Baris Aksara

"Will you help me?" He said. His mouth wasn't moving, he asked inside his own head.

She looks at him, eyes to eyes. They're getting closer the more time they're taking a breath. One inch per breath until they don't know what distance is anymore. Their noses are now touching each other.

"Help you with what?" She asked. Her mouth wasn't moving either. Her eyes, still locked on to his, like there are whole multiverses to see inside each of their eyes.

"With everything," he thought. "With life."

They're smiling now. The exchanging of words in the small space between their heads somehow bringing them a pack of smiles they didn't get much chance to have in their respective lifetimes. The agony, misery, pain and extreme pressure they've experienced has left them just a tiny place for smiles to slip in. Even though twenty thousand years of their life are still counts as 'Younglings', they feel like they've had enough.

"I found you," he thought again. The exchanging of words is continuing yet again. "And you found me."

"Yes," she replied. "I will help you."

"You helped me already, Netra."

She's known as Netra, or he just likes to call her Netra because he believes that she's there to be his eyes. Helping him to see what he normally couldn't see, look beyond understanding and breaking the barrier of this universe's field of view. He always thinks that they met each other for bigger reasons; for him, it's the bigger perspective on his miserable life. Extra eyes equals extra perspective.

We don't know much about what she's thinking. The best we know of about what's inside her head is what she lets us to hear. She's fully aware of what she's doing and what she's thinking, the exchanging of words earlier was intentionally broadcasted to us. We wouldn't know anything if she wanted to. She knows his name, not his full name, just a tiny bit of his name. She doesn't even have a special name for him, unlike he does for her. We don't know anything what's inside her heart. What we know is, she's as tired as him. They both are as tired as us.

"Tis your turn to help me, then." She said.

"Help you with what?"

"Heaven is the only thing I need."

"Yes." He agreed. There's no objection to what she said, angels were meant to be in heaven in the first place, he thought. The main thing is, he doesn't know how to get heaven for her or to make one for that matter.

"I'll help you with everything I have in me," He's commited. Fully submitted. He fell in love. Love is just another endless abyss in this universe.

Pasha Fatahillah.

25 March 2021. In some places.

Pic Credit: Victor Freitas

Once again, they found beauty in self-destruction. What once they did together, now they're doing on their own. Religious people were right, loneliness and desperation are gaps for devils to break into your mind.

She has this thought now, where she just wants to break every bed she slept in with whoever wants to spend the hellish nights with her.

Him, on the other hand, is focusing on which part of his head to be shot with his old gun.

In the same time, though in two different places; they're snorting cocaine with perseverance of a grave digger.

She wants to forget, he wants to live in the past. She wants to forget everything, one by one, until eventually she forgets to breathe or how to breathe.

He wants to just die in some point in the past where everything was better than today. Or maybe in a point where everything started to go south.

"Damn," she said. Realising that doesn't matter how hard she tries to forget, some memories are destined to linger forever.

"Fuck," he said. Realising that he can not go back in time.

"Accept," they thought. For acceptance is the very first step to heal. But they know too damn well that acceptance is the most hardest thing to accept. They're too close to denial in a romantically weird way.

I'd call it, "The Art of Self-destruction". They don't agree, though, denial again.

3rd December 2020. Pasha Fatahillah.

Pic credit: Ammar Sabaa