• myrrhc 5w

    do you remember the first time you heard music or the sound of your parents singing you a lullaby. back when the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round came to us like a happy pill, often sang to keep our ears joyful.

    i usually forget details from the past, but it still resonates the first time i heard beethoven's für elise or yiruma's river flows in you. how the blank piano keys resembled cafes today, empty but still echoing the sound of a coffee maker and the blenders between the vacant chairs and the clean counters.

    i mean oftentimes, i think about how the thunder changes and the rain fills in one's shoes, keeping me in wonder of people and their own state of oblivion. because i tend to situate myself in the littlest of things back when stepping on bubblegum and finding starfishes weren't less than riding bicycles and long drives.

    when the streets became empty and the sun had set for the hundredth time, i couldn't help but think how far things can go. as if the constellations never followed us to where we are now, i still find my time to pick up pieces of you that fell on the roof when you left off to space. or did you leave for the stars instead?

    departures have never been quite a friendly gesture. and as you can tell, my fiction usually has that spice included. but it's never that easy to think of leaving. not at least as what i can imagine, if it were ever a part of our fate to eventually become each other's memories, ������������������ ������, but i just wish that we could meet all over again. when we knew not much of ourselves, when we were asymptotic lines just constantly looking at each other. our parallel worlds and parallel words.

    these days, my mind has been stuck somewhere in the past. back when i first finished a novel, i was ten and i never knew that fantasies could become a some sort of addiction, an escape. that i'm dreading the thought of growth and how i wanted to stay in a time frame when trees were spaceships and slides were waterfalls, and age was nothing less than falling into an endless pit.

    i wanted to tell you that everything in this world felt like an airport of stories leaving in places they refused to stay. but i still remember the echoes of lullabies, of piano pieces, of clinking coffee mugs and bicycle rides, and conversations in galaxies too far away.

    that's why as every single day passes by, i couldn't help but pray about how much i really want to go home, and stay some place out of this universe, where everything is peaceful and good and kind and beautiful. and i can't wait for that to happen.

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