Pitiful Clover

Bandung, 28 October 2011

It was ten months ago that I had basically challenged Hani to a relationship, and I could honestly say I had not regretted a moment.

I smiled at the thought, shifting beneath the blankets, but carefully. I loved this time of the morning, when Hani was peaceful and lax: calm in the way only a warrior could be once battle was done, and I was not about to disturb it for the world. I was the kind of girl who used to lie in until duty or decorum insisted I opened my eyes and faced the world. Hani didn't ask for anything different, but he inspired me to face the early morning sunlight, if only for the reward that awaited.

Perhaps it was shallow, but I had always paid more attention to physical appearance than the person captured within their shell of skin and bone, at least at first. Maybe that's why my previous relationships failed. I had never taken the time to know the soul within.

Hani was another matter. Most people looked at him and saw a broken child who had become a man the world should respect: sharply intelligent and perfectly trained to use both his body and his mind as a weapon, but I knew better. Hani was much more than that, like a mountain hiding precious ore at his heart, there was deep compassion and lasting loyalty, all married together with the kind of mind that made sure such attributes were carefully applied. He did not give his friendship easily, but once it was earned, it was almost impossible to lose. The world could be against you, and Hani would still be standing at your side, calling everyone out on their bullshit. That’s what made an understandable itself within Luthfi, Della and Bunga.

Still, as much as I admired and loved the person Hani was inside, the body that surrounded all that still caught my attention.

I moved his hand, tucking a stray tendril of messy hair behind. It was loose from our fun the night before, and I would probably bitch about having a difficulties with my ass especially for sit, but I loved the message it sent the world. Not one of ownership or possession, but something of life and intensity.

Hani's past was full of good intentions and the heartfelt tragedies that often followed. Sometimes, I had sat on next to him, watching Hani shake and bleed, rage and curse, and wondered how anyone could survive it. Yet all that had turned him into this: perfection at my side. After all the hardship, Hani had emerged growing into himself and reaching his full potential. He had not unfurled like a flower, but matured, like an oak that would withstand centuries: there was nothing temporary or transient about Cubung Hanito, and after the switching vagaries of so many others in his bed, I could only marvel at Hani's constancy.

As if to reassure myself that all this was not a dream, I moved his fingers lightly down Hani's wrist, feeling the scratch of the past scars, before trailing onwards to his throat. A steady beat throbbed against my fingertips, and I lingered there for a moment before tracing the curve of Hani's shoulder. It was a reminder of the simple fact that some parts of Hani, both his body and mind, were about struggle and frustration of relief : immovable. It amazed me, sometimes, how the most mundane parts of Hani's body could make my stomach curl in pleasure and my heart pause in thanks. It’s the same faith, the same invitation to end this silly life—but yet we both survived and met, and fallen in love. With other lovers, I appreciated the obvious and no more. Yet here I was, completely the same pattern with Hani all this time.

A deeper breath swelled the cage harbouring Hani's life. His existence was a bird, trapped behind bars of bone, yet I knew how loud it sang. I only had to see Hani's smile, awkward and strange, rare still, but more common than mine.

Looking up, I quickly checked Hani's face, searching for any signs of wakefulness. Dark lashes still hid those eyes from sight, and his expression was tranquil and serene. His stomach was a hard, strong plane, twitching at my touch. I skirted lightly around Hani's morning erection, promising myself I would have his taste of that later, when Hani was fully awake to enjoy it. Instead I moved around, stroking my hand over the curve of Hani's backside and down his thighs.

All the other things I had termed as “love” paled in comparison to what Hani inspired in me. Sometimes it was almost impossible to breathe around the swell of my heart. In the right frame of mind, my dependence on another was almost embarrassing, but still I knew I would not trade it for anything in the world. Independence was a lonely road to walk, and in Hani, I had found understanding. In Hani, I had found someone who knew that partnership meant two people working together, rather than one consuming the life of another.

'Jam berapa ini'

The words scattered my thoughts, and I lifted my head to see a thin line beneath Hani's lashes. That voice was husky from sleep, the kind that made “Good morning” sound like an invitation to bed, and an appreciative smile curled my lips.

'Hani, pahamu berat' I murmured, nudging at Hani's nose with my own and pressing a soft kiss to the bow of Hani's mouth as Hani allowed my hand to continue its adoring exploration, relishing Hani's soft hum of waking pleasure. 'Telat bangunnya, sejam lalu aku pake tanganmu buat ‘cumming’'

Hani snorted, and there was a hint of a growl behind that laugh. 'Kok ga bangunin sih!'

Hani pinched my backside, making another, more dangerous snarl rumble forward. 'Beauty's in the eye of the beholder,' I reminded in a murmur. ‘Jangan kesorean, jalanan padet, kalo munyer-munyer di kasur aja ga bakal bisa ke Maribaya' And he rolled on top of me, pinning me effectively to the bed and nipping at my pulse.

'Mandi?'

'Iya.'

Bandung, 28 October 2011

It was ten months ago that I had basically challenged Hani to a relationship, and I could honestly say I had not regretted a moment.

I smiled at the thought, shifting beneath the blankets, but carefully. I loved this time of the morning, when Hani was peaceful and lax: calm in the way only a warrior could be once battle was done, and I was not about to disturb it for the world. I was the kind of girl who used to lie in until duty or decorum insisted I opened my eyes and faced the world. Hani didn't ask for anything different, but he inspired me to face the early morning sunlight, if only for the reward that awaited.

