Remember when I told you some stories about those picturesque auroras then I got so excited that my eyeballs were like about to jump out of its lids?

Or when we were busy dreaming a venturesome trip to Alaska that you never missed seeing that curve between my cheeks all conversation long?

Or the moment when I showed you those hot air balloons parades that I spoke in loud high note voice all along which you could not survive any more second?

Earlier at this very noon, someone was curious about the long story short that makes us stay together as we do today. And she asked me a very simple question of, why would I?

At first, I held myself for a moment, waiting for that bursting excitement that I thought would come out from me when I began to tell her this one of my favorite episodes of my life. I lingered to let the sun leak out from my widened eyes as I imagined the truthful interesting answer I would love to directly share. I stopped to feel the overloading happiness creeping through my throat that I would speak rainbow, and I paused a second to get ready before all smiles in the world stolen to my lips.

I was so ready to respond my typical favourite interesting question with thousand ways of blasting enthusiasm;

yet nothing happened.

I stayed quiet for few seconds then ended up giving a humble smile, “Where should I begin?”

-

Remember when we slept on the naked grass at one evening blanketed with only nightfall, stargazing all night long and forgot to share any word?

Or when I told you I made it to New Zealand next year that you could not do anything but sharing your warmest hug along with those soggy eyes?

Or the moment when we had a wordless conversation inside each other’s mind while looking at each other into the very eyes, ended up being the day we officially declared what we are afterwards?

It’s true, Micah, that some excitement just doesn’t get along with blown up fervor. This kind of happiness; a very large, huge, and thick block of happiness; consists of tiny chapters inside in which your feelings toward each of them equals the same great amount that you’re never able to define which one you love the most. Because every single thing is just as loved as everything else, and you could never mention your favourite part if not the whole combination, all at once.

And, yes, that’s pretty much what I’ve always felt about you. About you and I, being us.

I would never know how or what to start if I had to explain, as I would never know how to stop either. And I won’t bother finding out the latter part.

O holy Aletheia,

What else I could wish other than sending prayer so that this time things wouldn’t go any false?

–

How’s Ontario, Ghil? Done painting enough memories of every street corner as you said you would do before Pennsylvania greets you soon?

Ah, how I wish I were as lucky as you. Traveling all year long, creating footprints on every block of the road ways, meeting friendly strangers just to share bottles of cheap beer. I mean, Belgium has always been good, but, somehow I feel the urge to just take random aeroplane and live a slightly new life as someone I never thought I would become, in somewhere I never thought I would love to be part of. Perhaps, the old idea of being a homeless painter while traveling to every corner of Europe needs to be true someday, don’t you think?

Yep, Ghil, I’m so craving for new adventures. New plans to catch, new faces to love, new spaces to leave some marks to remember me by.

Life’s been recently quite hard. Belgium doesn’t feel as friendly as it used to be when we were innocent kids in that kindergarten. The most heartbreaking part comes when I feel like my life has just become an automatic department store door where people and things could just walk by, come in, and walk out as easy as they want. They don’t see how cheerless it is to wave goodbyes to stuffs that I have no idea whether I would meet again in the future or not. They don’t get how hurtful it is to let them just walk away to probably better life of theirs, while me being the door that keeps opening and closing helplessly.

I’ve tried to start walking, too. Packing unimportant stuffs to leave behind, walking eastward to catch the sunrise, wrapping some faces I know I have to just let go. And sure, arranging new trips to live for.

But I just don’t get what is going wrong, Ghil.

Every destination feels just as false as my former life does. There is always unexpected something that forces me to head to somewhere else instead, even when I’m sure there’s hope in that place, which turns out incorrect.

I thought it would be good to meet the shorelines. To see endless open ocean in front of you, looking at the Earth as if it is unlimited. I was happy at first, but that’s just a quick glance before the seawater told me that he didn’t want me to stay any longer. That wasn’t proper home for me, he said.

And I left. Simply because I remembered that seems-to-be-not-so-wise quote saying, “If you love him that much, let him go.” And I did. I, then, tried to just hide in the woods where growing trees were trying to climb the night and catch some stars to shine their highest bloom. Tranquil as it is, I felt. But that was just before the wild life told me that I had to just go because I could never belong there. That time, I forced to stay longer instead but then the forest just hated me. I couldn’t stay between hatred so therefore I strolled again.

