DUSK ON WHITE LIPS
21. Painting on Water
Lukijo mesem bitter, look back haunted in ignorance. Just now Mr. Prapto left him to sleep from sitting talking to him.
If he had been sitting on his feet, he would have covered his body with a cross-legged glove.
His eyes were like glancing at every sound that could be heard from the street below.
Reluctance felt rattling PJKM leaves that almost do not move covered in thin fog.
Pak Prapto's story of his youth is like influencing daydreams to stop for a moment in his suny devotional.
What Mr. Prapto experienced, so similar to his love journey.
Love that is always felt so volatile, either because of lack of self, maybe because it is not to be owned, but at least Pak Prapto is much luckier than He.
Slowly release the cold breath.
There is no beauty that can be enjoyed when the atmosphere of the night on the hill, all feels covered with fog and cold. Although the flickering stars can still be seen in space.
The hot tub tea that Mr. Prapto's wife was waiting for had almost run out nearby. But the warm just fills in the mind.
Lukijo moved his body, folding into the mouths of his two thick lips. Nosy mosquitoes bite on his neck, a little movement of the glove on the neck will surprise the Mosquito who is fun to enjoy his dinner.
Tumbens! Neither Shely nor Wati have been seen since this morning or tonight? His heart was like talking to a drifting mist.
A blinking voice sounded.
Lukijo mesem bowed.
The voice of the Goat in the cage behind the House mocked him in the solitude of the night.
Back to breathing.
A sense began to soften in the heart when the eyes saw in the distance. His heart began to be lured into something hidden behind it. He seemed to want to go far back, down a path He had never walked, rediscovering the color of the night in an unfamiliar place.
Back flicking the scabbard around his neck, the nosy Mosquito has not yet filled to tease him.
Sipping back the tea water that stayed a mouthful.
Sweet soy sauce felt swallowed in the esophagus.
Slowly looking at the House of Mr. Prapto, the door is still open a little, even though the lights have been turned off.
The house in which He grew up in jest of sorrow and lamentation of laughter, nothing changed even the sound of bleating was still clearly heard, though not the voice of his Goat.
Slowly standing up, the glove still enveloped from the neck to below his knees. His heart was eager to stand up while straightening his waist. Since then he has just sat down.
Slowly stepping down the dirt path with wild grass on its sides towards the previously rocky road.
Electric lights on a wooden pole, enough to illuminate and warm the eyes to just stand in the middle of the road.
Lukijo turned to the dark downhill road, then looked at the road that leads to the top of the Hill, looking quiet and dark misty.
Highlights and the sound of Mountain Motor are more heard at the foot of the Hill which is more Houses than on the slopes and peaks of the Hill.
The buzz of the light in front of him sounded as the wind blew.
For a moment he looked where he was staring.
The mountain peak in the distance was almost invisible to him. A shadow of an engraved face replaced it.
Shely's face last night, only silent to look at him before returning to Wati's house.
Usually, Shely smiles when going home, although sometimes bitter because of the actions of Wati. But yesterday, the smile on her jelly face vanished with her beautiful dimples.
Actually, he never cared about Wati's speech, last night. Because he felt it was normal for him.
He does not want to believe that love is above all else. One who can receive it only out of love, only paints on water. It's hard to do that. Because indeed He is not someone who can be made a choice, even though other options do not exist.
If Wati had said it only to make him more faint-hearted or self-conscious, perhaps long before He had seen and felt a shadowy face when he first met, He had been dwarfed and conscious.
He was only able to woo the dense fog. Even the fog had a cold face when it was withered.
He is only able to paint love on a delusion, the bahkah was never perfect, even though it was only a dream.
He is only able to make a happy night with his favorite black color, not make the happy heart that sees it.
The sound was heard again.
Lukijo back mesem. The shadow of Shely's face was disappearing with the blow that hit her face.
His mind was back in the middle of the distant darkness.
Banyang his heart was getting far away, carrying a feeling that was buried in the deepest bottom. If he's ever touched by love, maybe it's just a dye in his footsteps.
Now he just wants to seduce his heart, to keep stepping on the path of submission.
He only makes his heart happy by connecting with gratitude, for what he has lived.
For even the mist will never turn warm, like the smoke in the burning, as she remains cold in love and longing.
Because the Hill will still stand even though the storm hit it, as He will also continue to walk even though the wound is too much.
Lukijo sighed, trying to smile with the night and dark around him.
Turn back to the road that leads down from where he stands.
Remain foggy, like his steps.
Slowly looking up, the flickering little star was still staring at him, as if astonished to see him standing up.
Lukijo mesem himself, feels small himself with beauty, is indeed a dwarf of his heart among the glitter.
It was like he recognized himself in the midst of the stars.
Yeah! He is not the heir to the tower of love that rises in the depths of the heart, It is not the most beautiful gift of nature that amazes.
Yeah! It's dust that sticks to precious stones, worthless. It's a color that fades in the light of the light, invisible. It was dark at the bottom of a precipitous abyss, shaking the eyes of the beholder.
Lukijo quickly turned his head towards the downhill road, the sound of the Mountain Motor and the look of the lights scattered his anger.
A little run back to PJKM where He was sitting.
And he covered it to his head. Like afraid if the motor that will pass by recognize it.
Lukijo immediately stood up, the sound of the motor as turning the direction back. Curiously, he returned to the road where He had been standing.
It turns out true, the sound of the motor is heard increasingly away down the slope of the Hill.
Delicate crack on his lips, looking at his flip-flops. Almost cut off on his big toe.
Lukijo turned his head down the path under PJKM, then exhaled.
A dirt road without roots or stones alone makes its steps almost mired, what about a road full of aral?
Lukijo rubbed his face with a sarong, like he wanted to wipe his heart.
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