
Forgotten Supernova by Tathya S is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at forgottensupernova.tumblr.com.
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Layaknya lingkaran, mungkin itu adalah sebutan yang paling tepat untuk menyebut kamu dan aku. Tidak ada lagi kita.
Kita terus menyembir dan meraba-raba apa yang diinginkan dan dibutuhkan, sayangnya kesemuanya itu tak berujung pada satu kesimpulan yang memunculkan kata sepakat.
Lama sudah aku menunggu untuk kamu ucapkan kata kita.
Kalau saja kita, oh maaf, aku dan kamu maksudku, mengikuti kejuaraan tarik tambang, mungkin kamu dan aku akan menjadi juara satu. Alih-alih bermain layangan yang tahu kapan untuk membiarkan ia terbang tinggi, kamu malah menarik dan mengulur sesuka hati kamu. Seakan-akan setelah kamu berkutat dengan kesibukanmu, kamu baru menyadari eksistensiku sebagai subyek afeksi kamu.
Cih.
Tapi toh kubiarkan saja dirimu membiarkanku terombang-ambing layaknya ikan yang keracunan di antara galonan minyak yang tersebar di lautan akibat ulah bodoh manusia bejat tak bertanggungjawab.
*
“Ini yang kumaksud.” Kudengar ia berkata, aku melihatnya menggerai rambutnya. Di antara semua wanita yang kukencani, sepertinya hanya kamu yang paling aku tak mengerti. Lalu kamu mendekatiku, dengan ekspresi wajah setengah kesal, kamu merenggut. Aku tahu kamu mengira diri kamu sebagai ahli poker face, but you’re not, darling. You can’t hide anything from me.
Terlihat seorang pria menatap kosong melalui kaca jendela, ia menyandarkan tangan kirinya pada kaca jendela tersebut. Siluet yang indah. Jelas pikirannya tidak berada di sini, mata yang jarang terlihat sedih itu kini seakan seperti meminta pertolongan.

Lebatnya air hujan memburamkan pandangannya untuk melihat apa yang terjadi di luar sana, begitupun sebaliknya. Ia hanya melihat sosok orang-orang di luar sana yang tengah bergegas berlari kecil ke halte terdekat. Ia menyisip anggur putih yang berada di tangan kanannya, ia menggunakan jari tengah dan jari manisnya untuk memegang gelas tersebut. Pipinya bereaksi ketika ia menelan anggur putih itu, rahangnya yang sempurna dan tulang pipinya yang tinggi semakin menegaskan keangkuhan yang dipancarkan wajah pria itu. Struktur wajahnya yang tajam, dinaungi alis yang tegas, dan letak mata yang cenderung cekung menyembunyikan tatapan sedihnya. Rasa-rasanya tidak mungkin wajah seangkuh itu memancarkan kesedihan. Sesekali merenung, lain kali matanya mengikuti titik-titik hujan di jendela yang dengan cepat turun. Lirikan dan cengirannya yang terkesan sinis, meskipun ia tidak bermaksud sinis, membuat pria itu disegani bahkan oleh teman-temannya. Bila ia sedang beradu argumen, tatapannya seakan kejam, berdarah dingin, tanpa ampun. Tak sedikitpun senyum akan tergurat di wajah itu.
At first I thought ”eyes being the window of the soul” was just a saying, but then you came along. Sure, you wear glasses, but that haunting look, you have that. Difference is, her eyes represent her sufferings, I think, while yours has that allure of mysteriousness. That deep, intense stare. The way you gaze around like you’re looking at everybody when you’re really just thinking about something else; your past? Is it a dark one? 100 guesses emerge as I study your face, what is it that you’re hiding?
A cigarette on your left hand, while your right hand softly strokes your hair, making it more messier. And sexier. God, the way you don’t care about what others think, the way you don’t even give time to shave today; leaving that shadowy black tiny spots, the way that you don’t give a damn about fashion, the way every sounds and conversations don’t seem to bother you; you’re in your own comfort zone, no one can disturb unless you permit them to.
Plain black polo shirt, jeans that you purposely teared it up here and there, a white sneakers. That’s it. You sit there, furrowing your eyebrows because you’re trying hard to decipher the book that you read. And that, is that a tattoo? On your neck? I can only spot a bit, but I’m sure it’s a tattoo. Makes me wonder what kind of tattoo you’ve got underneath the polo shirt.
You glance at that girl who pretends to concentrate on her reading when in fact she’s been eyeing you since she arrived. But then you glance away at other passerbys. Looking at them so ambiguously, almost as if you don’t really pay attention to them, you’re busy with the thoughts in your head, provoked by the book you read. Your forehead still wrinkles. And then you close your eyes, you’re massaging them. You put your glasses on the table, change your sitting position.

