- an unnamed person.
It was nine o'clock in the evening. Remember you are on a rickety wooden chair where we sit first after tarawih prayer ends. Then you took my wet hands with sweat-nervous, ran to the sea of colorful night market lights.
Also the small dull paskibra uniform you used during the carnival of the seventeen. The curve of your lips makes me turn, then turn back, then look for you when you're gone. Until I meet again under the stage drama where I played only so extras. There we get to know each other, get to know.
Do you know, my stomach flutters happily when you know what your name is, even if it's just a 5-letter word. Moreover you also know my name and remember it.
Then after the past, it's my turn to remember. Your funny laugh way to the mole near the nose I like to touch with my index finger. I always remember and always remembered deeply, as deep as my breath I accept your departure without saying goodbye first.
Also the last promise you did not keep in your last night. The night we were going to be going by motorcycle together. About meeting me and I meeting you. But you see her. He-your dying.
While I wait for you to fall asleep, hurt, dreamless and wake up like a forced dream. When I hear the loudspeaker of the mosque announce your name by first mentioning the headline of grief.
Every night at bedtime, the next day October 13 comes, every year, though time goes on ahead, I always think of you. About your death that slapped me too suddenly. That cornered me. That makes a permanent tattoo about a meeting called a deathly farewell.
Why do you have to die?
Why do you have to go?
Why, why, as if why no longer a question word that has an answer.
So this 11th anniversary of your death I write a short obituary on your headstone, as a proof that time can not get you out of my brain. Also I sneaked the prayers of messages to keep you calm. I remember you even though you disappeared. Go to sleep, sleep dear.