She smells like home.
Broken aircon.
Fried egg over rice.
A bowl of instant noodle.
Dusty photo frame.
Books and woods.
Hints of moss on the wall.

She looks like home.
Messy and tired.
But always stays there.

She feels like home.
Worried.
Noisy.
Yet calming.
Warm.
Indescribable.
Like home.

Oh Friday and the rain.

Would you be nice tonight or you’d cried like the other night?

Rumbles.

Crumbles.

Thunder.

Oh Friday and moonlight.

Would you stay longer today or you shy away like the other day?

Lightning.

Thunderstorm.

I hope you’d understand, it’s not about me and you.

It’s just Friday and the rain.

Longing.

Bragging.

I think the most frustrating days are also the most exciting.

The most tired days are the most rewarding.

Days that become weeks, then months.

The longest days of our life are surely the most grateful.

Days like these.

The witches of the moon.

The rabbit from the south.

The dragon master.

The sun.

The drunken driver.

Thousand lighting crowns and screaming maniacs.

Months that become years.

First, that becomes legends.

Neon that becomes gold.

Fur, sparkle, and fine leather.

Crackers that becomes wine.

A thing that becomes everything.

Please last longer than this.

You’re not like others, why should you try to be them?

Their happiness doesn’t reflect yours.

And there you are.

Sad, getting through the day.

Probably thinking everything you don’t like to think.

The least you think the better.

All is never well.

And I think, your happiness is better than theirs.

Because it’s yours and will always be well.