You'll never know how much I love Fourtwnty's Segelas Berdua, how bright the color of the socks I'm wearing today, or how many lectures I fell asleep and got caught on. For every madness that sweep away my sanity, I think of you just because. The cure, I used to call you. The end, the thing I never knew.
One Saturday in this May when I was driving on the highway without you at the passenger seat, I wondered how would it be if you were. Would you jam to my playlist or would you stay quiet? Or would you tell the story of your life I didn't take part in any longer?
"Merayu bukan caraku, romansaku berbeda," sang Ari Lesmana as I realize a thing: itu juga bukan caraku.
May 21st, and the following day, I thought about you twice as much as I did the past weeks. Was your family okay? Did the riot make you quiver just to imagine that it happened on the street you went through everyday? Did your sister go to school?
So I checked on you and told you to stay safe. You'd never know how I worried about your mother when I hadn't even met her, which maybe I would never. If there's any harmful thing in this world, I pray for it would never get to hurt you or your family or anybody else you care for.
I watch your life from afar and still talk about you to my friends like it was just yesterday. Got no calendar in my phone so I didn't realize three years have just passed by in a glance. I should've never let you go so we could've been.
I wish we could've been.
