Bethena: A Concert Waltz is playing. I will not come back when I get to Singapore. The situation varies. I may not come back literally. Or I may with a different self. In short, I will not return the same. I will miss the person I am today.
I feel like I had a whole life before and I can't remember it. This nostalgia is based on no certain memories. Something I ache for, at times in tears, at times in hope. I feel as if I had been old, as if I had loved someone with all my heart, known every nook of a city so well.
I want certain people to remember me in music. Some would choose jazz. Some think of an appealing beat with whispers, the kind that takes off your clothes. Some play the piano. Some write songs about me. Some enjoy the silence. How would you remember me, my dear? When I leave, what kind of music will be played? Perhaps some will remember me in scent instead?
Cigarettes smell differently on skin. It's tamed on hands, stronger on chest, light on hair, and smoky on clothes. Have any of my readers kissed to taste? Don't say no to unhealthy habits. Others' perspectives don't have a thing on a person. But a person without a perspective is a real concern. Kiss. Kiss deeply, blindly, kiss on the front, on the side of the mouth. Treat life romantically. Erase yourself for a while, live the moment without the knowledge of time.
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