I gave up running to the mountain. I befriended the frosty breeze, the bluish daybreak, and wet-smelled air. I started to fall for them, before as you might have probably guessed, I had to go again. That time, I foolishly could not resist the cold brought by the dawn.

The city was the last thing I passed by. I thought things couldn’t go any worse when I picked a homely inn to stay. But then again, all the bedrooms have already got a resident.

Then here I am, all stuck in the middle of the passing crowd, being confused about where to head all alone.

I know you’re feeling guilty to be helplessly unable to help me, Ghil. But nevertheless, I’m pretty much all okay. I guessed all that I should do right now is just staying quietly at home, waiting for the right mood to travel again while trying to not to mess things up if fixing takes too much energy. The wanderer needs to stop a bit before her wanderlust gives signal of when to arrange a route again.

And at that proper time, I don’t have to bother wondering how things would try to wreck me all over again, because I might have just arrived in the appropriate anchor. With its loveliest cruiser, and the friendliest captain of the ship.

For a pessimist, I’m pretty optimistic, ain’t I?

-

Oh anyway, Ghil, you know that I wasn’t literally talking about trips, don’t you?

—

Don’t even know any single clever word to begin with.

Who was the first one telling that the grass is always greener on the other side?

Was he standing at my position right now, and sharing glances to some neighbor’s porches? Because at this latitude, he might be just true.

Ghili, I’m wishing you a very good daybreak. Because at some possible points, you might still remember some glances you shared with a stranger on the stairs, when the weather was all good. And no, that seems-to-be-ignorable meeting was not the first nor the only time. For quite many times, we passed each other during our walk to each other’s apartment, or if not, during our walk to office. A few times our eyes met, another few times not, but they still stole a glance to each other in different interval—which actually seems cute.

But those never became remarkable before today.

Before I find out who your name is. Before I come to realize that I’m a fan of your fetching vintage wide-framed glasses, which covers your shaded droopy eyes. Before I hear every outstanding news about how you nail your job at your company and amaze everyone around with your undoubted social skill.

Who are you actually, Ghili?

Who are you to make a total stranger secretly pours you with flatters, when the only thing she know about you is your fine attention-catching daily look?

Ghili, let me share you the first secret I would tell to a stranger.

If the universe happens to do a little conspiracy and decides to get us know each other, I promise I’m not going to mess up.

I would even proudly wear my pinstripe blazer—which I’ve always thought to be junky-patterned—just because its style matches yours.

I hope that sounds comforting. So, Ghili, where would I meet you tomorrow again? And this time, is it okay if I ask for a longer lingering glance just to make sure that you do remember my face once again?

***

Aqeelah, darling,

They say I could just simplify happiness. If ones I know right now have always been more likely about gaining much money for our future Janeen and Sabrina, driving Ferrari to Hague for work, traveling to northern Alaska and dancing on a cruise ship; to them, those are way too much.

I learn quickly to define happiness in their own way, which is now mine, too. And you know what? This is way too beautiful, because all I see right now is blissful bless in every single space I spot.

As for you, I could simplify the happiness of meeting you in a sip of cup of morning coffee. A soft, foamy mixtures of newly roasted coffee bean and hot white milk, inside a lovely Victorian cup.

~

You are the first thing I always see every time I wake up at five in the daybreak. Since your place is always there, next to my bed. And as always, I’ve always been happy to recognize you as well. Good morning lazybones, said you gently. And I could just answer with a blurry smile on my sleepy face, hoping you wouldn’t mind my impolite greeting.

Every waking up to cold breeze now equals nothing, because I could feel the creeping warmth as I begin touching your porcelain skin. You do know that you are truly this beautiful, no?

