it was the end of winter, but still very cold. it was like a secret that nobody keeps. you kept on walking, looking away from the crowd. stillness, my friend, is never young never old.
in a mall with
a mobile phone that is not mine,
its phonebook full with useless numbers,
running out of power,
Well, let’s just read then.
one that i’ve finished,
Oh, why don’t you just polish your writing instead?
“Mbak, di sini ada colokan nggak?”
“Maaf, Mbak, nggak ada.”
and, worst of all,
a notepad without a pen or pencil.
So I braved the cold
At a corner table in a quiet café
With a hot cup of latte
Exploiting whatever the iPod could still play,
Air with “Lost Message”,
Rereading Marquez’s story of sailors who ‘would be dead at the bottom of the sea’,
And writing this down with a pen borrowed from the cashier,
Encased behind glass windows and a display full of pastries and desserts,
Telling a bule, “Silahkan duduk dulu di dalam, Pak.”
On top of the display, an artificial Christmas tree modestly stood,
Its lights dimming and brightening slowly,
As though it was too lazy
To pull off yet another
Looking past it,
From this glacial seating,
I saw girls with bangs and ponytails in skinny jeans and geometric-patterned frocks,
one after another after another.
Every one of them seemed to blink along with the lights,
Like splinters of rainbow on a waterfall.
I called the only number I could remember
You picked up and said it was raining where you were