Starting From Grey

When the Baper approaches

May I ask.

When the verse is sung.

When the lyrics are fixed.

Maybe when the word comes out as a speech.

And at that time, may I ask.

Ask for all the flavors.

Ask to remove it without any residuals.

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"Am I wrong, if I love you, but I don't want to lose him either. Am I wrong if I want to live with you and also move forward with her." I read the subtitles of a drama, I wonder if love always gives a choice, can't just complement each other and go together.

I'm running the drama and I'm close. Ah, see what's good? I thought and remembered, what drama is being talked about as children. Then my mind hooked up with movies about vampires, werewolves and humans that were hotly talked about. I smiled then shifted my frame to the browser and typed a title.

But when I scroll the movie there are some that I shouldn't watch, ah better not watch my own breakup.

I turned off my computer and I unplugged the modem. I immediately headed to bed.

The day is still early, but the feeling of laziness is still approaching, even not just alighting may stay until breed and breed.

I covered my body with my thick blanket, I just kept quiet while glaring at the wishful thinking.

My mind went back to a few things, being annoyed, angry, dislike and hateful made me uncomfortable.

Maybe three days ago when I met him in the square there was a way from God so I wouldn't hope anymore.

Ah, but why should that girl?

The woman who was with Abi and who I saw in front of Jatim Park at that time was one of my schoolmates.

We have always been rivals fighting in silence on everything. And the reality that really hurt me is that I often lose rather than win. And that mocking look hurt my pride enough.

I pulled my blanket over, then I sat by the window, I let the wind blow my face and I hoped the wind could bring me to my mind.

"You look close, but far away I think you're coming." I was muttering alone.

"Love?" I suddenly asked at the wind that blew.

"What does this feel like?" I was told without anyone answering. Who will answer if I am alone.

I took a heavy breath, then moved. I took my hijab and then came out of the room.

I have to move, I can't let this laziness win me over.

I walk out of the house, I move my feet without knowing the direction. I just want to walk aimlessly, all I avoid is lamenting the fate of being alone.

I used to wonder why the father strictly forbade the relationship of his son with a man without a definite bond. But now I realize it is just to take care of myself.

I stepped out of the residential area, I'll head to the supermarket to buy some snacks. Actually Bik Sum has made me dry bread for snacks but I still often snack outside.

When in front of the market, I saw a motorbike with a box behind it, the box was written a brand of healthy family drinks. It is a fermented milk drink that is quite famous.

I stood next to him, waiting for the person selling 'will get a fair price cut.

After the guy came out, I bought 3 presses and went back home. I paused my intention towards self-service. No way I can enter the supermarket by carrying a plastic bag with this drink logo.

I take a different path to go home, I want to pass through the complex park which is usually crowded on holidays. I stepped slowly but surely, I too while thinking about the seemingly deserted road. After only remembering I came to a conclusion of one thing.

This is a class increase holiday, so reasonable housing is quiet. They mean the residents of this housing are mostly immigrants, so on long holidays they use to go home.

I rested for a while by sitting on a bench on the side of the road. As my eyes turned towards the swing in the garden, I squinted my eyes I looked at the astonished two teenagers who were arguing with a bulging plow. It seems like they are a couple who are fighting.

I threw my face the other way, I let out a tired sigh that scene somehow made my mood even worse. Ah their scenes disturbed my peace of heart.

I took a small bottle of 65 ml from the plastic bag I was carrying, saying basmala I drank it while looking at the sky that looked hot. After it runs out I put it in the bag back small bottle because I was lazy to go to the trash can which is approximately 5 meters from where I sit.

I remember something, I used to like littering. But since the flood hit the housing that I lived with my mother I became a very hateful figure whose name is a person who litters recklessly. That memory carries a sense of its own in my chest cavity, that of the longing I crave for a harmonious family.

Ah, long for the time when me, sister Rifa, father and mother always spend the weekend together by playing to Dufan or eating out together. But now?

Hemmm, I seem to be too greedy with a lot of vague suppositions. I got up from my seat and walked towards the house.

Can it be called home?

I remembered the third grade IPS lesson, a building called a house if there are vents, windows, doors, closed rooms and there are residents. While in that building, there are only residents like myself.

Can I be called a resident?

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Exhausted,

I embrace the feeling of longing for sparks.

I scatter my body slowly and surely.

I put both my hands together very carefully.

I chant the prayer in a light.

I bowed my body full of interest.

Yes Rohman....

Yes Rohim....

My soul is bland without Your guidance.

My breath is cut off without your help.

My life seems to be uprooted without Your Power.

I read every verse of the poem with tears streaming down my cheeks. Ah, that's right. Why do I often wail?

I silently looked towards the window, I wiped my tears with both hands. I can't be like this, it's so laughable and disgusting at the same time.

Mutia is a strong girl.

"I should be able to" I said encouraging myself. I miss school like this.

I want to immediately go to school and be preoccupied with activities so as to erode my bad nature that always lamented fate.

"It's my destiny, everything in the movie is fiction."

