I’ve got this friend.
He’s gone through all bad shit and never was his mistake.
He falls for a girl who’s never found love.
Only to find pieces of boring conversation and the agony.

He’s a real life version of Mr. Pinkman.
Without the gun, and without the fun.

He’s gone to therapist but never found any.
He’s singing 505 to the horizon, don’t tell any.
Trying to take back his throne.
Someday at midnight silence, maybe he’ll get one.
He’ll toast the champagne, and you’ll throw him the sunshine.
If that is happiness, you want him to have it.
Just one last ride to that sunset.
If that is happiness, you want him to have it.
Just one last ride to that cliché.

He’s a real life version of Mr. Pinkman.
Without the gun, and without the fun.

Looking back, we couldn’t be more obvious. You, with that coffee and me with the paper. We should do more dancing that night. But I said it’s getting late and I had a pile of more paper to shred.

I thought you will stop me for taking the taxi, but you didn’t. You waved with those eyes. Those eyes that I couldn’t get off from mind.

You texted me later that night, asking me if I was available for Friday night. That was Saturday, and you’re already asked for next week agenda. But you said there will be this cool band performing and that was your favorite Indie band. I couldn’t care more, I was busy shredding the paper. I said yes anyway and hit send.

I thought the conversation would be over but you’re still bug me with lot of questions, like could I stop myself for shredding the paper. I said I couldn’t and you didn’t care. Like how I didn’t care when you send me a photo of your collection of soda bottle caps. You said you’ve been collecting it since 4^th grade and I still couldn’t care more.

Many nights after, you still kept talking and I still stuck with those papers. Until I realized I really couldn’t get off of those eyes. You asked me whether you could come to accompany me shredding the paper. I mentioned a coffee shop near the 4th lanes, a delicious lava cake and a cup of coffee compliment for those coming after 9 PM. You picked me up and parked your bicycle at my house. You, out of nowhere, held my hand for the entire walk. And I let you.

We couldn’t be more obvious.

But we kept pretending that we didn’t know. Even after long conversation until 4 in the morning, even after that concert at Friday night, a dinner after and a movie the following night. Until one night after long walk at the center park you said you couldn’t get off the image of me shredding the paper. And I said I couldn’t get off of your eyes.

We agreed not to give it a name. We agreed we don’t have much time left. That day, we know we couldn’t last a day without each other. Many years after, I know it would be great to attend this melancholic concert. Your favorite band is jamming on stage, you held my hand for hours, and we know we’ll be attending some more years later.

That is why I said yes when you asked to accompany me to shred paper, for the rest of your life. And I let you.

Kami menyangka melihat dunia. Lewat layar-layar kecil yang mengudara.

Kami menyangka tahu perkara. Lewat satu dua kalimat pembuka.

Kami menyangka yang terbuka. Lewat refrain lagu tentang isu radikal.

Kami menyangka yang terdepan. Lewat artikel investasi, logam-logam mulia, surat reksadana, dan pengaturan finansial. Oh, juga surat-surat hutang.

Kami menyangka yang terhebat. Lewat checklist-checklist panjang dalam resume. Foto-foto penanda. Peta-peta berwarna. Konser-konser di bawah hujan.

Kami menyangka yang berbeda. Lewat kepedulian tentang diri kami, masa depan dunia, tentang pendapat-pendapat oposisi.

Kami hanya sedikit tentang cerita.

Halo, para pemuda 20-an. Dari sekian juta pertanyaan di dunia, yang mana yang ingin dipilih ketika bertemu?
Oh, rupanya yang itu-itu saja.

Selamat malam, selamat melukis peta dunia.

Ketika senja tiba dan matahari mulai terlahap kegelapan malam, sesosok mahkluk menyelinap di antaranya. Ia menapak di tanah, tidak seperti para peri yang memanfaatkan sayap mereka yang berkilau.

Ia mendatangi setiap rumah dan membisikkan sebuah cerita bohong tentang masa lalu. Ia membisikkan kata-kata itu setiap harinya sampai penduduk desa lupa akan cerita yang benar-benar terjadi. Mengabur bersamaan dengan datangnya fajar, tertinggal lewat asap-asap yang menguap dari telinga mereka. Para penghapus sejarah membawa asap-asap tersebut, meniupkannya ke lubang-lubang tanah di hutan atau palung-palung terdalam lautan.

Dan ketika matahari mulai meninggi, tidak ada yang tahu akan apa yang terjadi di masa lalu. Hanya gores-gores samar tentang cerita baru yang ditulis terbalik. Tentang pahlawan-pahlawan yang tidak berjasa, yang menyelinap untuk merapat cahaya. Tentang kejadian yang tidak bermakna. Tentang semua ingatan yang tidak akan kembali.

I didn’t grow up.

I am child who won’t grow up.

I fly.

I put dust into my feet and, just fly.

Sometimes I just jumped between buildings, finding myself up in the cloud.

I soar through the sky, between the stars and the constellation.

If you ask me why I’m still doing that. I just haven’t found the reason not to.

People always told you to grow up. Let me tell you this.

Tell them, never.