PULANG KE KATA

entah sejak kapan kehadiranmu berhenti menjadi peristiwa dan mulai menjadi cuaca. ada hari-hari ketika kau memenuhi benakku dengan suara dan cerita yang tak habis-habis, dengan ocehan yang membuatku ingin menutup mulutmu dengan kesal, lalu diam-diam mendengarkan lagi. ada hari-hari lain ketika kau jauh meski duduk di sebelahku, ding…

A fever has a peculiar kindness. It unties the knots you’ve spent years tightening. The body grows quiet first. Then, one by one, the questions climb out from wherever they’ve been hiding. They sit at the edge of the bed without asking permission, as if they’ve always known I’d eventually become too tired to send them away. The loud…

Lately my days feel like walking through a temple before sunrise; the kind of quiet that doesn’t soothe, but forces me to hear everything I’ve been trying to ignore. I count expenses, hopes, and deadlines like prayer beads, unsure which one I’m actually praying to. My wallet sighs, my heart persists, and somewhere in the middle I wo…

Kau datang padaku seperti malam yang tak sabar menutup tirai, dan aku membiarkan tubuhku jadi jendela tempat gelapmu masuk tanpa ketukan. Ada asap samar yang membuat segala jarak runtuh, seperti kabut yang menipu mata, dan tiba-tiba kita hanya dua tubuh yang bicara dalam bahasa retakan ranjang. Sumber:  Unplash Biasanya aku mengunda…

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships; or at least, the kind of friendships that take shape when you have no real choice but to sit among the same people every day. They don’t quite feel like friendships in the truest sense of the word, though we often call them that for convenience. They remind me of high school. There…

Sometimes I feel like the world is sprinting past me, leaving me behind in its trail of dust and neon. Everything moves so fast—people, technology, time itself—as though everyone else was born with wings while I’m still learning how to crawl. In this era of instant everything, I feel like a tortoise on a highway, inching forward whi…

You will never truly read this. Perhaps your eyes will glide over these words, but they will not pierce you. They will not touch the soft, hollow place where a heart should be. You were always like that—gliding instead of arriving, touching instead of staying, looking instead of seeing. I write this from the black pit where you left…

I fell in love again—softly, suddenly. Not with a stranger, but with  you . You didn’t knock. You slipped in between the sheets, between a breath and a bruise. You weren’t my first, but you felt like the first time I allowed someone to press their name into my marrow. A second love, tender and reckless. A ship I tried to build with …