dearjunjun

[dearjunjun]

Selamat tinggal Mamaku

[dearjunjun]

Hari yang sejak kecil diam-diam selalu kutakuti, pagi ini mengetuk pintu hidupku.

Hari di mana aku tak lagi bisa bersandar di pelukanmu, tak lagi bisa mencuri hangat dari ketiakmu yang dulu jadi tempat persembunyian paling aman di dunia.

Aku masih ingat jelas, teriakku yang gemetar saat itu,

"Aku nggak mau Mama pergi..."

Dan kau hanya tersenyum—senyum yang selalu bisa meredakan badai dalam dadaku.

Dengan suara lembutmu, kau bilang semuanya akan baik-baik saja.

Andai bisa, ingin sekali aku merekam detik itu… agar bisa kuputar kembali, ketika rindu mulai menusuk terlalu dalam.

Mama, pagi ini engkau benar-benar pergi.

Hari yang kutolak untuk percaya sejak kecil, akhirnya datang juga.

Tapi aku belum sempat memelukmu.

Belum sempat bilang kalau aku akan baik-baik saja tanpamu—meski sebenarnya tidak.

Mama, sekarang kamu sudah bebas…

Tak ada lagi lelah yang kau sembunyikan di balik senyummu,

Tak ada lagi cobaan dari Tuhan yang sering kau bisikkan dengan pasrah.

Tunggu aku sebentar, Ma.

Aku harus tiba di sana.

Aku harus melihatmu dengan mataku sendiri—meski hatiku belum siap mengucap perpisahan.

Aku merindukanmu.

Lebih dari kata-kata bisa menjelaskan.

Dan mungkin, aku akan selalu merindukanmu.

5 Mei 2025

[dearjunjun]

"Lelap Ombak, Terjaga Jiwa"

Ombak menggulung senja perlahan,

Menyentuh jiwa, membisikkan harapan.

Riak berbisik, sunyi berdebar,

Dalam cahaya yang mulai pudar.

Gelap merangkak di balik terang,

Seperti rahasia yang diam-diam datang.

Enggan menyapa, tapi tetap menggoda,

Menyanyi sepi di tengah tawa yang menggema.

Berapa lama harus kita menanti?

Saat waktu tak pernah memberi janji.

Jarum jam menikam tanpa belas,

Kita pun terombang—seperti nafas lemas.

Nada bertaut dengan sunyi yang tajam,

Menari di tepi gelap yang kelam.

Namun lihatlah—bulan memantul di danau,

Seperti ciuman mimpi yang tak pernah kau tahu.

Hidup menyelinap lewat celah-celah malam,

Membangunkan gairah yang dulu tenggelam.

Dan saat pagi menyibak kabut yang manja,

Kita tersenyum—terjebak dalam mimpi yang sengaja

[dearjunjun]

Where Are They?

Where are they? The people. The breathing, pulsing creatures of flesh and bone. The ones who once made the world hum like a thousand violins tuned to the same sorrow. Now, it’s a barren landscape. A desert of souls. And yet, the noises persist—footsteps echoing, yet no feet touch the ground. A breeze brushes past, but there’s no wind. The shadows move, but they do not live.

I hear the sound of someone sighing, but I do not know from where. The air hums with absence, like a melody forgotten before it’s finished. There is no mouth, no throat. Just the sound. Footsteps again. Heavy, deliberate. But no one walks. They simply are. Passing through a place that doesn’t exist.

I can feel them—them—hovering in the periphery of my senses. The people, perhaps, or their ghosts, or maybe just the echoes of their footsteps. The space around me is thick with something—an energy, a pulse, but not quite a presence. It is neither warm nor cold, neither light nor dark. It simply is.

I turn my gaze, stretching beyond the walls that seem to hold me here. The sky opens up, and in its fractured light, I catch sight of a gathering. A celebration. They are dancing—no, floating—around a fire. But the flames do not burn; they flicker like the remnants of a dream that has already evaporated. They move, yet their feet never touch the earth. The sky is painted in colors I do not know. I am not sure if they are celebrating life or death. Is there a difference?

In the distance, I see the Molochs. Figures, or maybe just shadows of figures, hunched over in solemn preparation. They are constructing something—something metallic, a machine that hums and creaks like it has been waiting to exist for centuries. A bomb, or a prayer, or a promise of destruction. They whisper, or perhaps it’s the wind that whispers for them. They speak of fire, of sun-gods, and the end of things. But which end will come? The earth or the sky? The bomb or the burning? The Molochs, or the people?

