I still remember about how we love to sit on the rooftop to watch the night, and having the same feeling and thought while we’re listening to the song “Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra” and turning it up until the moon gives its beam to us like a spotlight. For the stars that glittered to us they made us more sentimental lovers under the naked night, and having you was seemed as my longing paradise that which my almost dream-like; you became tangible love that I took care for suchlike you’re a fragile-heart. The embraces you gave were made me warmth; also your kisses found me desiring.
Though times are passing by; but the epoch, still, has been pestering me if I look the night sky and if I listen to the song that we sang together for years ago. I regret for letting you go. Tonight, I’m here over the rooftop—drinking some bottles of beer and choosing to the playlist to play music till I calm myself—I wanted to voice out these unspoken words, which squeezing my heart so much. No more sighs after this! And to the moon, I’m very sorry for I cut the strings and broke the rhymes; for also, I gave up pulling her back. Besides, I lost her since love had no more space to stay with us, and I’m very wrong for believing that love can be tangible; it was too much beyond to my expectation, though—I’m just made myself a piece of damn.
Darling, I wish that at this moment we’re having the same sky to look at; please hear, first, my whispers and then chase my soul—take a glimpse to the stars and connect them to your heartbeats. Breathe the air as we taking off and fly over the treetops and go up to reach out the moon, and let’s sing the song while I’m fondling you. The debris of our broken heart are just like part of those meteors fell on the ground, which got shattered as pieces as of stardust that gives shine above, and will be seen from those who looking up. But, still, I need to come inside; shut the window, and go to my bed. Forget these all about because I’ve only got drunk past 10 p.m. Even though the remnants are still fresh wounds that making me numb—I wish everything will be fine soon afterwards, and I wish I could awake from this gray nightmare.
I hope I can forget you…
Words of Kier Bryan B. Ofima
Photo by Harley Riddle
