Un:Cut

In studio today, Gerry was editing his film, with his producer and editor, 8 meters infront of me.
Me, I was silently crying in my desk, hiding behind my laptop so Gerry wouldn't notice. I was submitting works of Fragments into a photo contest. The damn contest insists me to write caption for each photo, so I had to remember all those details on my brother's death.

Then Gerry tweeted, through his phone, he knew my twitter is online. He said, "kriwiiiiilllll,"
I peeked through my desk, he was looking at me, unnoticed from his workmates, smiling. I DM-ed him, "hmm?"
He replied, "why so mellow?"
I lied, "because you're gonna be faraway in anytime soon," (He's going to be in Kuala Lumpur for a project in a few weeks)
He said, "not so far ah. kamu mau ikut emangnya?"
I said, "maunya. tapi nanti aku cuma gangguin kerja kamu jadinya..."
He replied again, this time he tweeted, "I'm taking you with me. That's what I'll always do."
I smiled. This love 2.0 can be so sweet sometimes. I DM-ed him, "gotta ask mum about that. don't wanna leave her alone,"
He replied, this time in DM, " :( "
I said, "that's okay, i'm a big girl. i'll deal with this silly melancholy."
He replied, "kriwil, jangan nangis dong,"
I said, "Enggak kok..."
And all of the sudden he showed up infront of me, he slided his chair to my desk. He said, verbally this time, "Trus kok mukanya bengep?"
I didn't say anything, I faked a smile.
Then he peeked at my laptop monitor, he saw I'm arranging photos of Fragments. He looked at me then, for a long time. I can't look back at him, I was just staring, blankly, to my keyboards, don't know what to say.
Then I glanced at him. His eyes were sad. Maybe because he felt discriminated because I didn't tell him the truth on the first place, maybe because, he's just sad looking at me so sappy. He took my hand, hold it and press my fingers gently. He went to my side, and kissed my forehead, really slow, really soft.
I didn't say anything.
He said, "Are you gonna be okay?"
I said, "Always,"
He smiled.
I said, "You should get back... there," I pointed my chin to the editor's room.
He stroked my hair, and whispered while still looking at my eyes, "I love you kriwil," then, slided back again to his room, to his work.

I dwell myself in mine too. Chanting to myself, "I have to do this, I have to do this,

I have to do this, I have to do this, I have to do this, I have to do this,

I have to do this, I have to do this, I have to do this, I have to do this,

I have to do this, I have to do this, I have to do this, I have to do this,

I have to..."