Busses, cars, motorcycles, people. People walking on pavements, people sitting on benches, people chatting over the noisy sound of Jakarta.
Traffic jam, humid weather, the obvious taste of polution as you breath in. The odd mixture of hope and despair, tears and laughter, beginning-and whatever comes after. That warmth you long for never get to reach your heart before you have to let go: exhale.
You hear those steps, you chant those plans: your many dreams, a reality and ones in between. Those uncertainties that you couldn't count... Red, yellow and green.
Green light, the miniature of what we're all looking for: Chances. In a place where almost every soul stabs each other, careless. Beautiful skin, wonderful face, crunchy voices, heartless.
[Yet in this corner I still love.
Perfect enough, perfect enough.]