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Friday, August 27, 2010

They're Viewable, But Untouchable

Viewable, but untouchable. When the distance separate us apart, I might have to dry the ocean and enclose the sky to meet them.

A mile, two miles, three miles, but we are actually so close. It's a meter but it seems like a mile.
For every hour they spend, and every hour I waste.
They earn something, I waste something.
They make me happy. I make myself sad.
Cell phone, instant messenger, they do not work.
We have the connection, but it's dead connection.
So the distance seems to be further. And rocket will worth do us closer.

It's been an hour since the last time I saw you on Facebook.
It's been a day since the last time I saw you wrote something on your status box.
It's been a week since the last time I heard news about you.
It's been a month since the last time I saw you walking on that sidewalk in the downtown.
It's been a semester since the last time you hugged me that close.
And it's been a year since the last time you told me that you'd never leave me all alone.

An hour isn't enough for me to enjoy cups of Earl Grey in the poolside with you.
I cannot miss a day to not have breakfast together in our diningroom.
It mustn't be a week for us to have a great summer cruise.
A month isn't enough for me to see your face.
I cannot let you forget to see my achievement at school every semester
And a year isn't enough for me to love you.

You're always on the news. I'm always on the music.
You're into business and grad school. I'm into daily activities.
You're getting busy day by day. I'm getting bored day by day.
You're answering those phone calls. I'm ignoring those phone calls.
You're finishing your projects. I'm finishing my requiem.
You're enjoying night at Malioboro. I'm enjoying night at Bragawegg.
You're telling me, "UGM is a great choice for you!". I'm telling you, "Home is a great place for you!".
You're planning your trip to Egypt. I'm planning your way home.
You're taking plane to Bali. I'm taking a cigarette.
You're wearing a glasses. I'm wearing a glasses similar to yours.
You're listening to my piano plays. I'm listening to your advices.
You're missing your job. I'm missing you.

It's just upstairs. One level higher.
But why does it seem like a 50-storey building?
If it is, I would like to go to the top, look down to where you are and scream it aloud:

"Mom, Dad, I'm halfdead missing you all! Where have you been for this long?!"


Can you hear that?

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