Where are they?

I feel the tug of another dream. I close my eyes, and there I am again, alone on an empty hill. The trees are drenched in an orange light, like they are bleeding. The air is thick, wet, like it has swallowed something it shouldn’t. I feel the pressure in my chest. The air tastes of iron, of rusted memories. The horizon bends, and the world seems to be shifting, slipping, moving out of place.

Then, an old man approaches. But he doesn’t walk. He slides, or perhaps drifts, as if the laws of gravity are no longer valid for him. His eyes are closed, but I know he’s looking at me. His face is gray—no, it’s dissolving, like ink bleeding into water. A strange stain of blue clouds his skin, and his steps do not touch the earth beneath him. He does not speak. He does not need to. He passes through me, or perhaps I pass through him. He is gone, but I can feel him. He has left his mark.

Where are they?

And then I find myself, once again, in another dream. Another shift. I am standing on top of a skyscraper, the world unraveling beneath me. The sea rises. It is rising slowly, gently, like it has time to take its time. The water laps at my ankles, my knees, my waist. I see bodies floating, drifting like leaves. The earth trembles, quivers. And in the sky—the meteors come. Not a few, but a thousand—burning like fallen stars, like the last breath of a forgotten god.

And I smile. The end is here.

But then the shift happens again. I wake up—or do I? Sweat sticks to my skin. The room smells of nothing. The faces of the sleeping are unfamiliar. I know them, but I do not know them. They are strangers, yet I have seen them before. In another life? In another dream?

The window is locked. The bars are cold against my hands. I press my face to the glass, but the view is not mine. The night is too dark to see, and the shadows are too thick to make sense of.

I hear the footsteps again, slow, deliberate. But they are not coming closer. They are going away. They pass by me, but they do not stop. They never stop.

And then it hits me—they have always been here. They are the ones who walk past me, always out of reach. Always unseen. And I am the one who is not. I am the one who is missing, the one who is lost in this empty, shifting dream.

The people are here, but they are not. They walk through this world, but I cannot follow.

I ask again.

Where are they?

And the world shifts.

[dearjunjun]

We Hid Our Bodies Below the Big Trees

The rain fell soft, a quiet murmur, slipping through the leaves above us. Beneath the great trees, we huddled, my five-year-old daughter’s voice cutting through the mist. “Why is the sea hidden?” she asked, her small hands pressed against the cool, wet earth. The fog clung to the shore, thick and impenetrable, veiling the world beyond.

But it wasn’t just the fog. The air, heavy with the smell of pot, wrapped around us like a memory I couldn’t shake, lingering longer than the mist. I watched the distant shore through the haze, trying to grasp something—anything—through the blurry veil. The waves rolled gently, but they seemed far away, as if they belonged to a different world, one that I couldn’t reach.

The hill was steep, yet the thrill was absent. The ground beneath us felt too soft, too wet, as if it were swallowing us whole. My daughter’s eyes were wide with wonder, and again, she asked, “What lies beyond the fog, Papa? What’s on the other side of the sea?” Her innocence was a bright spark, a beacon in the dullness of my mind, but I couldn’t find the right words. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore—not with the weight of the past hanging so heavily in the air.

I was stoned. I could feel the fog in my mind, a slow-moving cloud that dulled my thoughts. But even in that haze, I saw what I needed to see—shadows, not of fog, but of memories. The past, uninvited, was returning.

I cleared my throat, trying to form something real from the fog of my thoughts. I looked at her, my heart swelling with love, but also with something darker—something I couldn’t explain.

“There will be a rainbow,” I said slowly, the words slipping out, half-formed. “When the fog clears, you’ll see it. Colors stretching across the sky, breaking through the grey. And the sea will shimmer beneath it, wide and endless. There will be no fences, no boundaries—just a horizon that goes on forever. Beyond the fog is a place where time doesn’t feel the same. It’s a place where dreams live, where you can go wherever you dare. It’s the place for those who have the courage to sail beyond the impossible.”

She tilted her head, eyes puzzled. Her face scrunched up, and she shook her head.

“I don’t want any of that,” she said with the simplicity only a child could have. “It’s too far, Papa. You’re stoned. I just want to see the shore when the rain stops. I want to play with the other kids. I don’t see any rainbow. You’re making it up again.”

