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Tadi, gue iseng-iseng minta followers untuk ngasih gue satu kalimat. Tujuannya, gue kepengin membuat sebuah cerita dari kalimat yang mereka berikan. Setelah membaca banyak mention yang masuk, gue memutuskan untuk memakai kalimat dari @diladifa yaitu: “there’s a party in my head, and you’re not invited.”. Lalu, gue juga memilih tweet dari @RiezaApr yaitu: “On seeing the red balloon, the skinny clown suddenly starts to cry.” Kalimat ketiga berasal dari @chocoapples, yaitu: “I see my reflection on the night train’s window glass, she looks ugly.” Nah, dari tiga kalimat ini, gue mencoba merangkai sebuah cerita. Sejujurnya, gue nggak tau kenapa ceritanya jadi super galau begini. HAHAHA. I hope you will like the story, dan maafkan kalau masih banyak grammar yang salah. :”>

 

So. I made up my mind. I have to leave this town. Every corners, every street, every places are just too painful. Memories of us are painful. Before I really lose my sanity, I packed all my stuff, and I wish I left my agony and some parts of my brains that’s filled by the thoughts about you. About us. If this is a party, it would be in my head, and you’re not invited.

Oh, I left the untouched coffees I made for you. There are 30 glasses of coffee. One for a day. I don’t know why I still made the coffee even though you’re already left. It’s like you automatically blink without even have to think. And I kept doing it, making the coffee I mean, for the last month. Everyday. There are many other crazy things that I did. I made you breakfast every morning. I stared at your pictures for hours. I think about what went wrong. I can’t find the answer. Now you know why I have to leave. I don’t wish to look back. And secretly, I hope you would be here. Watching me leaving. And stop me from going. What a stupid wishful thinking.

Even the train station brings back the flashes of us. I remember when I sat there, at the green ugly chair, watching the trains passed by. One by one by one. Finally I spotted you. Looking all tall and charming with washed out jeans, blue shirt, and the pink backpack I bought for you. Hell, I even remember how you reacted when I handed you that pink backpack. It was your birthday, and your eyes were almost fell out from your face. You looked like someone just told you Britney Spears was actually a guy. Haha. But anyway you kissed me and told me that I was so cute and you needed the backpack because you’re gonna go for a while. I didn’t expect you would actually use the pink backpack, yet you did anyway. You always know how to make a girl smile. And now I smile with a tear or two rolling down my face. Damn, I should stop this unhealthy habit. I should really stop thinking about you. About us. That’s the point of me leaving, isn’t it?

On seeing the red balloon, the skinny clowns suddenly started to cry. The red balloon flew away. Up and high into the sky and never came back. The skinny clown was me, crying hopelessly because the red balloon was from you, and inside the balloon lies a love letter I would never read. I hate my stupid self for letting the balloon out of my hand.

“A clown should make people laugh. Yet you are crying while working as a clown. What an irony..”

“Don’t you see the balloon with the love letter from you fly away?! How can I read the letter now that it’s gone?”

“You forget one fact, honeypie. I wrote the letter. Of course I remember every words in it. Now, you ruined your make-up. Please stop crying.”

“Read me the letter. Read me the letter now.”

“Only if you stop crying.”

So I stopped my crying in an instant. And I looked at you eagerly. You took a deep breath, which made you more handsome, by the way. I didn’t say it out loud, of course.

“So, it goes like this… Honey and blue sky. Cashew and pistachio. Effervescent sun. Monochrome rainbow. Cotton candy and bright stars. Pretty blue ribbon. I could keep writing all of the wonderful wonders and all the beautiful things in the whole world. Yet, none of them are to compare, not even close, to your smile. And the way you hug me. And the way you kiss me. And how could I not love you more each day count? You are imperfectly perfect for me.”

And I cried again. And you wipe the tears from my face with your hands and we laughed when your hands were white and red and green from my clown make-up.

I love it how in your love letter, you wrote me two haikus, ‘Honey and blue sky. Cashew and pistachio. Effervescent sun. Monochrome rainbow. Cotton candy and bright stars. Pretty blue ribbon.’ You cleary remembered how I complained about it’s really hard to make a good haiku. You end the love letter with such sweetness it made me warm inside. I love my man. And then, you kissed me. And it made your face and lips red because of my clown lipstick. I love you, my man.

I have to stop loving this man! I have to stop looking at the sky. I have to stop looking at the red balloon! I should stop looking at that fine looking lady who held her crying daughter. I should hop into the train. Or more memories would rushing in endlessly.

 

So, here I am. Sitting beside an old lady who snores like there’s no tomorrow and smells like rusty iron. Not that I mind. I could use her snoring sound to stop me from thinking ugly thoughts. Then, I see my reflection on the night train’s window glass, she looks ugly. God, what have I become? How on Earth a broken-hearted girl looks this ugly? Where is my life spirit? Do I even still want to live? Can I fall in love again like the way I love you? Why did you leave me? Why did I leave us? Who started the fight? Every thing we did in the name of love was actually to hurt each other. Funny how we kept telling ourselves we loved each other while all we do was turning our backs away. Okay. I need to stop thinking. How do you switched off your brain? Please, do tell.

The last thing I heard was your deep bariton laugh. It echoed inside my head before everything turned into a huge chaos. Flashes of lights. Terrified screams every where, the deafening and shattering sound of the window glasses, your face smiling at me, my self screaming at the top of my lungs, your face again, a big pile of blood, and picth black. Now I know what went wrong between us. The clashed of ego and love. Ego won. How relieving. And now I know how to switched off my brain. I feel … peace. Finally.

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I have a lot of stories to tell. That's why I write. That's how I become immortal. New book: #SomewhereOnlyWeKnow