Four Cornered Room
...
The guitar strings was tired of me strumming them with the same song I always play, the same melodies I always hum, and the same plucking pattern I always do. The make shift chair, piled old-books, are scattered all over the wood flooring like some three years-old kid played with it and left it all messed up after. The sunlight were desperate to keep on crawling to where I am lying, piercing itself through that window curtain, finally done with his purpose and gone. Air blows the curtain-tip making it dance up and down. Freezing air gives cold hands. My throat were worn out and won't sing a voice anymore. I fell silent holding my guitar to my stomach and leaning my back and head against the wall. My breathing was the only sound. I tried whistling but it comes out to be a sigh, faint and weak. I guess I'm tired already that I can't write no more. I believe, at this moment, even sitting up straight would be tiring. My body's stiffed and it doesn't bother me. At least, I won't tired doing nothing. All I could do is think; so I think. I think about the moon that stand out from the rest. The sky's full of glitterings splattered like an abstract and attached to a great black marble of night. I am talking about the night sky, black and still. Cottony cloud nets the moon fading it a little. About a minute it was completely covered. I found myself wishing the cloud to move away and let the moon shine. I found myself fucosed and forgetting the other glittering stars out there. After all, the moon stands out from the rest. I have this thought that clouds are neither existing nor actually not. They're visitors in the sky's view. I think I have read it somewhere. So, hopeful about it, I stared at the cottony cloud and wait until it's existence in the view were gone. So that I could see the moon again. My body were stiffed but I can feel my inner self acting and moving, waiting for the moon. Am I really moving? I ask. Then I saw my feet crossing itself making my body lift a little bit from leaning to the wall. I guess, I'm really moving. I thought I was tired. My hands now holds my guitar in a playing way. My fingers placed to its strings ready to pluck. And my throat is back to its normal feeling. I'm no stiffed anymore. I can whistle. I can talk. I can sing. It was already midnight yet I feel like it ain't late yet. I strum the G chord and every chords follow. I started singing my voice out with my lyrics all unique. Then I realized that it was only my eyes that are still stiffed. My eyes are fixated to where the moon are standing out earlier. My eyes were waiting for it to come out. I was waiting for the cloud to be gone. And it did. There was it, the moon. The one my eyes have been staring for. My body have been readying for. The same size and shine as always. Suddenly my tiring and senseless day finally had a happy and contented night. At the end of the day, after having worn out, a little something (though doesn't feel little at all that it feels big deal) could inspire you to be you again. And for me, it was the existence of the moon and the inexistence of the cloud.
Anyway, the moon was the existence of she and the cloud was the inexistence of she.
...
StanLee
