Recycling

Metal Scrap

After all the daydreams that were scattered in my mind as if I did not feel I arrived at the mail delivery place.

Mercifully. I parked the motorcycle, took off the helmet. Going there wants to send a letter hopefully.

One thing about my letter is hopefully delivered. Wapta greeted with a feeling of pleasure when reading it. That's all I thought about, more than just writing letters.

...ฉันไม่สามารถคิดเกี่ยวกับมันอีกต่อไป สิ่งเดียวที่อยู่ในหัวของฉันตอนนี้คือคุณ รู้ไหมว่าคิดถึง...

... (Coloraphrased sonoma khid keiyw kain main xik tex p senegal seng deiyw thi xyudaw nihxng chenkhxng chen donghxn chenghakx khenudamx khenghunx khuangun rhyukamm ⁇ khidukhuk)...

...I can't think about it anymore. All I have in my head right now is you. You know I miss you....

It is only about my longing that exceeds the vastness of the universe. It is lighter about what is in the soul.

I want to tell anyone who says this is more. For those who have never felt it. He won't understand about just a word wrapped in bread

So hush. Stop the obscurity of meaning in insulting murmurs

Sanubari who doesn't know the feeling. Rows of numbers and sentences are neatly written and written between the board and the iron.

Then stay away

Those who do not know feelings. Tired of longing

Then go

Or laugh until the sound runs out, squealing freely. Do not look this way, look at the desert far away. Such was the void followed by the blowing of the wind.

Be content with what is despised by the empty netra of the meaning of understanding and caring

Actually, my shady droplets imprint between the pieces of metal that I'm holding.

Now I'm just staring quietly at a bunch of pigeons on top of the building. On the electric rope that was clearly carving a shadow regarding the figure of him. In no seconds did I stay, longer sighing pensively.

***

Three days passed. I waited for a reply from Wapta, but I never got it. Never mind, I have to calm down and think positively, maybe he's just like me think it's difficult to write and send it or he just read it does not intend to reply.

Grandpa seemed to be busy taking care of the shop. While I was busy reading thick-billed college books, I had little time to remember Wapta. As for the time it does not feel, the day to me is like a drop of water falling onto a metal surface, reminiscing as a memory.

The piece of metal that was now in my hand was round like a coin. Not the money that people have known, just pieces that I found on the streets last time.

Not valuable. A glimpse of the perfect circle in the sense of not being deformed. I know that nothing in this world is perfect, but that is in reality, whereas in the view of man it is the shape of the circle that I look at perfectly.

I played it just to throw it up, then I fell I caught it back. My eyes are focused on learning, while the hands cannot be silent. My mind is currently split in two between writing and the simple notion of fused metal.

I wonder if there is a color I can paint or stop from remembering.

Might as well. There aren't. And I don't know why I'm still hoping for something vague.

Quiet minutes. I scratched my head, feeling out of concentration. Reading a book with the mind flying to another realm, I felt incapable.

The agenda I had set seemed as messy as my current writing. Although the writing that I have been writing is almost neat, just look there is no disconnect between feelings and real life.

Look, the logic that contains the word mess. Just read it strange it feels like staring at a broken mirror shaped like a pebble.

Shrink in the dimness of light. I turned off the lights and the light has died, the darkness has now come to nothing.

At that moment I looked down, remembering something that was messing with my mind. Too funny, a fictional story that I made when it was not so.

The summary I was writing at the time in a row of papers, creating a meaning in a blind beat.

Wal thing is indeed my fault, more silence is the way that I might be able to do until now, the longest silence in the groaning that I never see vanished.

Pueh. Recalling the past is sometimes upsetting or even annoying. I have to accept it or this feeling will be cleaved by a rusty knife that causes a painful incision. Wounds that gape wide impregnate the pain that makes themselves unable to breathe.

The piece of metal I had originally grasped now I threw it against the wall. It sounded clear, but showed no damage. Whether my heart can be as strong as the piece of metal I just threw against the wall there's no damage or what people call pain.

I went back to pick up the Wapta-given diary that I now know she had not been by my side for a long time, but I kept her memory well.

Staring at her signature in the diary was able to treat my longing. Wapta to me is the only woman I currently love, no one can replace her. If you want to know about the character of Lita Aksima is my longing bias.

It was there that I created a fictional character named Lita Aksima who was similar to the figure of Wapta. Imagine a word that makes me smile for a while.

As difficult as the graffiti I put on the end he said, how much later I don't know I had time to think the graffiti would eat so much paper, many words that I would write with hope.

The firmness of my heart was really tested like a piece of metal that I had thrown, then I threw it repeatedly. Patience is what I have to keep in my heart.

Even a grain of wheat is okay. May it flourish. My patience in harboring feelings and preparing for how it will eventually be.

Now I have to forget for a moment what made my mind run amok. Never mind, forget about this. Discussed continue? Until when? Thousands of sheets of paper will be full if it continues to be discussed, but somehow I like to discuss it.

Even talking to myself in front of a mirror. Saying various kinds of longing and verse of love wrapped in beauty.

I like it, it's lighter to make my feelings calm.

More precisely I like to write words that cool my mind, let out all the thoughts of frustration that accumulate many things in my life.

Time after hard time I have passed from my age seven years to the present.

It was at the age of seven that meteors first struck a sting into my feelings, when I saw myself a father and a mother leaving me forever.

The loneliness I have felt until now seems to be the same. There was no change, even though I felt happy when I first met my grandfather.

That was the happy moment I felt. More than that, it feels like grandfather has another talent that always makes me smile at myself when talking to him. Always remembered and firmly imprinted in my memory, an effective lesson is to be discussed when happy.

My brain remembers well. Now I turn on the light I had originally turned off, rereading the thick-lipped book that I had been holding for so long.