Our story exists between prologue and epilogue. Built on book’s chapters order and it’s started with beginning.
Chapter 126, the boy, sit at the theater, alone. is eighteen-year-old. Still, taste his first breakup, holding pair of tickets and quietly watching someone having sex in the damn big screen. The boy is crying, and someone just moaning.
Chapter 236, it’s a book. it’s a worn out book. The girl met the boy for that book, now the boy had a long night, everyday.
Chapter 174, The boy was behind her but too shy to talk
Chapter 18, the boy is nothing but a geek. There’s a fest, where the boy annually never missed it. One day, he just came and next year it’s become different. The fest is a place, and the place is where the boy saw the girl, with his eyes, for the first time. passing through a hallway, in the middle an ocean of people, he saw a glimpse of her lips as an crescent moon. now everything just afloat and the ceiling is the skies.
Our story exists between prologue and epilogue. built on book’s chapters order and it’s started with beginning, but sometimes we stumbled in the middle.
I knew, our existence was meant not to be bound.
You‘re’ trying so hard reach that knob where the exit was,
while, I still lived inside that womb of the night where our words were connected.
Like that night when I thought I was invincible.
Traveling through a speed of light, strap myself in the cold night,
until my sweater couldn’t made my jaw stopped being clenched,
and still scream, “just take me with you god damn it, I love you”
Weeks before our hand grasp each other skin, we’ve reached things that our steps never walked in.
I knew there so much nonsense I said while we’ve stumbled to sleep.
When the dawn snuck in, we had nothing to prove how we stayed up all night.
We did not left anything but me.
Know that we are a leaf from the tree of our late night sleep.
As we refused to ended the day and tomorrow was the time when we are stranger by each other again.
Know that we’re still complain about chapters that written not to be fair,
but flaws is a part that exist everywhere, every stories.
Learn how being unfair sometimes is fair to someone else.
Know that our lungs were perfectly sync in a failed system,
when I spent whole nights on my cigs, and you were dying from asthma,
we wouldn’t ever fall so deeply to where we don’t know which way is up,
because we were made for shallow, afloat on the surface aimlessly.
Like the first day you were breakup,
and drowned into a millions of “what-if” that now never happened.
“it’s okay” I said, to myself.
“It’s okay. our story exists between prologue and epilogue. it’s started with beginning and always stuck in the middle”
Chapter 412, the boy asked the girl to met. She agreed and he did not slept ever since. They’ve walked the night as it was a tunnel with no end, until the bookstore ran out all of their syllables and had no words left could define the night. The boy found love between a bookshelf that written fiction on the top of it, while the girl trying to figure out how everything shouldn’t be a fiction. He presume what she didn’t.
Chapter 400, after years of remembering the girl’s birthday, the boy took the jump, fall into an answer he didn’t knew what it means to. Still, everything never change for him.
Chapter 74, all he knew was her birthday and her poems.
Chapter 243, the boy was came to see the girl on her best day but only to missed it.
Our story exists between prologue and epilogue. built on book’s chapters order and it’s started with a beginning, stumbled in the middle, and maybe did not really ended.
Between margins and pages, I knew you were made from a poem of your 600 words per minute midnight overthinking.
I knew you were language that only yourself being able to decipher.
I knew you were never stopped reading what was written on the back cover even if you knew what happened in the end,
you were the one that choose that ending.
The ending that maybe I could be alternated.
Between margins and pages, I write a pieces too.
Made of a slepless midnight and little bit of sad,
and might not poetic as yours, or you but could we called it a love letter instead?
Epilogue, once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl. They’re not here anymore. They’ve vowed never speak to each other again but birthday was an annual curse, they’re never forget the date.
Prologue, once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl. The boy found a place where he stepped his first before took such a long run. It was a poems and countless repetition of a song, song that remind him of her. The first fall he took, a seedling blossomed between them. The chapter started.
