Recycling

Millions of words to you

Still morning. If you want to not be upset first, a lot of smiles. It was the word of the grandfather who seemed to guess my inner content that flashed somewhere, flying with millions of words that fell from the sky to the ground.

And buried in so much, it's a little annoying to recall the old graffiti I've previously burned. The moment where I repeatedly deleted the writing to perfect the verse.

On the piece of paper I had burned that night, after meeting the script editor. On the streets, silent from the people, just as it approached midnight.

The silence of the night on the streets, made me pull over for a long time. Staring at the sky filled with stars, contemplating the time that has passed.

This is the feeling I feel right now. Wapta, you know the raindrops on a hot day, their faithful-looking mottling descends slowly to the earth. Not heavy and certainly different from the usual rain.

My tamsil isn't just right, sometimes it can be logic flawed. You know I'm like a man who walks under a speck.

People who trace traces of memories of you that may have been lost in my memory or something. Now, I don't want to understand more. More detail is exhausting, it's not my style.

Other times later, may the Almighty answer all the prayers that I have often recited in the form of verses in the silence of the night, begging to be able to meet you.

I often find it difficult to fall asleep until I am unconscious because I remember you.

Did you know, day after day I go on describing your face. It seems like it's more than just a word. It's true. Even for me it is more than just writing that is stared at.

I ate this morning with my grandparents. Thankfully, my longing is now a little healed from the fleeting colors of togetherness I'm going through right now, their warm laughter gives me comfort. I think this is much better.

Wapta, now I want to talk about the important things in my life right now, knowing you in the shortest amount of time, not as long as I think now, it feels like there are things that feel stuck and I cannot reveal directly.

This problem is like a needle in a pile of hay, as if I had trouble finding it. Surely looking for the best word I can explain to you, is much more surprising right? This writing I wrote a kind of song that I hope someday I can sing in the silence of the night that fills my miss sentences and invites myself to be silent with resignation in living this cryptic relationship.

This relationship is clear to me, but it may be vague to others. It is only me who looks at him, while you are lost from my sight, there is no side of myself that now feels very disappointed.

I was just disappointed as the sugar that had dissolved in the cup, fused with the water. I myself do not know the end of the sentence I mean, even it feels like this is just a sentence that does not mean anything. It could be a logical flaw and read strangely.

Wapta, I hope this word is no more. What I am saying now does not feel to me better, but for others it may be more and I don't know.

How're you? Is this lebay?

I don't want to be burdened by millions of insults. I knew there was some kind of magnetism of attraction I felt when I glanced at a writing like this. The attraction to insult and so on.

Because I don't know the true meaning of what a sentence looks like? I sighed quietly, now and now also gradually getting here more and more pretending not to know.

If you want to know all this time I often try to read the most beautiful impression or what is in the sheet of paper. A small book, the discussion is not long, the importance of fun.

And about the bright light that day I clearly stared dumbstruck as if making me unable to switch eyes, staring at others. The bright light that blinded my eyes in staring longer.

How many millions of words will I offer you. Right now I don't know, more about all the events that are currently in front of my eyes.

Bereft. Despondence. Something I don't want to see. Also events that bring wishful thinking and a sense of unease to think about. From everything that has happened I feel I should be able to choose which memories I feel I deserve to always remember.

When loss is before my own eyes. I don't know what I will feel later, maybe when it happens I am like a mountain that explodes despair. Like someone who whines to God to give you back to me.

Millions of words to you, Wapta. This is the umpteenth letter I have written just for you. And to remember the paper I burned.

The word of the script editor has a point. Tomorrow, I plan to abide by the standard rules of writing and traffic signs. Can be bothered later when my writing is flawed logic.

A sea of fire, it felt impossible. The fire that burns the sea of water, empty of leaping, loses logic in hope that has been destroyed.

The rhythm of the music adds a sad atmosphere that now sounds, no longer bright as before. It was so hard and had nothing to feel. Perih in a unity of meaning that I immediately want to forget.

Then I threw it into the ocean. Eaten by a shark, crumpled in the stomach, turned poop. Get out of there into a froth that breaks between the waves and the wind that blows it.

When I knew I was looking at him with a feeling I didn't want to look at. I looked like a man who was silent from the movement, speaking his mouth without a sound. The sound and sound can still be heard. This is possible, faintly heard earlobes.

Temporary. Vegetable that is temporary not long, shelter from the scorching sun that stings themselves. As much as I could run in the warm desert, traveling millions of kilometers. I hope and I can only hope.

In terms of running after something invisible makes me tired myself. Without the purpose of this running leg, which direction? South or east, maybe west?

I'm worried. Leaving the north in my mind. I was here, silent for a moment, looking up at the clear sky above, my feelings trembling. The spirit of prejudice inside me screamed.

The north? Not like him, so where? Where is that hanging taste? Many questions are currently filling my head.

And now I know the direction of the wind that is currently confusing me, Wapta. I want to laugh with satisfaction because I was worried about being made by him.

I try to advise myself not to think about feelings. Because however God gave me the trials of life that made me know what it was like.

I know for myself, about the feeling that when discussed will eat a lot of paper. Lengthy, more than a piece of paper.

Wapta, a million words for you. For the number of times the colors you present to me fill this room.

Color clear sheen color I stared at. About smiles and a glimpse of hope. For a long time, about two years ago you flew from the Land of White Elephants to the Equatorial Emerald. You know, it's still inside me, even since the first time we met.

Thinking of you is probably the destiny in my life that I should have lived with my heart, as well as my mind. Remembering you always and always.