batu/rock
as i walk by the desert, my legs go numb every time i take an inch of a small step. the numbness is different as if the fatigue makes my muscles get stronger instead. the more fatigue particle goes into the muscle, the stronger and more charged it becomes. the sand particle is heavy, seems like a luggage scale would even notice it. the color is dark yet soothing. i am not sure what to name them. no doubt that even an RGB wheel would be not comprehensive enough to recognize them. it is odorless, but every time i inhale, a sharp pepper-like note stabs my inner nasal. each time i try on taking a step, the sand particle feels like resisting my upper ward leg motion.
everything is barely visible. the moon is shy tonight, or more like it’s always acting like that. what if the moon is always been shy this entire time, so then we have what we call ‘night’. maybe if someone out there could make the moon brave far up there, there will be no night at all. the whole day would be always sunny.
or maybe the moon is the sun. it is a sad sun that is been going through its daily sad, blank-nothingness phase. i wonder what color this sand will be if the moon stops being shy. what if the entity of its color will still not be recognizable after the sunray passes them through. how can we always trust the sun ray, it is such a very bold and taken-as-granted comfort stance. but then i realize that i should have been concerned about this formless rock in my hand instead. it gets heavier every time i try to forget it. i cannot just let this rock drop from my hand to the sand. it’s like being cursed, and sealed into my hands. it does not feel hurt at all on my hand skin. but every time i forget it, it makes my breathing slightly harder. at some point, it goes too hard that i am forced to not forget about it. it commands me to remember every time my pain threshold goes downhill. when i am not ignoring, the pain and the suffocation stop. but then the act of seeing directly to the rock itself is another kind of subtle intimidation. needs to pick either to receive, or to give.
if only i could stand in-between, where words and reality are still getting passed by conjunctions. a spatial plane of grays; beautiful grays that transform their whole saturations into waves of dopamine, and squirt them rapidly into our souls.
