Personal – Marcella Purnama – Part 32

Personal

Page 32

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She sat there in front of me, a latte on the side. She didn’t want to look me in the eyes.

She sipped her coffee quietly, looking outside the window. Something was troubling her mind, I could see that. She looked around, to the left, and to the right, and suddenly, her face changed. She remembered something, something unpleasant, I suppose.

And she wiped a tear under her right eye.

She kept on looking out of the window, deep in thought, and was surprised when the waitress brought her ordered sandwich to the table.

She forced a smile, and said an inaudible thank you. She began to eat her sandwich, quietly, still with a sad look, a downcast eye, and a deep thought.

What was it?

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Two years ago, I made this poem to commemorate a girl who died on a car crash, way before her untimely death. Somehow, I remembered it today. Dedicated to all to you who have lost somebody.

The pastor comes and done is done
The only child, yes, the girl is
and through the cries, weeps, tears and moans
The girl murmurs, “forget-me-not”

Then Death comes and asks her hand
“No,” she says, “I’m not done yet”
Death nods but says no words
“forget-me-not, I want them to do”
and Death is gone,
is found no more

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Even with my better-than-average intake of veggies and fruits and decent cooking, I feel defeated. Deflated. Gone are those ambitions to become a better cook as I become independent. Now I’m slightly worried of the well-being of my future husband. I really hope he can cook.

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