You keep reading your book while drinking your capuccino or something, how the hell should I know. Is it me or you’re putting on a show?
I’m choking. My heart is experiencing an anomaly. Your eyes are fixating on mine now. Is that a smile? Or you doing in on purpose? Please don’t. Please look away so I can look at you as long as I want. No name, no shaking hands, no smiling at each other. Be my mysterious dark stranger; a hope that a guy like you, the exact guy I often imagine, exists. Can you read mind? Because you seem to do exactly what I want you to do.
You left the cafe, and as you’re sure that I’m looking your tall figure, you slip a smirk. You left me with a tempting smirk.
A stranger’s smirk.
Millionaire say, “Got a big shot deal and thrown it all away,”
But I’m not too sure how I’m supposed to feel or what I’m supposed to say
But I’m not, not sure, not too sure how it feels to handle every day
And I miss you love
Ia menggosok-gosok kaca restoran mewah dengan baju dekilnya, meletakkan kedua tangannya di antara mata dan kaca sedemikian rupa hingga menyerupai teropong. Melihat ke dalam dengan antusias, tanpa rasa iri sedikitpun, senyumnya kian lebar mengamati orang-orang yang tampaknya begitu nyaman makan di dalam restoran tersebut.
Ada bapak, ibu, dan ketiga anak remajanya yang saling bercerita sambil sesekali tertawa. Mereka semua memegang ponsel di tangan kiri dan garpu di tangan kanan. Ikan itu sepertinya enak, pikirnya sembari menelan ludahnya. Mereka sepertinya keluarga yang hangat.
Matanya kemudian beralih pada meja di sebelah kiri keluarga tersebut, sepasang muda-mudi sedang bercakap-cakap dengan antusias. Di sebelah kiri mereka duduk seorang bapak yang gemuk tengah menyantap daging dengan tangan yang sama gemuknya.
Terdengar langkah-langkah orang, obrolan mereka yang saling bertumpang tindih, ia memperhatikan dari atas hingga bawah penampilan para pengunjung yang hendak memasuki tempat makan mewah itu. Rambut para wanitanya tertata rapi dan sepertinya halus, dengan pernak-pernik aksesori yang menghiasi tubuh mereka, gaun selutut yang membalut tubuh mereka, hak tinggi melengkapi penampilan. Pun para pria tak kalah modis.
Ia kembali memfokuskan matanya pada interior restoran yang dipenuhi dengan tanaman rambat pada dinding, pot bunga kecil dengan berbagai macam bunga menggantung di langit-langit dan juga diletakkan di meja, kayu pipih sepanjang meja yang menggantung di tengah meja dan lilin-lilin kecil beraneka warna di atas kayu pipih itu. Lagu jazz yang samar terdengar. Bangku rotan yang nyaman, taplak batik yang berbeda di tiap meja. Senyumnya semakin lebar, pemandangan dan suasana nyaman. Ia ingin sekali menjadi seperti mereka. Ia merindukan kenyamanan. Ia tidak pernah merasakan kenyamanan seperti itu seumur hidupnya, meskipun ia baru berusia 12 tahun dan dari kecil telah hidup di jalanan, tapi tidak pernah ia iri. Ia senang melihat oranglain senang.
*
Make room for the pray cause I’m coming in with what I wanna say
But it’s gonna hurt and I love the pain, a breeding ground for hate
But I’m not, not sure, not too sure how it feels to handle everyday
Like the one that just passed in the crowds of all the people

Endormie, cheveux mouillés, bras repliés
Retrouvée fenêtre ouverte
L’air, par la fenêtre
Pour que l’Amour me quitteEn dormant j’ai rêvé des milles lianes
Pagayé, pagayé
Pour que l’Amour me quitteRéveillée, la lumière pâle des murs de l’hôpital
Trop aimer c’est pas normal
Un coeur si mal, accroché, décrochéPour que l’Amour me quitte
Amour
“I think we should break up.”
“I think so, too. ‘Variety is the spice of life’ they say, what a sweet lie.”
“Apparently it can’t be applied in relationship.”
“Maybe it can. Just not in ours.”
“Maybe. But it would be even more boring if we have the same interest.”
“I guess. So…, friends?”
“Nah. You’ll always have a special place in my heart.”
“That’s funny because I can’t picture you as a friend either. But I’m fine picturing you with another man, as long as you’re happy.”
“You’re more than a friend to me. More than a boyfriend, I don’t what to call you.”
“A loyal companion, perhaps? That’s what you are to me.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Come to think of it…, how about a loyal—and maybe occasionally, a lusty companion?”
“I’d like that.”
It’s moving. Constant pace, intense move, persistent. It beats even faster.
This is not right. He thinks, looking at a beautiful face on his lap. So pale, cold, out of life, yet elegant. Eyes staring at the ceiling. I scared you, didn’t I? Your beautiful mouth, you were about to scream for help, weren’t you?
Consciousness erodes. He’s paralyzed. He can hear his own thoughts in his own mind. Voices, different voices and opinions in one head, desperately trying to find their way to get out and shout their lungs out.
Words, these powerful repressed words. Secretly have been hiding for years, and now they demand to get out and spread the news. They spin and dance out of control. I’m not even here, he keeps saying to himself. I’m physically here, but spiritually elsewhere. Have always been that way.
Do you know how you feel like you’re not fully there? I can see myself kneeling at my loved one’s body, yet I know it IS me who’s kneeling and holding her head.
A detached soul in a numb body in repressed mind.
There, holding and looking at you, my love.
Here, watching me holding and looking at you, my love.
And the sound, the eerie, cynical, and bitter voices are my true loyal companion. Telling me what to do. Moving my hands. Controlling my body.
If you can’t have her, then no one else can. They said I must have you, you must be mine. All mine. And they were right. Now you’re mine, completely mine. All I have to do is to unite with your ethereal spirit. Hold you forever and always.

A perfected catharsis.
Sweet sinful taste of bitterness, your voice weakens my heart, your name stuck in memory.
O bitter innocent feel of sweetness, the memories and moments are forever cherished.
Do I detect a pure confession in between the written and said words from your heart and mind? The air is filled with a love affair, piling and ruling the atmosphere.
Dust and ashes combined, glitter and stars above, scents and fresh and moist air around, oh humble, oh love, take me.
There you are. Here I am. My hands in yours and yours in mine.
Your puzzled eyes and weary smile masquerading the pain within, unspoken heartache of past love.
Do you see me?
Do I make you feel alive?
Take me.

Waited and hoped. Dreamt and imagined. One single moment of bittersweet irony. Of simple love and lust, flowing thoughts and words in my ears, you’re here, yet you’re there.
Tiny hands of fate, do you hear my plead?