Soft pastels and fancy wallpapers
Of a room for two touched by Western architecture
With the Malaysian sunrise and sunset peeking into its windows
The floor is wooden and shiny
The sound of the heels of my loafers seem to mimic the sound of my cardiac muscle
I see your desk
Your stuff, your laptop which you always leave with the web cam open
Your grandmother's works that you keep in a treasure box
And Marie's ancient clothes iron that you promised to replace
And then I see your bed
Not small, but not quite big either
The sheets are still the same since I last visited
But it's not crumpled anymore
The creases on the sheets are no longer there to tell me which side of the bed you slept
I turn around and face the opposite side
What a pretty good view that you have here, Child
Then I sit on your bed
I look around once more
Left to right, top to bottom and front to back
Snippets of the people you love are near your bedside
And then I gave in to the invitation of the bed
I climb in and the weight of me creates a creaking sound
But louder is my heart and my tears when I see myself in the ceiling
It is a photo of me
And I see you as I try to reach it
Child, you are not of my blood
But you will always be one of the reason why my heart still beats
Even if you have lost your breath
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