THE UGLY GREY SKY

Eyang, Om, dan Sepupu.

Why does it rain every time, the times that you go? It’s the only time I detest this city’s beautiful grey sky. I wouldn’t mind being locked up in that sterile room for longer, breathing in the medicine odour. Laughing at the Rubik’s Cube, watching movies on the hallway floor, smoking outside the hospital doors – it wasn’t bad at all. But instead of staying, you left. And the rain would always soak my shirt, time and time again.

I miss you, guys. I knew I would, but not this much.