liyana,

I do not know how I could continue writing this. The pain from wanting to reach you is unbearable. I could not define my hurt. I could not comprehend my grief.

Thinking of you. My heart does simply nothing but break.

This quote from your favourite book, Shantaram:

And sometimes my friend, the love that I have

and can’t give to you,

crushes the breath from my chest.

I felt it every time you visited my thoughts. The flashbacks. The memories. It plays itself like a silent film. Images of you. Of your voices. Of your speech. Your kisses and your devilish smile. What had made you hurt. What had made you laughed. They stood in line next to one another, they speak to me.

Every time they do. They crushed me.

I could be driving to work or in the middle of the crowd. They would keep me company.

Know that these images of yours. Your presence is felt the most before I close my eyes at night.

If I was a painter, I could have drawn thousands portrait of yours. Just so it would keep me company. Just so your presence would never leave me.

Have we not promised each other that we will never disappear.

That we will always find each other.

You, my heart-breaker, said so to me when we met.

And you, my loved one, made me promised to paint you a pretty picture.

Paint the world of happiness around you, you said.

You in my arms. Writing invisible sentences across my chest. 

‘Let the sadness be forgotten.’

My writings are frail. I could not even stutter my feelings at the right moment, let alone describe it to anyone. For the life of me, I would rather jump from the sky again and again than speak of my private emotion. 

liyana, you are the one with the gift. It has always been you between the two of us.

I’d still remember the young woman with exuberant smile who was surprisingly shy and nervous about showing me her writing. You took a writing course. You said you thought of me when you read your prose. You were beating around the bush, all blushed, you were unsure whether I would be interested to read them. And you were afraid that once I had seen it all, I might be disappointed. That I might leave.

How silly of you.

Has nobody told you anything about love? Anything at all about falling.

It may take a while for me to notice, but as far as I can remember, the ties that bound us from when we first met have never left me.

You knew this. You felt it too. You asked me when we first met.

‘How long had we known each other.’

Ten years has passed since. I am still here.

But you.

chairil