Short Story:

Patmo ID — You pulverized and kept on pulverizing. I soften and soften and soften. Then you went out of control, stripped me of everything, devoured me like fire devours wood — slowly burning, reddening me, speeding, hunting, and rising. I’m burning with your passion.

The wind continued to cling to the window, making the curtains sway, in the midst of the ferocious rain water — which was originally drizzling. Storm outside, storm inside. Puddle. Wet on asphalt. Wet in bed.

Crush after mash that makes me confused, stunned. You gulped my jaw, giving endless fire, kneeling everything in my body. The storm subsided with a pounding. Then…

“Hell, it just dream!” I swear.

I looked around. Grab the cell phone. It’s still four in the morning. Light a stick. I burned slowly while trying to re-imagin the noisy scenes that had stopped in my dream.

I then went out of the house. I’ll wear the jacket you gave me. I broke through the fierce air of the dawn. Mio needs 80 kilometers per hour. I split the air towards Tanggulangin — about 45 minutes from my location in the west of Surabaya.

I cursed myself. Why did I dump you last night? Why do you need to be tired of stopping by in my dreams? Why you — why should you?

The answer overflowed in an instant: I love you.

Around 5.18 I arrived. It was overcast and many people were starting to leave their houses. Work or shop or beat the streets or prepare to kill the sun. Do not care.

I’m waiting for your reply. Right in the Kludan area, at a coffee shop 24 hours in front of the alley. A glass of hot tea and Indomie Soto.

Then when I started scooping the noodles, that’s when your reply went wild on my phone. Then, the image of my dream reappeared.

You’re like instant noodles. The instant noodles I inhaled, I squeezed, sucked fiercely. Your elasticity, your legit, your sensation, your red hot flushes make me sweat.

Toilet noodles. I drank tea. And I meet you at the gate of your house. Exactly 5.45.

You slapped me twice. One slow. One is too hard. Then I took both of your hands. Greet your lips. Your eyes are closed, goosebumps, and I feel empty and engulfed by the world.

I haven’t touched your lips in so long.

“I love. Love you.”

And you look at me with a little dew, dripping.

“I can’t lose you.”

The clichéd sentence slipped from my mouth, instantly, while accompanied by a slight hiccup from the rest of the Indomie soto bastard, which, unfortunately, was added to by the cayenne by the warkop Kludan bastards, which suddenly made me sick to my stomach.

But of course I’d rather hug you than let go of my fart.

The decision to leave you because of jealousy is gone. I’ve thrown it away with a soft, soundless fart that I just slowly recessed from my gusset hole.

Bad day. I’m a bad guy. But, well, that’s how it is. It’s a lousy story, but that’s okay because I can still hold your hand one more time.

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