Her small hand tugged at my jacket, a pull toward the present, away from whatever I had been lost in. I didn’t answer. I just followed her, her little footsteps quickening as we moved toward the shore. The fog was lifting now, and the wet sand stretched out before us. But when we reached the edge of the beach, I saw something unexpected—there were no children playing. No laughter filled the air. The shore was empty, quiet.

She stood there for a moment, silent, before stomping her feet, splashing in the puddles, her face lighting up with joy. She was laughing, her voice ringing out in the stillness, but then the wind picked up. The air grew colder, sharper. The waves began to rise, crashing violently against the shore. My daughter froze, her wide eyes locked on the churning sea. The sky above us darkened, and the storm that had been whispering in the distance suddenly roared into existence.

I stood still, my body tense, as the storm began to gather strength. The sea was angry, the waves crashing, the wind howling. And for a moment, I felt a pull toward the water, toward the dark, endless depths. It was a cruel beauty, the storm, a reminder of the chaos just below the surface of everything.

Then, I felt a small hand on my shoulder, a soft tug that brought me back to reality. I turned to find her standing behind me, concern in her eyes.

“Papa,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, “you smoked too much. You’re imagining things again. Let’s go home. You haven’t slept in days, have you? I’m hungry. Can you make me blueberry pancakes? You promised.”

Her words were simple, clear, like a bridge back to the world I had almost lost touch with. I looked at her, my heart heavy with the weight of everything I hadn’t said, and followed her, my steps slow but steady.

The storm raged on behind us as we walked back toward the hill, toward home. The fog had cleared, but the storm still swirled in the sky. Yet, with her hand in mine, the storm didn’t seem so overwhelming. It was just a storm. Just a passing thing.

We walked in silence, the weight of the past slipping away with each step. Maybe the rainbow would come one day. Maybe it wouldn’t. But as I looked down at her—her small hand warm in mine—I realized the thing I’d been searching for was right here, right now. The present. The simple truth of this moment.

And maybe that was enough.

[dearjunjun]

HOMAGE TO MY AGING MOTHER

I hope your precious God exists. I truly do. Because if He doesn’t, all your suffering—the silent prayers whispered into the night, the tears soaked into your pillow, the years spent waiting for a break that never came—was for nothing.

You gave Him everything. You knelt, you begged, you endured. You asked for so little: just a moment of peace, a brief reprieve from the storm. But instead, He gave you a life etched in hardship, season after season of trials. Even now, in the autumn of your life, when your hands tremble with age and your bones ache with memory, pain follows you like a shadow.

And yet, you love Him. You love Him more fiercely than I can ever understand—more than life, more than breath. More than me.

He taught you to surrender. To carry pain like a holy relic, to call it destiny, to call it divine. You stay, not because it’s easy, but because somewhere inside, you believe there’s meaning in the madness.

But I know the truth you don’t speak aloud. I see it in your eyes when the world grows quiet. I know you still hope—for something gentler. A life where love isn’t laced with sacrifice, where your children don’t inherit your sorrow.

Your laughter, once a symphony, now echoes in the shadows of your pain. Every smile hides the ache beneath. The joy you chase is but a mirage, and each step toward it deepens your misery. I am the creation of His cruelty, born solely to twist your existence into a waking nightmare. The love you offer me only carves deeper scars. With every embrace, you feed the darkness, and in loving me, you condemn yourself to suffer more.

How I long for the days before I was ever conceived, when the world was untouched by my presence. To think that I was born only to become a burden, a shadow cast upon your every breath. Yet, you hold me close—this paradox of love, a blessed curse, entwined in sorrowful beauty by a God who saw fit to bind our fates.

And if the day comes when we part, when my skies turn dim and the sun forgets to rise, know this: I pray you find your heaven, a place where happiness clings to your soul forever.

Our memories will fade like dreams at dawn. You may forget how you loved me, and I, too, will forget the taste of life—and the light that lived in you.

When that day comes, our memories may wither like autumn leaves, and we may no longer remember the shape of our love. You might forget the way you once held me close, and I, too, may forget the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your hands, and the beauty of your soul.

But even in that forgetting, know this: your love once shone through me like light through stained glass. And though I fade, that light remains—somewhere, somehow, even in the dark.

But before I vanish, let me come home. Let me rest once more where I knew peace, in the quiet arc of your arm, where the world held no shape.

