野餐

從容的野餐

變成大型派對

像是廟會

但少了些虔誠

更像是那種集體催眠的演講

不過多張毯子

一年就這麼用一次

或許我們該有個主題

這樣我們才是我們

或許是時候該下廚

這樣大家才能看到我賢慧的一面

或許該帶點酒

這樣當那個討厭的人說話時，我才能冷靜

或許我不該去

或許我根本就討厭野餐

The end of a good time.

He is leaving, officially. I knew this was going to happen, we knew, but why do I still hate to admit the fact that he is leaving?

 He's gone - not just him, but also a part of me. The better version of me, the happier version of me. If not now, all that kind of me will die soon, with some last memories to consume.

 Someday he will update his Facebook or Twitter - I hope he will - and I will leave some comments about it. He probably will like it and ask me how I'm doing, then I will say I'm fine, how about you. We will just pretend nothing has changed but really, everything changed.

I wanna yell out the pain of loss, but instead I let it out through words, cause I know both ways will lead to tears, and neither will bring back the summertime, which really hurts like a motherfucker. I would like to turn the sorrow into words, turn his goodness and kindness into words, turn our intimacy into words... and wish one day words can be turned into him staring at my face, rolling his eyes every two seconds. Man, I wish.