the story that never told.

This isn't a story about him,
nor you and me,
this is story about the feelings,

it's not the story about princess and their prince charming,
nor the one with the happy ending,

it tells about the wind that blown today 4 o'clock in the morning,
about the leaves those fall,
about the things never told,

the story about times those never come back,
the story about that smoke out of the 4x5 dormitory room,
about the laugh, the tears, the fall, and rise, 
about the sun, the moon, the sky, blue and grey,
about the face behind the makeups, 
the soul behind those clothes,

it's about all that ever happened,
the walls of that old school building tells me nothing,
neither do the trees and the birds,

the young boy that day, 
an adolescent,
sincere and pure,
his heart's like the empty sketchbook,
waited to be filled with lots of dreams,

then she comes,
with her smile on a sunny day,
her hair buns smells like the fresh coffee in the morning,
her breathe, her skin,

he couldn't bear,

she was full of dreams,
of what she's seeing the world as,
the way she talks,
about what's it's gonna be,
the boy found what's he's searching for,
to wrote the first piece on his page,

the girl,
young, only 17,
her life,
has just begun,
she wants to be different,
and yes she is.
she didn't think of anything else,
she just wanna spread her wings,

the boy,
place his heart in the wrong harbour,

the girl didn't care,
not that she meant it,
she's just 17,

the boy,
obsessed,
and scared,
that the girl will run away,
fly, with her new grown wings,
as far as she can,
to the place, he couldn't reach,

and she did.

time goes by,

the girl,
in her new world,
obstacles,
breakdown,
turned her into something she was not.
she's grown up,
ripe and ready to be picked from its tree,

she met a man,

the one she never thought of she'd fall for,

the man,
mature,
independent,
know what he wants for life,
he seemed to have it all.

the smell of a reality,
like the drugs
strong,
convincing,
seductive,
addictive,
yet comforting.

and she become obsessed,

he didn't care,
not that he meant it.
he's an adult,

deja vu,

and the story goes,

she's sitting in a dark cold night,
that corner,
the one that boy used to sit in,
the place,
anxiety,
worries,
nervous,

now she feels what the boy used to feel,
she breathes the same air the boy used to breathe,
the sweat on her palms,
the boy used to have it,
the tears,
the boy used to cry them,

we don't know how the story ends,

not yet,

it won't,

and the time goes by....



based on my absurdity,
Tuesday, June 16th 2009, 5:26 am - Bridge Cafe, in my first cup of Americano and Light Jazz.
first breath to the brand new day,
with thoughts and love,
Shasta Klara Kristi.