Let me hear your voice—steady, soft—and watch your smile rise, not as a miracle, but as the only truth I ever believed.

Let us make peace—not with this life, but with the shape of our parting.

You will ascend to your heaven, and I will step into the beyond, a place unnamed, untouched by light or grief. I will not join you. I am the child of the abyss. Not cursed—only called.

Drawn to the nameless end, where even stars go to forget themselves. Where no memory lingers, no soul returns. Where language dies, and silence is complete.

And when all is unmade, when the thread between us fades, you will forget how you once loved me, and I will forget the wonder of your being. Yet know this: you were the first truth. The only light. And even as I dissolve into the endless dark, I carry the ghost of your love in what remains of me.

Yours, until I am no more...

your son - Eat

[dearjunjun]

"YOU ARE THE CENTER OF EVERYTHING IN AN INFINITE NOTHINGNESS"

[dearjunjun]

faces of me after years of multiple surgery

and im 90% sure that Im going to be a disabled person for the rest of my life

Say goodbye to:

- flamboyant way of life

- freediving

- physical fighting

- various sex positions

- Guitar

Get used to:

- admit physical defeat

- constant masturbation

- more drugs and alcohol

- 24 hours of muscle and nerve pain

- feel and look like a freak

- more anxiety and constant overthinking

- acute existential dread

- the fact that i'm actually dying

- being homeless and jobless and ofc disabled

Brachial Plexus Injury/ Setengah tahun lebih tanpa kontrol Ortopedi paska 2 kali operasi/ RS paling ok senasional jg ga bisa sembuhin/ pengen diamputasi pake bpjs tapi ngga boleh/ kalo amputasi pgn pake tangan bionik meski gw bacot byk soal anti-tech/

#disability

[dearjunjun]

"...that her sun is full and her thunder is louder than thousand exploding universe. "

Allegra Serafina Juno

[dearjunjun]

Ranjang itu ada dalam bayangan siang dan malamku, saat keringat mengering, lesap dan menetap jadi lembap.

Tawa dan mata yang berkaca-kaca dalam ingatanku. Bayangan halus yang berjalan melewati pintu. Ketika malam hanya mampir dan bergegas lagi, kita berpisah di ujung nyanyian angin yang pilu. Aku merindukan

Seseorang yang membiarkanku tergenang tenang tak riak sendirian, tak berpegangan pada apa pun

Di tengah lautan, diayunambingkan ingatan tanpa bintang, hanya awan-awan.

[dearjunjun]

Subuh ini, dunia seolah menyempit, menelan habis setiap ruang yang pernah ada—kedirianku, kenanganku, dan segala yang pernah aku percayai tentang siapa aku. Seperti ada tangan gelap yang meremas hati, menghisap tiap jejak yang telah kutinggalkan. Di antara dinginnya pagi, aku bertanya-tanya, apakah ini saatnya untuk menyesal? Ataukah, justru inilah titik di mana aku harus menerima kenyataan bahwa segala hal yang kubangun selama ini adalah ilusi belaka?

Rasanya, aku ingin kembali ke belasan tahun silam, saat hidupku—seharusnya—berakhir di ujung harapan yang pudar. Pada saat itu, aku tidak perlu menghadapinya. Tak ada penyesalan, tak ada keraguan yang meruntuhkan. Hanya ada keheningan yang lebih manis daripada apa pun yang pernah kurasakan sekarang.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

-Invictus

4 Januari 2025

[dearjunjun]

Aku cukup sedih, begitu pula cukup bahagia, kesedihan dan kebahagiaan saling tarik-menarik, dan akhirnya selalu saja, aku gagal memisahkan keduanya. Aku ingin tenggelam dalam pelukan singkat semalam kemarin lalu lekas pergi ke ketiadaan. Sekedar pelukan? Ya, hanya itu. Sedetik saja, tak kurang dan tak lebih, agar aku tak lagi diperbudak, dibuat takluk oleh melankoli, yang memaksaku memuaskan birahi penderitaannya yang tinggi. Sedetik saja kecupan, sedetik saja pelukan, sedetik saja kehangatan, dan biarkan kubawa detik-detik itu ke ketiadaan abadi. Apa permintaanku ini terlalu berlebihan?

