When the outskirts met the metropolis
I wore my favorite old ruffled dress,
As I walk the path through the woods, down the small stream.
Heading to the field of my favorite flowers and our favorite place.
As the warm breeze of Sunday afternoon bliss sways my hair,
Sending pomegranate scent through the air.
I lay on the bed of daisies and soft lavenders.
And stare at the blue ocean sky slowly closing my eyes for a while.
Reminiscing the little memories I have with you.
Imagining you are still here beside me.

How your brown eyes glistened as the corners of your mouth
rose for a warm smile.
The way your hard raw denims creates a malapropos effect on
this place, but complements my soft flowy dresses.
How you sing to me your favorite songs, strumming through your brown guitar sticker-ed with a symbol of a place where you once belonged.
I haven't told you how melodic your voice was.
How I wish, I could hear that again.
And how I wish, I could see you again.

I hope you are enjoying the city, my love.
You've been to different places and I know your heart
will always longs for the metropolis.
But if you will ever miss the woods and fields, I'm still here,
waiting for you on the outskirts where we first met.

I met you on the 14th of May.
7 minutes until my wristwatch strikes 14 too.
I spent exactly 4 minutes and 23 seconds watching you talk about the things you love; the things that made me love you.

21 steps from the stairs,
I silently thanked my Aunt for asking me to spend the afternoon downstairs.
'Cause if she didn't, I might never met you.

2,995 I counted your followers.
Add me, and count it again.
16 hours since I found you and as well,
16 hours since you finally decided I was worth to know.

I sent you 11 songs. Songs that I love, songs that keeping me sane.
That was approximately 44 minutes and 38 seconds if you'll listen to all of it in just one sitting.

Counting as the time passes by, 1 beep after a minute of 3, you replied with an 8 letter words, read as; "Thank you."

And since then, it became a habit of me.
I learned to love the art of counting.
Counting seconds, minutes and hours.
I can't just stay still knowing how far, Far East was from North West.

Until after the 28th, you finally decided to leave.
I then remember, I spent 28 days wondering how can a certain person make me feel this way.
28 days, 672 hours, 40, 320 minutes and 2, 419, 200 seconds. I spent those time wishing it will last longer. Wishing you will stay longer.

But it didn't. You didn't. That was it.
You haven't even stayed for even a month.

Should I continue counting?
Even you already left?
If then, until when?
When are you coming back then?

Maybe you are thinking that I love numbers?
Well, no. It's you that I love.