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It’s 3 am. 15 February and I am still waiting for him to come. Sitting in the veranda, sipping my watery cafe au lait. I don’t know how many ice cubes I’ve added to raise the water level. The sky’s dark and the wind’s cold, a typical rain season nights. The ground is moist and so is my eyes.

He’s not gonna come again.

I keep telling myself, but I just can’t stand the feeling. What if he comes when I am sleeping inside and he’s locked outside? I can already see him standing in front of my room, a bucket of flower he holds close to his chest ever so gently, his suit well pressed, his hair styled, looking like he’s ready to carry me up the aisle and dress my finger with a gold ring. My heart just can’t stand it. Even though, I knew he’ll never come.

On the verge of crying, I keep waiting for him. My cafe au lait even more watery than before. I decided not to drink it anymore. It was supposed to keep me awake, but what can a cafe au lait-flavored water in 3 am. actually do?

Too bad, huh. Seems like dressing in his favorite clothes is now a waste.

I give my set of clothes a good stare. A pastel yellow summer dress and a pair of skin-colored leggings. My heart bleeds a little, just like how the chocolate sauce leaking slowly from a choco lava cake. Little by little, my vision is blurring. Fuck these tiny rivulets of bodily liquid. Fuck it. I am not crying, damn. I am not crying, I am just… letting my sadness flows out of my body. But, it seems like I can’t stop it now. Why did I recall my memories with him? Why did I recall him saying I looked pretty in this dress 6 years ago at the beach? Why did I recall him smiling and complained that he didn’t want to let other people see my ‘beautiful’ legs so I should wear stockings? Why? Why?

It’s 3 in the morning and here I am sobbing. Letting my sadness flow out. No. This isn’t sadness, is it? This is emptiness. But then, why am I crying? I am empty, just like an inhabited home, so there’s nothing to flow out, right? Then why am I crying?

Somehow, I feel dizzy now and my hands are shaking. Ah… why is it shaking? As I held my hands, my vision stated to blur. I see. The medicine is working. Therefore, I should just close my eyes, shouldn’t I? Or should I not? I know nothing anymore. My cheeks still feels wet and my eyes swollen. As I get weaker and weaker, my eyelids close. Just like the curtain slowly closing in the end of an opera show. “Too bad the plot was sad and the main character’s short-lived”, said the spectator while leaving the theater, going back to his own individual life with his own comfy and warm family. Not looking back once. He’s the only spectator who stayed til the end. Considering how empty the theater was when the show only just started, it’s no wonder.

“It wasn’t worth the pay,” said the spectator, “I am never going back”.