Rubah Beternak

I used to find you underneath the gentle moonlight. Soft smile on your lips as you greeted my lowly appearance. I used to find you behind the bars of a book, diligently reading every line like the most pious reader. I used to find you on nights when I was afraid. Or probably some nights after that one. And you would warp me with your warmth, and suddenly everything was fine. Suddenly, there was nothing to worry about. Now, I could only find you in my dreams. Our divider was no longer a book nor a table where you used to let me sit behind. But an actual distance, actual prohibition. As if meeting you was the most sinful act I could ever commit. But I still meet you anyway. In my daydream, in prayers that I send to God for you. I still meet you every time I pass an ice cream truck where I used to buy ice cream for you. I still meet you when I go through bookstores and find books you used to read for me. I still meet you in the fragments of our memories together. Desperately cling...

I have read a lot of stories about having butterflies in your stomach; from the literal one, which is terrifying , and to the metaphor one that has a really different tone to them. They said it is a nauseous feeling that you got when you are around someone you have feelings for. In my whole life, such a strong feeling has never occurred to me. The best similar situation I’ve ever been into was feeling like my stomach is made up of lava and is ready to erupt some vomit after I failed a really important task assigned by my boss. It’s more of a flight or fight situation because I actually feel like I am going to die right there. And I am sure that’s not how having ‘butterflies in your stomach’ feels like.   25 years into my life, a caterpillar finally hatched out of its shell . It was exactly when you came into my office room and introduce yourself. We were similar in age compared to the other officer in our office, and we grew closer that way . You were new in town, and I told ...