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Jul 2016
I remember when I saw you on top of the hill; hand in your heart, mouth curved into a crescent-shaped smile.
You looked surprisingly placid for a boy whose mind was like an exploding star.

You couldn't have been more than south of fourteen,
and yet you had the imagination like Verne in revolt;
laughs that akin to an uproar industrial machinery;
and nerves of steel.

And together, you and I were like loose cannons of catastrophic ideas and eclectic dream of travelling around the world in eighty days.

You were my best friend; my confidant,
you were the reason why life was like a waltz to me.

But better yet,
you were my safe haven.

You were my home.
Diandra Pratama
Written by
Diandra Pratama  29/F/Jakarta
(29/F/Jakarta)   
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