Adolescence

Episode 34

...Just a Regular Friend...

Every time Rian always changed Gonta motorbike but not his motorbike but owned by a customer in his father's motorcycle workshop, as a result Rian was furious with his father.

"You this how the hell, already ....." Rian's dad was angry but I skipped.

The feeling we thought was gone was still there, there was only a word between me and him, the picture I still keep but I don't display only taru in my closet and I put it in the deepest part, it's also rarely touched. He is different not like Raisa who I knew before, only his height is still the same, he said, people say that any love can happen but this is different just a sudden taste of a sticky then he went somewhere. Like Dejavu he keeps coming he goes then comes back, a feeling that is stored with warmth of affection but many things also that make it special.

***

Distance can sometimes make a stranger, making a person distrustful of the power of love. The same cross you are, but you have not found a figure of His choice.

For me life is always black and white, happiness will always be directly proportional to sadness. We're just waiting for the time to take turns, aren't we?

And so with silence.

Today feels crowded, maybe tomorrow we will dialogue again with solitude.

Although in the crowd I still feel lonely, somehow lonely I feel without someone who can accompany me in this solitude, it does not feel like I have gone further and further I walk alone. My egoist feels that if I just complain without trying, somehow my pen scratches to the point where the black ink that I write on white paper has run out, inexplicably, everything I write corresponds to the journey of life in which the crying heart tells of every journey of the soft heart, although the time spoke in a soft tone while accompanied by the piano which continued to sound with melodunya like a melody that struck the heart. The clock's needle kept ticking towards the infinite axis with a full turn I kept asking myself, today whether it will be better than the days before or it will even give me a flurry of money actually leads me to the fear of starting a change.

Not the story of Romeo and Juliet whose story is written and also filmed, nor about the famous Rama and Shinta. Not a rich man, just an ordinary man, not a writer but just someone who wants to express every feeling through the verse of words and also the ink scratches that I pour with my heart and feelings.

The sweetly written annual temple of my love story with him that sits in the courtyard of love together with my heart that is always ringing with the whispers of his love so sweet, so sweet, indefinitely revealed but I can't say. I'm just someone who adores him in the distance, I'm just someone who tries hard to stay loyal to him even if I'm just behind the distance, don't ask me how I feel if you can't move on from the past that haunts you because it's so unfair.

The splashing sound of the rain rushing from the drops to the sound of a loud, not enough one but thousands of puddles of water swept over my shoulders and drenched me, not enough one, I just fell silent while letting every puddle of rain and also the boisterous sound of the wind blow fiercely on my face. I'm a nobody, I'm not the director who made my documented life journey into a movie. Even in the crowd I was still alone and feeling lonely, like there was only a firefly accompanying me in the silence. I'm just me and not him, let me keep this feeling at a distance because maybe you're not for me and maybe this feeling will one day go away on its own.

Never the hell you like someone but only limited to taste and can never express it, he said, maybe you are afraid but actually also embarrassed if you have to face the same person you like so you just try to cover up your feelings and just be quiet and awkward or awkward if faced the same the person you like so you look like an absurd and strange person to expect. I am a poem of hope, of longing, of remembrance and of the past, of trying to forget but powerless, I can only hold memories and the past in the longing hopes I want to turn into reality. But I realize the past is still a past, it is not necessary to expect much from him if he comes back later his story is clearly not the same. So why does this heart not want to stop hoping, when it knows that the past has left it. And who leaves should not be pursued, right?.

Not the story of Romeo and Juliet whose story is written and also filmed, nor about the famous Rama and Shinta. Not a rich man, just an ordinary man, not a writer but just someone who wants to express every feeling through the verse of words and also ink scratches written with the heart and feelings.

The sweetly written annual temple of my love story with him that sits in the courtyard of love together with my heart that is always ringing with the whispers of his love so sweet, so sweet, indefinitely revealed but I can't say. I'm just someone who adores him in the distance, I'm just someone who tries hard to stay loyal to him even if I'm just behind the distance, don't ask me how I feel if you can't move on from the past that haunts you because it's so unfair.

