He bares his straight, white teeth for a smile
as he greets me with his shy “Hello”,
while I politely nod as I go.
His dark complexion slightly glistens
under the Jakarta morning sun.
I nervously scratch my arm,
leaving faint, pink marks
on my mocca-coloured skin.
‘though I pretend not to see,
I catch him sneaking glances at me,
probably longing for a miracle
that I’ll look back at him.
Would I scare you with this confession?
I feel nothing.
I’m not flattered nor happy,
neither am I disturbed or angry.
like a flatline on a heart monitor
or a pair of eyes of a frozen chicken.
There’s no parade in my ears that sings:
“Oooh, he’s interested in you!”
Only a slow symphony in minor tunes.
It sounds like a foreign land,
I’m wondering if I’ve gone really cold
or simply realistic.
Not everything is automatic.
No, not even that quick.
He’ll probably feel disappointed soon,
Because I’m still playing Queen of Ice,
silently caught up in her own gloom.
Jakarta, April 1, 2020