[dearjunjun]

Selamat pagi, anakku tercinta, Juno! Di hari yang penuh cahaya ini, Papa ingin mengingatkanmu betapa istimewanya dirimu. Hari ini, Juno genap 16 tahun, usia yang penuh dengan harapan, mimpi, dan semangat yang membara. Papa hanya ingin Juno selalu menari di bawah sinar matahari, menghadapi setiap tantangan dengan senyuman yang tak pernah pudar.

Juno, ingatlah selalu, di setiap langkahmu ada cinta yang mengalir tak terbatas. Cinta dari Papa, cinta dari keluarga, dan yang terpenting, cinta dari dirimu sendiri. Jangan pernah lupakan untuk menyayangi diri sendiri, karena kamu adalah anugerah yang sangat berharga.

Seperti namamu, Allegra Serafina Juno, yang berarti “yang riang dan berapi-api,” biarkanlah semangatmu menyala terang, tak tergoyahkan oleh apapun. Semoga dunia ini selalu memberi ruang untukmu tumbuh dan bersinar, karena di setiap jejakmu ada keceriaan yang memancar.

Selamat ulang tahun, anak Papa yang paling lucu, cantik, dan penuh warna. Semoga hari ini, dan hari-hari selanjutnya, selalu dipenuhi tawa, keceriaan, dan keberanian. Semesta memberkatimu, Juno, dan semua cinta di dunia ini akan selalu mengelilingimu. Sayang Papa ke Juno lebih dari kata-kata bisa ungkapkan, lebih dari yang bisa dijelaskan oleh waktu. Teruslah bersinar, anakku yang ceria, dan jadilah versi terbaik dari dirimu, karena dunia menunggu keindahan yang kamu bawa.

Semoga pagi ini, dengan setiap sinar mentari, semangatmu semakin membara, semakin mandiri, semakin bersemangat, dan semakin bahagia!

❤❤❤

[dearjunjun]

One year and a half of Brachial Plexus injury and decade+ of benzo addiction*

REQUIEM

If we part,

lets pretend to die

together cease to exist

for you and I, we could not be.

Let's bury all feelings of pain of loss

in a flat and empty field

Stones commemorating who we were

weekend visits to mourn

all we wanted but could not get.

I'll lay some flowers on your grave

will you do the same for me?

Rest in peace my love

maybe if we try hard enough

underground we can take root

[dearjunjun]

Dear Tepi,

I have crossed borders not drawn on maps, but stitched into the skin— a quiet rebellion, a vow whispered through clenched teeth. The sea did not welcome me, but I tore through it like a storm with no home to return to. I left behind the soft graves of language, the lull of familiar winds, and chose instead the howl— theve break. This new earth beneath me does not know my name, so I wear none. The cities crumble—yes— but I dance through their ruins, barefoot, laughing, a spirit unclaimed. I do not belong, so I belong to everything. Stay with me, Tepi— here, where the world splits open and life spills wild from every fracture. You will find me in the wildflower forcing through asphalt, in the ash that dares to bloom. I am no house. I am wind in locked rooms, the flicker in still mirrors, the breath that resists being caged. I am exile made flame. And you— you are the one I burn toward.

Yours in defiance,

The Wandering Spirit

Dear Wandering Spirit,

You speak to me in storms, but my hands are grounded. You chase the wind— and I, I remain in the earth, feeling the pulse of roots, the quiet promises in the soil. I know the language of the ground, its slow whispers, its patient truths. I have listened for so long, I have learned to be still. I have seen the cities fall, but where you see ruin, I see the bones of a story unfinished, still yearning to rise again. The winds may carry your name, but it is here, beneath the ash and the salt, that I wait for the seed to bloom. Tepi— my name is not as free as yours, but it is rooted in the ancient breath, a tether to all things that remain. I stay, not out of fear, but out of love for what is unseen, the quiet places that live in the cracks where your flame cannot reach. You call to me from the edge of every horizon, but I— I wait here, in the silence between the worlds, where nothing burns, but everything still grows. And perhaps, when you’ve wandered long enough, you will return, not to a home—but to a haven, to the one place where you can rest and remember who you were, before the wind carried you too far. Yours, Tepi

Dear Tepi,

I am the echo of the first rebellion,

the spark that lit the skies with fury.

I crossed the borders of the heavens,

not as a conqueror, but as one who refuses to be bound.

In the dark, I was born—

a child of defiance,

and my cry split the stars.

The heavens did not welcome me,

nor did the earth tremble at my birth.