Perhaps it was shallow, but I had always paid more attention to physical appearance than the person captured within their shell of skin and bone, at least at first. Maybe that's why my previous relationships failed. I had never taken the time to know the soul within.

Hani was another matter. Most people looked at him and saw a broken child who had become a man the world should respect: sharply intelligent and perfectly trained to use both his body and his mind as a weapon, but I knew better. Hani was much more than that, like a mountain hiding precious ore at his heart, there was deep compassion and lasting loyalty, all married together with the kind of mind that made sure such attributes were carefully applied. He did not give his friendship easily, but once it was earned, it was almost impossible to lose. The world could be against you, and Hani would still be standing at your side, calling everyone out on their bullshit. That’s what made an understandable itself within Luthfi, Della and Bunga.

Still, as much as I admired and loved the person Hani was inside, the body that surrounded all that still caught my attention.

I moved his hand, tucking a stray tendril of messy hair behind. It was loose from our fun the night before, and I would probably bitch about having a difficulties with my ass especially for sit, but I loved the message it sent the world. Not one of ownership or possession, but something of life and intensity.

Hani's past was full of good intentions and the heartfelt tragedies that often followed. Sometimes, I had sat on next to him, watching Hani shake and bleed, rage and curse, and wondered how anyone could survive it. Yet all that had turned him into this: perfection at my side. After all the hardship, Hani had emerged growing into himself and reaching his full potential. He had not unfurled like a flower, but matured, like an oak that would withstand centuries: there was nothing temporary or transient about Cubung Hanito, and after the switching vagaries of so many others in his bed, I could only marvel at Hani's constancy.

As if to reassure myself that all this was not a dream, I moved his fingers lightly down Hani's wrist, feeling the scratch of the past scars, before trailing onwards to his throat. A steady beat throbbed against my fingertips, and I lingered there for a moment before tracing the curve of Hani's shoulder. It was a reminder of the simple fact that some parts of Hani, both his body and mind, were about struggle and frustration of relief : immovable. It amazed me, sometimes, how the most mundane parts of Hani's body could make my stomach curl in pleasure and my heart pause in thanks. It’s the same faith, the same invitation to end this silly life—but yet we both survived and met, and fallen in love. With other lovers, I appreciated the obvious and no more. Yet here I was, completely the same pattern with Hani all this time.

A deeper breath swelled the cage harbouring Hani's life. His existence was a bird, trapped behind bars of bone, yet I knew how loud it sang. I only had to see Hani's smile, awkward and strange, rare still, but more common than mine.

Looking up, I quickly checked Hani's face, searching for any signs of wakefulness. Dark lashes still hid those eyes from sight, and his expression was tranquil and serene. His stomach was a hard, strong plane, twitching at my touch. I skirted lightly around Hani's morning erection, promising myself I would have his taste of that later, when Hani was fully awake to enjoy it. Instead I moved around, stroking my hand over the curve of Hani's backside and down his thighs.

All the other things I had termed as “love” paled in comparison to what Hani inspired in him. Sometimes it was almost impossible to breathe around the swell of my heart. In the right frame of mind, my dependence on another was almost embarrassing, but still I knew I would not trade it for anything in the world. Independence was a lonely road to walk, and in Hani, I had found understanding. In Hani, I had found someone who knew that partnership meant two people working together, rather than one consuming the life of another.

'Jam berapa ini'

The words scattered my thoughts, and I lifted my head to see a thin line beneath Hani's lashes. That voice was husky from sleep, the kind that made “Good morning” sound like an invitation to bed, and an appreciative smile curled my lips.

'Hani, pahamu berat' I murmured, nudging at Hani's nose with my own and pressing a soft kiss to the bow of Hani's mouth as Hani allowed my hand to continue its adoring exploration, relishing Hani's soft hum of waking pleasure. 'Telat bangunnya, sejam lalu aku pake tanganmu buat ‘cumming’'

Hani snorted, and there was a hint of a growl behind that laugh. 'Kok ga bangunin sih!'

Hani pinched my backside, making another, more dangerous snarl rumble forward. 'Beauty's in the eye of the beholder,' I reminded in a murmur. ‘Jangan kesorean, jalanan padet, kalo munyer-munyer di kasur aja ga bakal bisa ke Maribaya' And he rolled on top of me, pinning me effectively to the bed and nipping at my pulse.

'Mandi?'

'Iya.'

Nan, what in the world are you doing?
You're making everyone worry about you.
What are you doing?
What are you thinking?
Are you happy to make me frustrate?
Why did you angry to me?
Why did you say something awful to me?
Why didn't you realize that you hurt me?
I'm so tired.
I hate you.

=====

I hate myself
I was so ashamed of myself.
I thought so all along.
I couldn't help thinking that way.

The scariest thing,
The most painful thing is...
to be hated by someone you trully love.

I am a coward.
But yet, I'm still telling myself I love you.
I'm the worst lover after all.
Why am I such a child.
I really hate it.
I should've protected you.
I should've protected us.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wish you read this when there's just small sad memory left. It's just a writing, but there's a heart within each words of it. I wish I could heal you up, so I could heal myself too. So I could forgive myself. Someday, it will make me stronger. And someday, eventually, this would be distant, dim sadness.

I wish you read this when the painful of thinking of me has finally felt dim. Because I'm too coward to say this straightly.

I'm sorry...


Keep spirit for the exam! I'm sure you will successfully pass it.