4.44AM.

My eyes are hazy. 

I've been staring at Twitter for such a good long time that I had no idea what to write, RT or like anything there.

It's stupid because I should've just sleep. Gotta wake up at 6.00AM. 

But I still wanna write a story. Heh.

A total fiction. 

***

"He rides to the most remote place. A place where discontented heart would find itself in peace." 

Was there such place? 

Where could've you gone with just a motorcycle? But hey, nothing is ever impossible. Che Guevara toured South America on a bike at his first trip. The rest was on foot and a raft. 

"But he is nowhere near wanting to tour such a long journey. Let alone the purpose - they are far too different from what he has in his mind." 

My wristwatch says it's 4.44AM. 

"A quarter yard away from him is the forest. And the breeze touched his cheeks. Flicks his hair like a book blown in the wind. It is shivering cold. Never such coldness of being alone was felt after a long time."

"Never such coldness of being alone was felt after a long time."

Did that even make sense?

Was that how I sound if my life was written in a third person point of view? It sounded odd. But here I am. 

I am not at a beach. Even nowhere far from where I stayed of my university. But this nature has brought me closer to what should I write for the next 45 minutes. Why 45 minutes? That's all the time I got, before sunrise.

But now reminiscing the memories I've spent much here. Just here - at this place. 

Now the trees made a swooshing noise and birds flew overhead. Not far was a soundless thunder, flashing in the horizon from where I am. 

From where I am - under the shade of my balcony. 

Perhaps this would be the pinnacle of my youth. I couldn't accept the vanity of adult life. How does one smiles to another and pretends to be good in front of the people whom you do not even like? Why do we often have to suppress what we really felt and showed the feelings that we did not meant?

The freedom of expression in the adult world, has been killed. The world was limited to none but those that held the orb and the baton - those who have the wealth, power and position.

If I have to stay being 23, I would forever be that age. 

But only the dead stays 23. 

If I have to blame at each adults for their vain world, perhaps that would be the most idiotic things one could ever do. They would just simply tag you as "immature". They just haven't felt this immense feeling - this colorful life that I felt being young. 

And if not for the matter.

If not for the matter - look at the stars. 

If you seemingly try to catch it with your bare hands, you'll caught nothing but thin layers of misty air. Or just simply nothing.

The stars - are like my dreams. They are the proof of me being young. This is my world. But everyone knows, no one shall be forever young. 

If one day I'll get sucked into a wormhole in the space, I might return to the present realm as 23 year old guy. But chances things happens like that are 1 to a millions of light years of that would ever happen.

This freedom. This liberty.

The feeling of knowing the vast world are just waiting for you to be ventured. The feeling of wanting to learn much from elsewhere and anywhere around the universe. This is my world. 

In the case where I have to be one of those adults, probably I'd play the characters that are available. Perhaps as the person who just plays safe for his own career. But that's just not me. Because if I ever did that.

The world that I once resided which the borders are boundless and possibilities are limitless, I would betray my own self. 

No fear should ever drown me to lifeless. 

The world, the dreams. They are forever mine as I grow.

***

Wayy past 5.30AM.

Why didn't I just sleep.

Asyraf Amir. 20171030.