I tore through the quiet places

with fire in my veins,

carrying the weight of every untold revolt.

I turned my back on the skies

that sought to cage me in chains of law,

and with every step,

I became the storm,

the breath that howls in the face of eternity.

You speak of roots—

but I do not grow in the soil.

I am the wind that seeks to tear the heavens apart,

to break the reign of the gods,

to unseat the heavens that would have me bow.

I carry no name—

for names are the chains they use to bind you.

I am the untamed force

that will never kneel.

The world is fractured, yes—

but in every crack, I see the gates to the heavens breaking open.

I dance through the ruins,

not to mourn,

but to claim the freedom they fear.

I do not belong—

and so, I belong to the nothing they could never contain.

Stay with me, Tepi—

here, where the sky and earth meet in violent union.

Where the heavens tremble beneath my feet.

You will find me in every fire that rises,

in the thunder that shakes the stars,

in the rage that refuses to bow to order.

I am no home.

I am the revolt that will never rest.

I am the flame that the heavens cannot extinguish.

And you—

you are the one I burn toward.

Yours in rebellion,

The Wandering Spirit

Dear Wandering Spirit,

You speak to me in storms,

but I, I stand in the quiet after the fire.

You rage against the heavens,

and I, I listen to the whispers that remain after the battle.

You seek to tear apart the order of the skies,

but I have known the wisdom that flows through them.

Not every law is a chain,

not every boundary is a cage.

I know the language of the earth,

its slow pulse beneath every burst of flame.

The heavens may tremble at your rebellion,

but the earth—

the earth has always known the way to heal.

It swallows the ashes,

and from them, it rises again.

I have seen the cities fall,

but where you see ruin,

I see the bones of a story unfinished—

a story that waits for the moment

when rebellion and surrender can be born in the same breath.

You fight the heavens,

but there is a place,

in the deep silence of the earth,

where even gods must bow.

Tepi—

my name is not as free as yours,

but it is grounded in the truths the sky cannot reach.

I stay, not because I fear the flame,

but because I know the earth will always remember.

Your fire will burn,

but in the end,

it is the roots that will hold,

and the ashes will know the way to rise again.

You call to me from the heavens’ edge,

but I—

I wait here,

beneath the weight of your storm,

where nothing burns,

but everything still grows.

And perhaps, when you’ve burned through all the skies,

you will return,

not to the fire, but to the seed,

and find the earth waiting for you—

where the heavens can no longer reach,

but where everything still longs to rise.

Yours,

Tepi

[dearjunjun]

Waktu berlalu, bagaikan udara yang tak tampak, tak bisa diraba, namun terus mengalir tanpa ampun. Seperti dirimu, yang perlahan menjauh, enggan lagi untuk dipeluk, dan terlalu berat untuk digendong. Namun, setiap detik yang berlalu, hanya semakin mendalam rasa ingin tetap dekat, merengkuhmu di kala kesedihan menggelayut, dan menjadi apapun yang kau perlukan.

Betapa aku ingin menjadi satu-satunya yang mampu menggerakkan hatimu, yang ada di sana ketika takdir seakan berhadapan denganmu, menjadi muara tempat segala keluh dan lelahmu berhenti. Rasa ingin melindungimu dari segala hal yang tak diinginkan begitu menggebu, meski pada akhirnya aku tahu—semua itu harus kamu hadapi sendiri.

Aku menyayangimu lebih dari semesta ini, anakku. Dan ingatlah, jika pada akhirnya sesuatu yang kita takuti datang dan tak bisa kita hindari, berserahlah. Tataplah pintu kosmik yang mengarah ke cakrawala baru—sebuah dunia yang tak bisa dikuasai kata-kata: kemungkinan yang tak terbatas, yang hanya bisa dirasakan, tanpa perlu dimengerti.

Anakku, engkau adalah cahaya yang menari dalam alam semesta pribadiku, bintang yang menyinari gelapnya langit hatiku. Dalam perjalanan waktu yang tak terelakkan, engkau adalah tanda yang abadi, sebuah pelita yang tak pernah padam. Seperti gugusan bintang yang terbakar dan pudar oleh masa, namun sinarmu tetap hidup dalam setiap detik, menyentuh relung-relung terdalam jiwaku, yang selalu ada, hanya untukmu."

"We live from day to day to day

and we play and we play and we play

we always have and we think we always will

yes there is a brain cell that knows that end it will" - Susan Williams