Recycling

The crotch of the tower; the crumbling of the vortex of the headless dream

Grandfather's words in the end continued to blow out to the point where I thought the thing he said was beyond the limits of my previous thinking. That to me is too incomprehensible for me to catch with common sense.

Like being snared in the head. Dizzy when you hear it for a long time. It was terrible, far from my logic and my imagination, to explain the explanation I never knew about disappointment and tears that he said was very deep.

Just briefly at that time Grandpa continued to tell me at length about one of his friends who turned out to have the same case as me.

At first glance I was silent to imagine like a doughnut that was divided in two unevenly at the end, it did not mean the same as a whole.

My body froze, the motion without muttering occasionally appeared a shadow in the flying kite surfing brain that was blown by the wind. Blush..as fast as a marathon run and breathing wistfully, running with millions of kilometers of distance.

Imagining the fate of life experienced by the character of the story of grandfather in the feeling of grief. The umpteenth of the sense that was collapsing empty as if engulfing the discomfort of vocabulary that was stared at from a distance muttered in despair until it arrived at the end of wishful thinking and was forgotten.

How pity it feels, frozen memories and thoughts without grateful action, despair engulfs life. Even though the characters my grandfather told me had the same case as me. In the end the story was so different, I finished hearing when he jumped from the height of the tower building, the last breath either had time or not. I imagine it's like a broken egg.

What's going on next? The vortex of the dream resounded as long as it vanished within minutes. Many people also came staring at the flowing water. News spread of the passing of a young man who had given up hope for the world.

Losing love and crying without tears, drenched in red liquid on the streets. From the height of the tower building, how is the face? I just imagine and continue to loom in these thoughts and heartburns.

I heard him just being able to be silent in uttering inwardly a sense of pity for what befell his life.

What was the reason Grandpa told me that? I don't know now, just quietly listen.

At the moment I don't want to ask Grandfather various things, just for now silent mouth and members listen carefully to an old story, old story, told at length from the source himself is the grandfather of the storyteller at this time and I wrote briefly before with a little pencil.

My hands when I heard it turn blue shaking so much that I was grateful to be able to listen to the old story after being peeled at length.

Grandpa looked at me sadly. “Man, grandpa wish you weren't like that. Some day, hopefully you can express your feelings to the woman you love or hopefully you can forget the time when the woman married not you. However, Man. You need to be aware of everything now and its effects later. Remember one thing about your own mistakes that you dare not reveal.”

I nodded, not wanting much to argue. “Grandfather's right. All this time I have always trained myself to be strong in terms of missing him and continue to keep silent to suppress a sense that I can not say directly. I'm trying to wait when the time is right about all the flavors I've been harboring. Then when the time is right, I will reveal it.”

“During silence, during the daydreaming period grandfather should know there are many things I found the moment where I imagined Wapta. She's like an angel who gives me encouragement on every day I go through.”

“He is the one who can make me write many words. Surely there was a lot of paper that I spent just writing sentences for him. During the time I miss him I always firmly believe that someday my feelings will find a stopping point. Either at the happy or sad point. At the moment I do not know the certainty and only to believe that I can calmly overcome this feeling problem, even though later on I found Wapta married with others. I slowly learned to try to accept it with an airy heart and mind. Grandfather also at this time should put a strong sense of trust in me.”

I explained at length. Grandpa and grandma now seem to be listening to everything I say. I looked at them like water in a container, calm. And all this time in terms of writing words into sentences I have spent many days with raindrops that accompany me when stringing verse by verse just for Wapta.

So far, a lot of time has passed. I spent my memories and kept imagining the figure of Wapta.

In this endless murmur I realized the sense of being buried in my soul was constantly tearing through the day and expanding uncertain expectations.

In the blowing of the cool breeze when the radiance of the twilight sun shines about to set, often I spend time dwelling murmuring calmly with a pen in hand.

Staring at the writing on a sheet of paper, writing the best words for him while occasionally spelling, sometimes repeated to hone the beauty of the temple that I assembled. While occasionally changing it from stage to stage of writing.

Still, the results I admit are not as good as I imagined. That's the seriousness of the meaning of just handmade. It is not the result of plagiarizing or self-engineering in a bold deception on behalf of the work of others as its own.

In the peaceful breeze, gently caress the coconut foliage and the breeze of the beach. At first glance the taste that day I looked like a broken glass. The color slowly disappears and is destroyed.

The beautiful reflection of the crystal light I wanted to reach. A little bit of feeling now seemed to be imagined pity staring all over the body that was empty in silence without desire.

I daydream again. This is the umpteenth time the body is silent with many words that boil in my mind. It's almost the same as it used to be, what I feel is really surprising.

Now I look at the grandfather who looks for a moment staring at the watch. His eyeballs narrowed slightly trying to focus staring at the direction of his needle.

As usual. He showed me his golden watch, but I also had a clock, even though it was metal black.

Time off. The clock has now shown the beat at which most people are engaged.

It was time for me to go to college, a little I did not think grandfather was a good storyteller. The sun out there has been shining, through the glass window. I also have long finished eating, have prepared neatly and so forth.

Currently staring at grandfather while tidying up the neck collar. “Before leaving, I need to reflect first, cake.”

Grandpa laughs. “Man, you're handsome no longer have to reflect.”

“Kakek joking? Last time I just ate, there could have been leftovers stuck in my teeth,” timpalku laugh back.

I went from them to the room, of course to reflect. I left my bag in the dining room.

Looking at a glimpse from a distance the grandfather and grandmother looked at each other speaking in thai. It's like a complicated thing I feel.

Even as I imagined it a sigh. My mind paints an atmosphere on the calm banks of the river, full of food, one fish now seems busy eating it.

The tamsil I made was simpler about the lighthouse tower standing upright with its height. Right in the dimness of the light as early as the world has not emitted sunlight.

The tower shines bright lights in all directions. I stared pensively as if signifying a sign, also a glimpse of light penetrating the window.

The combination of colors that was then refracted, showed a more tranquil beauty serenely stared at. Imagined so, also long time to string it.

However, what shines to me is not beautiful. It glowed brightly plastered before eyes that were clearly dazzling, even painful as it stared at him longer.

This seemed to only hit the cupper of the lighthouse tower with its beam of light shining towards a young man.

He was now standing still looking down on the beach near there. Standing pensively with all hope and all the raging feelings that blindly shake.

Look at it for a moment, a young man standing with a fist gazing towards the sea that was visible before his eyes.

He now needed a ship in order to cross the sea of his yearning. The ocean that stretched beyond wishful thinking.

This was him who was still mumbling hesitantly to choose to board the ship or not. He seemed to be silent.

A young man is none other than me. The self that can only be silent. Staring blankly at the sea of longing for him.

Missing her, a lover of heart I felt I could not meet.

The vast sea of longing stretched out like a khalayan yesterday afternoon. The trail of steps came to a halt, the impaled murmurs forming thousands of oceans and millions of continents.

I don't know why the khalayan yesterday afternoon made me even more hesitant to cross it or not.

And right now I'm imagining it as if I can't cross it.

How to overcome the problems of self who has been adamant longing and not the power to cross him to meet him at the meeting point?

A series of meanings have long been traced to breaking the wishful thinking with thousands of pieces and the crumbling of dreams that I can no longer dwell on.

So much it feels like the fragments are now scattered, even it seems like the pieces were wasted without me wanting.