(best read with Explosions In The Sky's Our Last Day As Children on repeat)

We all have our own worlds to save. For me I have my world, the one that used to have disco balls as stars and icecream sunshines. The one that used to be lush with words and clouds, the one that reverberated with giggles and lullabies. The one that grows cold in the sun and hot and bothered when suppressed. The one in which a stream of tears used to flow through, revitalising the earth after rain. What happened to it? I left it to save your world, to shake your skies with laughters, contemplating silences and smiles. And then a new 'now' struck my own; depriving it of air. Now here I am trying to save it with a fistful of dead leaves and plasticine; kites whose strings labyrinthed my wrist. Here I am like water, torn between two Earths. Here I am trying to save it with hope. And there you are, with your five-minutes glance; your condescending air trying to tell me "why ever did you leave it for me, I didn't need help, as it is."

We all have our own worlds to save.

Do you not want to be me? I score my examinations perfectly well, I finish my assignments on time, I socialize and I thrive with or without pressure. Do you not want to be me? I am capable, I have potential, I am decent-looking, I can speak very well and I make significant first impressions. Do you not want to be me? I am creative, I am educated, I am amusing, I am interesting, I am understanding and I am relatively approachable.

No, you do not want to be me. I am not coherent, I am not confident, I am not charismatic. My perspective is rather stale, my stories are stagnant and overtold. My dreams are nothing but heavy chains pulling me down. My life is but a straight line on a straight road going straight to known ends, known nothings.

Everything was the normal grey everything should be. It was, after all, winter. The sky was grey, smiles were grey, cold and harsh. Determined souls braved the chill just for something else to do instead of squatting in front of the heater. We walked aimlessly, but everything seemed familiar, like we've been there before. So we went home, to the heater, to the stove, to the tv, and somehow an unease arrived gently on our hearts. The lights dimmed, the night came out with stars and fantasy creatures like draculas, monsters and unicorns. A silence swept past us. We closed the windows quietly, gingerly, shivering and looking at each other. We were both frightened, but only a little. We covered our icy feet with the blanket and waited until tomorrow when hopefully the sun would come out. Until then, we would always be a little frightened.

Telat; telah terlewat.

Sepantas ia datang, dengan kadar itu juga ia pergi, bersama lamunan siang sang pemuisi. Sang pemuisi bingung, nyanyiannya terhenti. Mentari masih merah dan berkilau, ternyata masih berdarah setelah dihiris-hiris hujan tengah hari. Mungkin telah hampir masanya. Sang pemuisi pun menyimpan seruling kayu yang sudah patah itu ke dalam kocek seluarnya. Dia mendongak ke langit, kemudian tersenyum. Awan seolah olah berbisik; masa telah tiba, untuk pulang. Dia mengangguk setuju.