by Nazra Hanif Lutfiana
what’s to come after you warmed my fingers in the dark? after you string me along the cobblestone paths you know by heart? after the idle hours spent lounging around your kitchen counter? after the blue stain finally washes off your bathroom tiles? after i lay awake at nights, listening to the sound of your faint breath and the ticks of clock? after we build plans for tomorrow, or next monday, or the week after next, or even next december? after you told me that you loved this, all of this, despite everything that happened?–after the coldest month passes and i become a dot in the stretch of time, a person only to remember but not to reach? what do i do, with this promise of more to come yet even more to lose, as i stay on borrowed time?