A Book of Soul for The Heartwarmer

Written by: Yanny Widjanarko

One individual called "she" stepped into the sheets of a life story
Sheets that used to be occupied
She walked back and stopped at a chapter which tell the story of an obsolete chamber
A space which stands for behalf of the memory and wounds

A diorama played by shadow
A story with no beginning nor end
They've been there with decent backgrounds and decent light spectrum but called gray
The view was frozen, the chatter was muted, and that feels fell into the melancholy

Those with the outstretched hands which too high to be reached
Those with the self existence but too blind to be seen 
They abandoned as a figure of reserves without knowing the essence of a solace

And that individual creature went on her way back to the labyrinth of time

This time someone seized by the story of a root baste
Those roots were heart in shape and the hue carved a warmth, but once howled a bitterness
This chapter tells the story of a lush tree with the fruit of love
Fruits that contain the complexity of love, passion and a place to berth

And the fruit of love revealed its story to someone

Those who hide behind their false mannerism had carved their name on her shoulder
Those who have offered their hearts and bent on their knees 
Those who play fire in a lust, fell into a seek
But the love that she wants still unable to cover the part of this story

From the fruit of love to the sheet's of light

This chapter tells the story of an old house with extensive bed of flowers
This house represented the aesthetics, peace and harmony
A house which brings relief, spaciousness and joy
In that house she knelt, release all her mess
To the house the journey was anchored

In every sketches that have been through
None could live without the presence of others too

Obsolete chamber, lush love tree, beautiful bed flowered old house
Those who were involved in each story of the bulkhead of life
Those who were crawling along and came from different angles of infinity
Those who were instantly filled the pieces of shoot and became the shoot

They are the perfect gift for the imperfect souls
Not as a complement nor as a reserves
Yet as the major part of the heartwarming life story