bocold

and your love has left me on this island it has filled my cup up to the brink yet I grow thirsty in this silent

you once told me the wind is silent how his sound only be heard through collision last night, he cried with a violent yearning while he tore through the trees

The moon ever meant to be a satellite, kept in loving orbit, locked in hopeless inertia, destined to repeat the same pattern over and over --to meet in eclipse with the sun-- only when the numbers allowed.

for now, his face is all a blur, like a memory kept too long

ia kata kau pulang kau datang bagaimana ku sambut kau? tanya kabar kah? apa kabar? bagaimana hidupmu? cerita apa saja yang ku lewatkan? atau yang dulu tak mau kau ceritakan? bagaimana sepatumu? nyaman? bagaimana pakaianmu? kebesaran? bagaimana dengan penamu? masihkah ia menuliskan setiap cerita lukamu? ku miliki terlalu banyak pertanyaan terlalu banyak yang ku lewatkan harapku tak banyak esoknya ia kata kau tak jadi datang kau tak jadi pulang mungkin kau enggan