It’s not yet November but I can feel a future without you lingering around. There are letters I need to discard, clothes that I ought to burn, the scent of perfume I need to air out, and a flame inside my heart I need to extinguish.
Anger isn’t supposed to define me, but what words could I say to the memory of you? So I tear through dozens of papers, wishing you bleed and disappear into every surface. It’s not yet November, but I’m already getting ready to move on.
The house is still filled up with nostalgia. My eyes jump from one window to another, wondering which one holds your touch the most, a place you often lean on. I change the curtain, spray water to the glasses. Your reflection is captured within the frozen mirror–there’s no way I could ignore that.
October will pass soon, and I’ll forget about you soon. It’s not even a matter of time–I’ll forget you because I forget all the people that leave from my life. That’s how heartless I am. That’s how much of a coward I am.
I bury all the feelings, knowing that’s the only way I can survive. Freeze every emotions, say goodbye even though I’m in denial. I don’t know how to treasure you. I also don’t know how to properly saying farewell.
It’s not yet November and there is still a flame of anger inside my chest. A result of betrayal. A blanket of insecurity. I told myself I’m not worthy of love. I also told myself you’re the one who’s at fault. Maybe no one is right. It’s going to be November after all.
Moving on from you is as easy as closing my eyes under the glaringly heavy sun. It’s always easy to pretend that you’re blind.
Depok, 29 Oktober 2019