Nanang Suryadi
The rain that falls in the afternoon, always reminds me of you. You remember the tick with the wind, so magical, sending us to the limit of the day so quickly.
Ah, I know you will immediately say that I am very infatuated with that line of broken heart poetry that the red eye wrote: drizzle accelerates the dark.
Indeed, twilight is not as usual when it rains in the afternoon like this. The sun on a clear day if dusk will refract orange in the sky, maybe not orange, maybe golden yellow. Like the picture on the postcard you sent one time: the sky at dusk, the sun setting, the sea and the shadows of the sailing boats.
Once upon a time, a friend of mine wrote in a letter that he cut the twilight for his girlfriend named Alina. But, could a twilight be cut and sent to someone like the postcard you sent back then?
I know you will say that anything is possible. As you often say, with a laugh and a row of perfectly white teeth, “Life is a possibility, even the most improbable. As lies and truth swirl in our stories. Like my love for you. Like your love for me. A word, a phrase, a sentence, a paragraph, a page of fairy tales, a chapter of fragments, a book of memories. Isn't that so my dear, what you want, when you breathe your breath into my heart. The childhood world you believe in, with all your heart and pretense.”
The rain that falls in the afternoon, always reminds me of you. The wet ground outside is like a letter you write with tears. Yes, I know, like I love you, like you love me. Written with tears
