3.08

Ini tulisan waktu gue nggak bisa tidur, pacar gue lagi jauh di pulau yang berbeda, dan galau beraaattt.

3:08 Hour of the LAZY 

My eyelids are so heavy. My eyelids feel like rusted vertical rolling door. This is the age of my life when I’m tired, tired of working, tired of doing, tired of living, tired of being tired. 

I’ve picked up the last crumbs of my existence, in the form of dried roasted corn chips in the jar on my desk. The jar of life. It’s empty now, empty of will, of consciousness, of corn chips. The dead eyes watching me seem void, eyes of people in the photos, beside my monitor, beside me. 

It’s time to move on, but where? Where does life take me? To see the love of my life? To see my death? To my rise to fame and fortune? Or to my fall, deep and plunging into the depth of despair? 

I don’t care. I just keep walking on the keyboard with my fingers, not my feet. Keep looking at the monitor with matchsticks holding my eyelids up. Drifting into a vague fog of nothingness.