The Diary Ecca

The Part 38

...Roman Picisan's...

Wasn't I the man raised by my mother's wall? Why did I turn away from him? Why am I wearing that mask, just to see him smile? I've become another man. The man who wasn't the kid he grew up with. There are many masks that I wear. One is loneliness, the other is anger.

I know, I made him sad. The wall had long since been transformed into a tree with old skin, peeling in many places. The branches began to grow and the leaves of the fallen leaves, scattered where. It was no longer the tree I used to climb. No, it is not another tree. Except myself. I am the one who has changed. Like a suddenly dark blue sky. Like a cloud that overshadows the heart that ceaselessly cries. I've been drowning for a long time, probably since the last time I slept under my mother's tree, which was shady.

ooooo

I never knew the meaning of the word love. I don't know what it's like to love and be loved, but I'm sure that love exists and will come to me. I will not seek, I will only wait for the love sent by Him. For I am sure that what He truly presents will be more beautiful without me seeking it.

Not the story of Romeo and Juliet whose story is written and also filmed, nor about the famous Rama and Shinta. Not a rich man, just an ordinary man, not a writer but just someone who wants to express every feeling through the verse of words and also the ink scratches that I pour with my heart and feelings.

The sweetly written annual temple of my love story with him that sits in the courtyard of love together with my heart that is always ringing with the whisper of his love so sweet, so sweet, indefinitely revealed but I can't say. I'm just someone who adores him in the distance, I'm just someone who tries hard to stay loyal to him even if I'm just behind the distance, don't ask me how I feel if you can't move on from the past that haunts you because it's so unfair.

The splashing sound of the rain rushing from the drops to the sound of a loud, not enough one but thousands of puddles of water swept over my shoulders and drenched me, not enough one, I just fell silent while letting every puddle of rain and also the boisterous sound of the wind blow fiercely on my face. I'm a nobody, I'm not the director who made my documented life journey into a movie. Even in the crowd I was still alone and feeling lonely, like there was only a firefly accompanying me in the silence. I'm just me and not him, let me keep this feeling at a distance because maybe you're not for me and maybe this feeling will one day go away on its own.

Not someone who is good at stringing words, not a psychic who is able to express words, not the predecessor who is able to say words, and not the painter who is able to draw words. Every despair paints a word, every thing provides information about the journey of life and every time will scratch ink about the meaning of happiness and also sadness. I'm just an ordinary person not a protagonist who deserves to be flattered and also not an antagonist who deserves to be made in the bully, not also a figure who just passing by, not just passing by, I am not a slang girl who is pretentious and also not a cool cool girl who is cool, I am not as romantic as Nicolas Saputra and also not as beautiful as Dian Sastro Wardoyo, this is not a story between Rangga and Cinta.

"Is Lo happy?" I don't know just words written with question marks, not firmly not elegant. Just want to be someone who is as special in front of him, even though I am not a perfectionist who deserves to be flattered. I'm being selfish, he shouldn't be a part of my life story when he's not a part of it. My move is stopped but I don't want this to be just a story about me and him, in fact now there is not only me but also there is him.

Though again delicious nulis disturbed, sebel. My habit of writing in my diary and doodling until my book is full and also my pen ink is exhausted, taking notes and writing is my habit, whether since when I like writing, or not, I just like writing books compared to others because every ink stroke I write is like the meaning of my life is shy and limitless.

Friendship is like cotton candy is very sweet, there is a sense of love, memories and also longing even there is also a sense of jealousy of betrayal and silly things. Yes that's friendship, sometimes crisp like crispy kayak, and like freshly peeled salted beans. That your best friend? Have a taste of what?. I just want you to know that even in the distance I'm always there for you, even if you weren't created for me.

If you remember the time you have spent with friends, everything must be fun, right? Although fights often color the friendship between you and him, but the feelings of annoyance and anger will be quickly replaced and never feel at home for long lodged in the heart.

Disputes there must be differences there must all happen because we are friends to help each other and need, remember about used paper? The old paper under my desk contains good memories with you my best friend, my best friend blasphemy splattered on me the problem came to me but you my best friend never complained to encourage me.

ooooo