is an open door to enter the universe,
the whole blue sky, the blueness of the pacific ocean.
Your lips is an open door to the eternity time,
the forevers and limitless,
where time doesn’t even exist.