The melody plays.
Transporting my mind to memories and vast emotions.
Singing the words I know all too well.

Lost in a trance,
My hips start to sway.
Every lyric touching my core,
Pushing out every emotion held in.

Feeling the love of country,
The hate from metal and rock,
Sadness of depressive alternative,
And,
Happiness of every favorite song played.

Bars and choruses played in perfect harmony,
Bass and snare in sync.
Theses are all happening at once.
A mini party of your own accord.

Intensely, I traced his steps until he met
my eyes, the only gaze I welcome
with a reflection
of light, grey and hue of
excruciating colors—to serve
his mightiness in the forlorn night—
through the fields and the city,
everyone is following him.

Their mouth agape in the sight of
his face peering at his brides—in weeping, in despair, in all forms of wrath—hope and madness.

The moon creeps in the black of the night—with his voice lulling as a whisper, faint like a finger softly lingering its hands on the piano—
through the perilous scheme of the midnight dawn.

He then wept with his brides and kneeled down in front of me.
His linen gown and fur coat covering his silver body and his eyes shriek with only a weeping melody.

He faced me and my heart sank at the sight of him,
“My bride, how come you are facing such a horrible nightmare?”

He said and held my hand,

“Artemia, I am broken by the man whom I love so dearly. I faced death, inferiority, dreamless sleep, and my heart crawled out of my body,”

“Darling, you are a bride of the moon and a man will only love you if they get blinded by the light, and such us, we are the daughters of the night. A man who is in love with the moon, is out there waiting for you.”

He then walked away, faced another midnight with his bride gleaming with hope in the forlorn night, with the light, grey and hue of excruciating colors.

There, I saw how he turns into the god of the night.

My mouth widened its passage to yawn out the drowsiness,
in my dizzy mind and endless tickling of my eyes closing—
while I still fight for my consciousness to live,
while she was out there playing fire with the rain.

Where the time goes back and she meets me from the tree of souls,
from her tears there comes a glimpse of tomorrow, and from her black silky hair,
there comes a defying gravity
of sleep and reality.

I once entered a door of hope—where the dead sleeps and live
from heavenly green pastures,
trees alive and birds whistling
a great melody of harps
and angels' tune,
there I saw her—and the time stops,
the bell rang, the place filled with the tricky lights,
from the tree of souls,
there is one key that holds the glimpses of yesterday and tomorrow.

I yawned out the momentum of my blissful sleep
waking up from a deep heavy dream,
the clock ticked, the trees danced, the winds hustled, and
I danced on the curtains of life.
I kept a straight face and distanced myself
from the harmony it brings,
my body sways and my voice sang
a melody with an unfamiliar tune,
my heart swelled and I saw her.

She slowly stride her feet and welcomed me her arms, while I let out the tears
and cry crystal diamonds, wiped it with her swollen hands—
she let out a laugh I am longing to hear,
“It will be over, I promise.”

With heavy breaths and lonely hiccups
empty cups
and busy filled streets
of few steps walking
not minding the world's sharp eyes.

Sometimes,
with a free bargain in one's shoulder
to carry on with the clouds and the sunny day while
the sun smiles at you.

Sometimes,
it is with the rain that gives a heavy sack filled with empty bargains, once,
at the vile winter
while spring day comes for a long time.

Sometimes,
it is without a sound
that one's self creates a melody and a song
exposed to the world's naked eyes
and it is with the heavy breaths that you can continue,
sometimes.