flying away (shabu city chronicles part 1)

as i find my steps along a dark corridor, a warm smile glistened out from the darkness.

the sound of the mild music in the background made me glide along the thin scent that romanced the air.

suddenly, a figure slowly appeared, held my hand by surprise and led me inside a narrow nest, where thin walls separate me from the rest who bravely ventured towards the same uncertain voyage.

the figure gave me a minute to take off all my hesitations while i, on the other hand, was justifying all my excuses.

as i stripped off all my pretenses, i realized, it was easier for a stranger like me to step into it. perhaps because i have nothing to chain against this soil, not even my soul.

when the figure came in, i lied against my back, stretch my arms as if surrendering myself to fate-- or perhaps it was my own volition.

then warm force fell on me, i almost moan. the pressure just hit the right spots, pushing the hollowness away, as if they already knew each other long ago; as if it understood where it really hurts.

the touch did not stop me from imagining a familiar loneliness; a figure quite vulnerable in such place.no wonder how apathy fills these rooms every night, everyone are still deemed to be defenseless.

then suddenly, words struck out of nowhere until i caught myself getting acquainted with rare innocence and compliments. never thought such could also be commodifed. thinking if its the very necessity we pay for from the start or just another passing fad.

indeed, its hard to lie when you directly look at someone--- even in the dark.

ironically, it magnifies the truth that you keep on avoiding. the same face you kept on denying. but as i naive as it may sound, you will just then realized, it was just simply you that you are looking at.

so i closed my eyes and tried conjuring the characters from the hundred stories i have encountered and even the minute sound behind the walls i've heard.

one by one they came to life, not in front but deep inside of me. and in an instant, i became the character of someone else's story. i began to think like them, behave like them, and crave like anybody else. perhaps, this was the meaning of being human that i have always missed, after all.

suddenly, i felt my arms gently being stretched away from stiffness. then heard a voice to take the grip and so i obeyed. but in my surprise, it was not a wrist that i have expected, rather i caught my hands tangled in between irresistible warmth. then more images appeared. more than i ever thought it would be.

questions whimsically flew in and out of my senses. i was already thinking of a warm bath, as cliche as it may sound. but perhaps, all i really was that night, was just a confuse amateur in this frame, that allowed the tide to completely engulf him.

when the moon revolt to rest, i took the courage to ask the figure's name. but instead of hearing a name, i heard a gentle familiar chirp, the ones that usually welcomes the day as a response.

then behind the thin floating curtain, i saw a small and innocent weaver standing and making its last blank glimpse at me before flying away again, like it usually does.