MY LETTER PART 1

One bright Sunday morning, a feeling arose, accompanying my thoughts. It carried my daydreams, floating along the current of stories about beautiful days gone by. It's been a long time since I heard your voice. You don't greet me with that old nickname anymore, perhaps you'd say. I don't know. Occasionally, when you called me by that name, I'd lose my mind. My breath would catch. A second I often long for. They say our story has no end. Denying each other a hope that might only be mine. You would chirp about how badly I prejudge, even if it might be true. You would talk at great length to make me understand. Just about this. Hahaha. I enjoy imagining it now. Oh, remember, this is a bright Sunday. A day that shouldn't leave behind sadness or restless hope. Sunday is the same for you too. You often enjoy it in a way whose routine I still remember. Even though I don't want to remember it, it remains stored in this memory. Oh, when the sun arrives, illuminating every darkness on the face of the earth, the cold left by the dew slowly vanishes, evaporating with the wind. The sun will always have a way to erase fear within. You know what I should say. You understand the unease that hangs over my soul and know how to calm it. Like the morning that knows how to bring a smile to that beautiful face. Nona, tell me about your heart. Tell me again about your happiness, about dreams and love. Let's debate again the crazy ideas in my mind that you should straighten out. Teach me affection, even if we no longer have to touch. You said, morning is hope, where beautiful things can be achieved. Morning is a symbol of struggle, and happiness after sorrow departs. You said, you said, and you said. Reminders when I forget how to hope. How to make peace, how to protect myself, and how I can still face the world with a smile. Nona, if your routine is still the same today, don't forget your bakso and mie yamin, okay? And when that happens, remember me. Sukabumi: July 28, 2024