Back awake, the eyelids open a little wider than usual, the mind that continues to look everywhere, still about me you and a piece of old story.
We used to have stories, neatly arranged and clad in nostalgia.
The storyline may be unusual, but the reader is always eternal.
Until the age lapuknya eat the story and make it taste chew.
Sincerity is only about taste, sincerity if the story falls into a different hand.
While my hands are only able to lift in prayer and prayer only.
Keep nostalgia tu, well-groomed the plot of the story.
Because someday we will reopen, we read together, with a smile and beautiful cries, because we could write it together.
One hope, one certainty, one taste, and ideals.
