Orange and her
I forgot when was the last time we talked to each other. I wonder what kind of conversation we had for the very last time. The only scene that still hangs around my mind was the time when I slept on a braided-plastic carpet in her living room. Her living room was not that big, but they took out the table and chairs so it felt bigger that I slept alone there, oh maybe not alone, with her. People were busy inside and outside the house, walking back and forth, while I was laying down, some of them sometimes passed around me. The neighbors, I believed, were still awake, even when the clock showed it was past eleven p.m. This evening, after I heard the sound of adzan Isya, people got even busier. My dad looked sad, but he kept moving. He checked the sound system that played the Quran recital, people in the kitchen, people who sat in plastic chairs in front of the house. As for my mom, she took me home before coming back here again this evening. It is still here until now, in
