OWNER OF HEART

Eps 25's

Three weeks after my meeting with the Travelers at Jogja station, we somehow did not greet each other. Sometimes, I secretly looked at his name in whatsapp contacts, while being impassive, “hopefully you are fine.”

Then, the more days I realized that his name was sinking downwards from the line of incoming messages.

Usually, I pass saturday and Sunday with news of the journey. Beach photos, pieces

dusk, the story of the rain that trapped him. His coffee cup, sometimes he just send a photo of a plate of siomay or pempek, even without any sentence. But now I no longer find it.

There's nothing at all.

So, I comforted myself by looking one by one at the photos I had sent, which I had stored in a folder

the one I call on his name. Each image rotates the moments of our conversation. Oh my God, am I overdoing it? But that's what I do.

It has been almost three weeks as well, he has not posted anything on his social media accounts. Not never, because

he has posted status several times. However, when I commented, the post was instantly deleted. He posted again, I commented again and my comment was ignored. I saw on his IG, he didn't upload anything. So, I can only play all the songs he's ever given me.

Then, I came to the conclusion, that this is the feeling of loss. He can't know if you're secretly checking all his social media. He must not know, if secretly…. I'mlookingfor. I'm not missing him, am I? I just want to know how it is. It's just news.

“Allah..”.

“Sunday.”.

“Three weeks.. and why does it feel so long? Is she okay? Can I still talk to him? Can you still Rabb?”

I closed my eyes for a moment. And when I opened my eyes. My gaze fell on the diary on the table. Just a regular book. Contains daily schedules, monthly targets, deadlines and small ideas that suddenly appear.

I opened it, and only realized that ever since I knew the Traveler. This book contains many short poems. I used to doodle in books after having a conversation with her, or from the pieces of pictures that were sent.

The first poem about him I sent to him, and he posted it in fb, and then I gave it to him

emoticons angel smile shape. The poem I wrote before she went to the hospital. At that time, we discussed memories throughout the day. Memories of him, of course. That's why I call him a hunchback carrying a memory.

The traveler asked me that. How many books did I spend in a month? I laughed

only, because in a month I can spend a lot of books for me to read.

On the other sheet, I also copied the Traveler's sentence as we discussed coffee. I'm commenting on what

is it okay to drink coffee in a used plastic cup? It was Sunday exactly. Almost eight o'clock in the morning. Look, even the hours of our conversation, I still remember.

‘For coffee connoisseurs, coffee actually remains the same’

‘Only our thoughts make it different’

‘Cause of the taste of coffee is on the mind, and our own hearts.’

Once, me and the traveler were involved in a long debate. At first we talked about being a little bit the same.

I laugh every time I talk about it. Because it was as if he didn't want us to have much in common. So, I just wrote that conversation into a verse of poetry.

You said…

We're just a little bit alike?

You always insist on just a little…

So, you said I can't be big-headed…

Although I read you often…

I was facing the mirror of life…

Speak to you…

Like talking to the other side of me…

Know it?

Why did God find us?

Maybe to be a good friend…

And you know why, I call you a good friend?

So that we don't hurt each other…

Look, even from the very beginning I was getting ready for the wound. Somehow I can think that.

What now! Am I the one who got hurt? No, I don't want to say that I'm hurt. Maybe I'm just a coward. Afraid of lara. Afraid of the absence. Fear of abandonment. Afraid loss. But I should understand that in this life, nothing is eternal.

I took a long breath. Then turn the next page.

How busy the streets are…

People go and go with everything they bring…

Seransel got a wound on your shoulder how are you?

It's over, right? Scraped season after season?

As I recall, I took a picture and sent it to him while he was out of town on vacation. Wakti it he replied, “tinggal a little.” I laugh.

Sometimes, I immediately make a short writing after the traveler sends a photo. For example, when he was

lunch in his office cafeteria and send me the rest of the rain stuck to the window.

What the hell are you looking at?

What the hell are you hearing?

From the drizzling sound that fell one-on-one?

Piece rhyme?

Or a song?

I also realized that little poems about rain dominated my notebook.

Those who pull out of the rain…

To wait for it to subside or to see the falling water?

That you?

Choosing shelter or breaking through the rain?

I know, he chose to break through the rain. He once told me one afternoon deliberately to the beach just for the rain.

Once upon a time, when it was raining, I accidentally switched off all phone calls. Just to see the rain

behind the window, and, this poem is my favorite.

You don't give a shit…

Some are secretly making the weather in your face…

You don't care either….

Some are quietly growing and sprouting from the edge of your season.

And, there's so much more. The little poems I write. Inspired during interaction with the Organizer. There is something I make status on social media, which I use caption photos instagram, or that I just keep in my phone note.

All of a sudden I was thinking how about collecting the poems into a book? At least, uh,

as a small inscription, that I once had sweet days in a rough season?

Maybe I just wish there were publishers. But let's not get scattered I can print it limited.

I'll promote first, anyone who wants to. Besides, of course I'll send one to the Travelers. May her boyfriend not be jealous.

*****

The thought of posting a poem makes me feel warm. I copied, from the messy drafts. Make it more neat. Typing it back while hearing Dealova's song sung by Pengelana.

I'm not broken. I'm just reminiscing. No, not remembering. More precisely, hearing my best friend sing. Yeah, good friend. I will forever be a good friend, and I will always call him my best friend. Good friends, will not be displaced by the status of each of us now, right?

It's just that I don't know, is after this still able to write poems about him? Are we still

have days like yesterday? It's been three weeks now, it feels like a long time.

Does he remember me once? I don't know…

*****

I moved away from the laptop screen, leaning against the back of the chair while stretching my hands. The wind brought the cool air of the rest of the rain, breaking through the window.between ‘Puisi’nya Jikustik sound flowing. The song really represents how I feel right now.I often unconsciously sing it.

This week I really focused on putting my poems together, and I gave them titles

‘Rampail’ Flowers. It all makes me feel so much better. It would actually be nice if plus the painting. Especially if the painting is a painting. But, it's impossible to ask for it, right? I'm not gonna bother him.

Maybe in exchange, I'll show you some photos of the post. Later, I added my own photos. It is not necessary that every poem has a picture. For a few pages only. After all, that way you can reduce the cost of printing.

Just as I was about to stand up, my gaze caught one incoming message on the phone screen.

From traveler.

“How are you?”

I read it, but I didn't reply.

“About rain there?”

I still don't reply to him.

“I hope you're okay, even if the drought will soon take her away.”

My lips curl. My eyes suddenly blurred.

“I hope you still like it, even if the rain doesn't stop by again.”

I read it once, twice, three times, and it was completely blurry and heated. I finally

found his name appearing on my little screen again.

I didn't reply to the travelers' messages immediately. All I did was copy the sentences and put them in the closing part of the collection of poems with the title ‘Bunga Rampai.’ When I finished and reread it I smiled with teary eyes.

As soon as I was about to reply, one message the traveler entered again. Voice message exactly. More precisely an

a very long song. In his day, I once loved this song.even then I could not understand what it meant. Now I'm quiet, listening to Shifter. ‘Because You Breath Me.’

‘Ever comes to my heart, to go far leave yourself.’

‘Why should we be so, one taste should float here.’