"I could've sworn I knew where I was going until my eyes met yours and saw universes, solar system— planetary words of fiction."

Title from: Driving 2.0 - Stevan, Charlie Burg [Spotify | Youtube].

--

When I look back at what happened with us — and trust me, I’ve been doing that a lot — “amusing” would be the first word that comes to mind.

Even that barely scratches the surface of how absurd the whole thing was.

A surprise. An unplanned event in a well-thought-out itinerary. One of those brief, off-script moments that weren’t supposed to leave a dent.

Walking contradictions at its best: the way you looked at me like you wanted to start something despite never intending to finish it, the way your words welcomed me in with no intention of showing me the exit, the way you treated me like I was the only working lightbulb in a hallway of broken ones but you never planned to keep on for long. 

How we crossed paths with each other felt more like a glitch that short-circuited us both instead of a spark — although let's be honest, for me, it was a full on flame. Ridiculous, be that as it may, considering how little actually happened between me and you (and your endearingly annoying face).

It probably meant nothing.

But I still replay every moment like it did. Because I needed it to.

Just in case.

"Some things never change, they never fade, it's never over."

Title from: I Know Alone - HAIM [Spotify | Youtube].

--

I haven't written about you in a while, and it made me feel slightly guilty.

It's not like I owed you one—if anything, you were the one who would find the least joy in it, since they always brought you great burden—but we both know it gave me peace and quiet.

Two things I haven’t felt since you left.

It’s not like what we had was filled with those—if anything, it was anything but—just that the thought of you brought them. How my chaotic mind would suddenly fall quiet just by thinking of you. How all the ruckus in my life felt slightly less overwhelming when I remembered you were a part of it—even though you no longer are, and things never really were.

The fact that I could write about you under any circumstance, and that I would never run out of things to say about us—even though our chapters ended way, way moons ago—is something I still cling to dearly. Unhealthily, maybe. But who could we blame, really? In my world, where change has always been the only constant, you—this variable I kept choosing to believe was still static—gave me the kind of normalcy I never quite learned how to hold onto. Even long after you left the place you used to stand.

When I felt like writing and nothing came to mind, you would always be there.

Not because you’re all that’s left—though that does ring true, to some extent—but because I still don’t think anything I’ve written has done justice to the stories we lived through. Stories that I know, we both know, could’ve had a million chapters left in them. If only we’d decided this thing could still run. Even if it had nowhere to go.

I still can’t write a perfect ending. Especially not when it comes to you.

Because deep, deep down, I wish we never had one.

"Dunia di kala senja teduh pelita, bertemu dalam ruang rindunya."

Title from: Senja Teduh Pelita - MALIQ & D'Essentials [Spotify | Youtube].

--

I'm not one to stay afloat when it comes to being in love.

Much like walking from coast to center, emotions come like an intense wave—crashing over me, knocking me down without mercy.

It hits so strongly—with daydreams and sappy playlists and feeling like I'm on top of the world, analyzing every single movement. Drowning, sometimes—or most of the time, let's be honest—with no option but to let it wash over me, if it ever does.

It always does, though. Even the worst wave dies on me.

Doesn't mean it gets easier each time.

But this time, the wave was so, so much stronger. I began questioning the capacity—could it really be this vivid? Or had I just not taken my walk along the beach often enough lately?

The latter seemed to be true. After all, when the first batch of water came close to my feet, it felt unfamiliar—despite me having dipped my toes dozens of times over the years. It was foreign, weird—I liked it and I didn’t, which was normal, but I forgot it was supposed to feel that way.

Then again, I was never fond of not being in control of my own feelings.

Days and weeks of letting myself get drenched as the wave got taller, minutes before it crashed—I was still in deep denial and rejection that I felt like this, once again.

And before I knew it, I was drowning.

I'm drowning.