The splashing sound of the rain rushing from the drops to the sound of a loud, not enough one but thousands of puddles of water swept over my shoulders and drenched me, not enough one, I just fell silent while letting every puddle of rain and also the boisterous sound of the wind blow fiercely on my face. I'm a nobody, I'm not the director who made my documented life journey into a movie. Even in the crowd I was still alone and feeling lonely, like there was only a firefly accompanying me in the silence. I'm just me and not him, let me keep this feeling at a distance because maybe you're not for me and maybe this feeling will one day go away on its own.

Not someone who is good at stringing words, not a psychic who is able to express words, not the predecessor who is able to say words, and not the painter who is able to draw words. Every despair paints a word, every thing provides information about the journey of life and every time will scratch ink about the meaning of happiness and also sadness. I'm just an ordinary person not a protagonist who deserves to be flattered and also not an antagonist who deserves to be made in the bully, not also a figure who just passing by, not just passing by, I am not a slang girl who is pretentious and also not a cool cool girl who is cool, I am not as romantic as Nicolas Saputra and also not as beautiful as Dian Sastro Wardoyo, this is not a story between Rangga and Cinta.

I don't know why I became a poetic figure when I was not a funny or romantic girl, and also not a girl figure who slang like noodles, not even a pretentious artist, not even a pretentious artist, let alone to be pretentious my quiet face might be considered a less friendly and not good at getting along, even though I really do not know anything. Why yes lately I often write in my diary until one day I realize my diary is full of my curses, the point is long at times wide is the same as either since when I became a romantic figure like a top pesinetron when in fact I am an ordinary and not famous person. Maybe it's not me if I don't have a taste, because every feeling will lead us to a love, or friendship like the story I wrote here. I don't know Lo want to read or not as bad as Lo yes the term bodo very, because from the first I did not like a lot of talk but once said a lot.

Introfert guy who works only play games on the computer, with his madness he can only take time to struggle with his computer but never try to find friends at school, he can only take the time to work with his computer, he is quiet rarely chatter if he talks only as he wants and the term he said yes irit talk. Maybe many of you are also lovers of something such as football or whatever it is, but different from me who likes to play games on the computer to the point of addiction and now my school grades plummet. Friends at school many have girlfriends but there are also funny and choose to learn aja diligent for the future but different as I who each want to repeat the rest of the time even though the results of the repetition of the drop as a result in angry bokap.

During my stay in Jogja, I lived with a happy family with my dad and my mom and my big brother, but because my mama had an accident a few years ago, now you're getting remarried to a woman younger than her and almost my age. Each at home it feels different, happy but I myself am not happy.

The feeling that we had considered leaving, it was just hiding, so for this time I did not want to lose you again. In this case it is not you who are sick but me too. The full moon will always be a reminder that you loved me.

"Why brother?" Ask Raisa

"What's wrong" I answered

"Sir Yudha why do I want to do this?" Ask

"Who cares about you, GR!" Answer

"Sister saw me!" Answer me

"Her time" he replied

"She" I replied insistent

"Liat tuh your face becomes a straw because of ice cream" he replied

"It's time!" Answer me

"Yes!" He answered, touching my lips that were hit by ice cream

And at that moment I was accidentally the same as him so he looked at each other.

"This fire, how come...." Reveal me

"Clean it yourself!" He answered while giving me a tissue

"What the hell was this moment even messed up" I said while bragging myself

"Why you?" Ask

"No brother!" I answered while cleaning my face with a tissue

Then he laughed at me...

"Wkkwkkw..."

"Why the hell?" Ask me

"You're not funny" he replied

"Yes, I'm a clown in the open" I said, turning my face away

"You don't get angry" he said

He is so he always sees me but I also do not understand why he is so even so, with his attitude I always feel there is a figure who always takes care of me. He's considerate and he's also very kind to me and he's able to make me feel good about him.

***