And that smell of your clothes, your hair, and even the hands you use to work with spices everyday; has always been my favourite part. The good smell that keeps me to move closer to you, and pull you closer to me; until you’re just few centimeters away from my lips. We’re so getting closer that I could feel you being awkwardly nervous as I feel more heat when you linger in few millimeters away from my lips;

I sip you. I can never resist the way you call and seduce me to kiss your scent, but my nose just ain’t enough. Aqeelah, you might not be the sweetest, but you’ve always got that lethal combination of being bittersweetly classy and elegant, with lavish touch of warm-heartedness.

Like a cup of morning coffee does.

Would you believe if I tell you that I am now sipping a pretty much normal coffee yet feeling as thrilled as if I am meeting you?

Sure that sometimes I still feel it’s kind of funny to see how a cup of coffee could define my personal view of bliss. But it is now not, at all, since it is not the coffee that’s worth defining, but how it represents you that makes it worth describing.

Now how about making your own one? Perhaps, after these lines of (hopefully) sweetness, I could be your favorite cup of morning chamomile tea?

Love(s),

Gael.

I passed few minutes of deep wondering by standing quietly in front of your porch. Half of my brave self wanted me to take several steps to reach your front door and later may deliver some hi-how-are-yous with awkward self-excitement, while you would seem to be predictably surprised by my valor greetings. Another half of me was temporarily winning, because I just kept staring at your mini beautiful fishpond, admiring how pretty your tropical park is and secretly adoring how you always did nearly everything perfectly.

But it wasn’t too long until I decided who was going to defeat another, since your front door was suddenly opened.

“Kyle,” and my cheeks instantly went reddish as clumsy enthusiasm started to fill every living cell inside my heart.

“Elisé?”

~

And here I am. Apologizing for never being able to keep up with my clever imagination, every time it comes to the thought of you. I blame everything to the sudden period I’ve always put, while the truth is I can never continue writing good sentences to be told after that part. The part when the excitement wins and their eyes meet without her being able to resist. I can never decide which beautiful sentence I would use after; whether it is about you walking in Elisé’s direction then touching her bangs in a much friendly way, or it is you waving the loveliest hello to her then inviting her to come in for a morning talk, or simply just calling her name and delivering her a sincere smile, which gives her approximately the same amount of happiness. Every kind of bliss I could imagine would never sound good enough in my personal taste. Simply because I want a neatly perfect morning to begin. I want the ‘once upon a time’ part is replaced with paragraphs explaining why the sunrise would never regret shining that morning, and the doves on the pole would not mourn for even a second that they would happily sing all paragraphs long.

But then again, Neil,

Kyle is just not good enough.

Does it cost better name to make me forget that this Kyle is just an alter ego of you, so that I could easily type the next pieces of my story?

Or does it cost better heart to accept the fact that I could never truly write a love story without imagining you and me both involved there, being the amorous pair?

***

I once pulled you into this somewhat clouded conversation, where dreams were things I believed in very much and plans were still as pure as they first had been. A little girl’s reverie about astounding opus, breathtaking trips, sincere dedication, and every perfect detail of them. A girl who probably had just waken up from her sweetest dreams about wonderland, trying to conjure the universe to be something she wanted. With her magical wand filled with good spells, spellbinding brain with witch-like ideas, and surely, plain heart that hadn’t been stained.

To let others see and involved in it wasn’t that easy. I let the trust get out of its safe and peaceful cage to fly away and choose its own right ears. And then you both—the trust and you yourself—came to that sweet rendezvous. So I let you hear every single thing of it, every single thing I loved, every single thing that would never be caught by any strongest dream catcher as I would be the one that caught it. With the eyes were widely opened, showing noble ambition and immortal spirit. With lively, bright lambency that showed you how much those things meant to me, to this little girl from unmapped paradise.

Yet it was a faux pas. The trust itself lied to me, showing wrong path that leaded me to your ears, but not your very heart.

—

So the reveries are now buried again, and the trust already came back to its place, far inside the very heart of mine. And wouldn’t travel again until the time that I wouldn’t want to determine. Until the goods come and whistle me the voices, when to start believing again.

And later, you could probably hear someone else’s storybook children inside their hearts, and at that time you’ve probably learned how to appreciate it in a much more honorable way. As I hope you would do.

And again, at that time, I’m gonna need none of your worries. Since we all know dreams would find their way. As love would do too.