I moved from my seat when the dzuhur adhan was reverberating, I went into the bathroom to take ablution water before carrying out my duties as a Muslim.

After holding my prayer mat facing the Qibla, I removed my headgear and replaced it with a white mukena with purple lace.

I took a breath and intended inwardly, as I raised both my hands and I uttered the takbir of my prayer commencing.

After carrying out a series of movements and readings, I ended my prayer by turning my head and saying greetings to the right and then to the left in turn.

I read dhikr after the prayer before asking the Catholic for forgiveness and asking pity as the right of a servant.

My prayers are not grandiose, I only ask for the health of my parents and my brother, given ease in dealing with trials, given the spaciousness of reserves to meet the needs and always be on the right path. As a prayer for me, I only ask to be strengthened in the face of a fate that feels squeezed my body until the feeling of tightness feels.

After the prayer, I folded my face and I put it back into the closet.

I sat on my bed and lit a murotal from my handphone mp3. While lying closed my eyes, I occasionally followed if I memorized the verse. Until without feeling the dark color greeting and subconscious scowling awareness slowly without feeling.

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"Who's daydreaming?" ask me back, while grinning.

"That's you, passers-by," said my father casually as he pointed to the road.

"Dad, mah." I patted Dad's arm slowly then leaned on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" ask dad while stroking my head.

"No papa, just lonely. Try if I have a little sister, it's gonna be a lot." I look up to face the clouds.

"What are you talking about?" ask dad slowly.

"Well, when do you want to get married?" ask me not to pay attention to father's questions, not polite indeed but I am wanting to be heard rather than listening.

"Why are you so crazy?" ask dad.

"Well, when is marriage?" ask me again, like a spoiled baby whimper.

"Don't answer me ah, the people you asked me didn't answer."

"Know the candidate Well," my whine didn't care about father's authenticity. I giggled amusedly at the sight of father sulking.

"Father's god yes," said the father with a hiss, then unceremoniously grabbed hold of my waist and stroked him mercilessly.

I laughed and squirmed in amusement, until my father stopped his behavior and then we hugged each other again and talked about many things. Actually I dominated the subject and father as the listener.

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Love, love,

I saw him at the end of there.

Waving twitched in the gaze of eyes.

I wait for you across in the grip of prayer.

Wishing your presence could spice up my bike.

But you didn't come any closer.

Every step of the way I've been testing you.

You're like a mirage.

I won't be able to hold you.

I posted my post to Facebook. I am like a labile man who is troubled by love, who languishes because of love and suffers because of love.

I laughed myself rereading my writing.

No lapse for a while someone likes and someone commented.

Shinta Princess

Chaos, Ning?😉

Dilan Pranata's

Hemm

Ariana Pancawara's

So sweet's. Mut mau dong made up poetry. Colek @LanasayangDewa

LanasayangDewa

Well, jago ngegombal ni.

Irvans.M

👍

I smiled at their comments. I decided to close the app and then I put my phone on the table.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then looked out the window.

Dark, dark,

There are only two colors visible.

Black and white.

There's no color you have.

Because the color you have is gray.

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Sometimes we are unable to judge how valuable something we hold onto is, and still want something we cannot hold onto.

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It was a sunny afternoon, after spending time with my father for a full day I left the house.

I stared at the courtyard, then pulled the water slang, I intended to water the plants that were in front.

When I was busy watering plants while occasionally muttering, mengurojaah my rote. I was surprised by the arrival of a man who was already standing on his porch.

Dlo, how can I not see it coming, why is it suddenly on the terrace?

I turned my head in surprise, while judging the person on the terrace with an astonished face. I thought that I felt no stranger to that man's face. I was silent for a moment while remembering, where I had seen him.

I am smart, but not every human being has a power of contention. And my shortcoming is memorizing faces, I often forget people's faces, but if I've heard voices I'll remember by myself.

Unique right?

I gave up, then I drew closer to the figure of the man who had been watching me since with a sweet smile on his face. How laughable.

"Assalamualaikum, who's yak?" my broom when it was a few steps in front of the man who had been silent since.

I saw him raise one eyebrow with a smile.

"Waalaikumsalam, did you forget me?" the man asked in a disbelief. My voice was once horrified, but whose name I forgot.

"You completely forgot, Mutia." I frowned while looking at him, I saw a face of disbelief in his expression.

Does he think I'm joking?

I completely forgot, ah I remember. He is that guy. "You're the publisher, right?" initially, I was very excited and then seemed unsure.

"Well, that's you inget," Rouf said in a crisp tone.

Then Rouf extended his hand towards me, but I cupped his hand to my chest. I still remember a hadith of the prophet which stated that instead of coming into contact with people who are not makhrom it is better to stick hot iron on the skin. Isn't this really terrible, so I gradually began to learn to apply. And Rouf only laughed lightly while shaking his head in a amused manner.

Is something wrong?

Wait a minute, what is he doing here?

"Mutia, the guest told me to come in" cried the father from within. Inevitably as a form of politeness I also let Rouf into the house with question marks that maybe if described there are many around my head.

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