Half Wednesday

[ecieci]

Tell me you are in love with me
At least until half Wednesday
You said you were crazy about me
Till comes half Wednesday
My spring blooms and withers
Every half Wednesday
As does my love comes and goes
At the end of half Wednesday

Paris in spring… everywhere was covered in colorful petals of various flowers. Pink, white, yellow and blue, they all brighten under the warm sunshine. Temperature was 12 degrees, enough for stylish female Parisians to don the cobblestone streets in their knee length skirts as their exposed slim bare legs trotting on strappy high heels.

I blew my smoke away to the thin air. Sitting alone at the outdoor café, only accompanied by lemon water and cheap ashtray, I couldn’t help but people-watching the whole time. The colorful variety of dresses that the ladies donned and the monotony of dark business suit the gentlemen decked in were strikingly contradictory. It’s amusing to watch the ray of bright and dark colors taking turns to pass by my sight.

“Smoking is bad for a soprano!”

I looked up. The annoying Koji, my Japanese school mate in the Paris Conservatory who specialized in violin suddenly appeared out of nowhere and snatched the cigarette away from my hand before I realized it. I was infuriated. “That’s none of your business! Give me back my fucking cigarette!” I tried to snatch it back from him but he skillfully avoided me and threw his lean body on the seat, grinning amusedly.

“It’s funny that you, who sing beautiful classics at school, also swears and smoke cigarettes on the streets.” He said while stubbing the cigarette on the ashtray. I showed him my middle finger.
He ignored the insult, and studied my face instead. “Why are you here and not watching Heiko Lang concert at the conservatory?” he asked curiously.

“You didn’t go either.”

“Unlike you, I was never a fan of his.” He shrugged. “But you were always crazy about him, no? Until last year you were always Heiko Lang this, Heiko Lang that. And you even tried a few times to get backstage access after his concerts.”

I looked away. “I’m waiting for someone.”

He became very interested. Nosy prick! “Who?” he asked, his tone was full of childish curiosity.
So I looked back at him squarely in the eyes and said, “I’m waiting for you to leave me here alone, you annoying brat!”

He laughed, but raised his hands as a sign that he had given up. “OK, OK, I’m leaving.” He rose up. “Go and brood alone till midnight, you moody French.”

Wrong. French-German. My mother was French, came from Strasbourg, the only city in France whose population also spoke German as their mother tongue in addition to French, and my father was German, and came from the Black Forest area in Baden-Württemberg. I was bilingual French and German, which explained my preference to go to Paris Conservatory and yet my adoration for the up and coming German popular young lyric tenor Heiko Lang. He was mentioned as the most promising young tenor in the classical music world. He was only at his thirties but already graced many operas around Europe. His latest venture was internationally releasing pop-classical CD albums together with two other young tenors, and his CDs already topped the classical chart worldwide. He was also tall, tanned and very handsome to boot.

Ah…Heiko Lang. I blew the smoke from my second cigarette into the thin air. From last spring he started to guest teach in Paris Conservatory where I studied to become opera soprano. I was ecstatic for lack of better word. Unlike other classes, I eagerly awaited his; always on time, never skipped a lesson. I attended all of his on-campus concerts (off campus ones were too expensive for poor student like me, but I still tried my best to attend them too, just not all of them). I bought all his CDs, and for years wrote him regular fan letters.

And look what all that devotion brought me. I looked up to the tall man in his Ray-Ban sunglasses, Hugo Boss jeans and black business jacket who walked towards me. He leisurely but confidently made his big steps, with both hands inside his jeans pockets. As soon as he reached my table, his hand reached the cigarette dangling from my lips and stubbed it on the ashtray straightaway.
“Cigarette is bad for sopranos, trotzkopf (stubborn).” He said authoritatively.

This time I wasn’t annoyed. Nor did I give the man my middle finger. I was instead ecstatic, beyond happy, and looked at the hazel eyes behind the sunglasses longingly. Oh how I was driven to the brink of craziness from missing those eyes, and everything, everything else about him. My French blood wanted to make love to him right here and now. But my German blood told me to act cool and uninterested.

“You’re late.” I said coldly.

“Sorry, I had to give encore at the concert.” He sat down and drank half of my lemon water. As soon as he put the glass back on the table, he signaled the waiter to come. “Two more lemon waters, s’il vous plait.” He told the waiter. I loved the way he always took care of things before I asked him to.

After the drink business was settled, he turned his attention back to me. He held my hand longingly and smiled warmly. “So how are you since the last time I saw you?” he asked sweetly. Now he turned into any other regular lover like the rest of the world. No more a star, no more a dashing stranger. He’s all mine. Oh how I relished that thought.

“Bad. You didn’t come to Paris for two weeks and it ruined my mood.”

“I’m sorry. Had concert in Vienna.”

“You better get your schedule back to regular and come here every week like before.” My warning replied by his coy smile. I hurriedly added, “On top of my lover you are also my teacher and you are responsible for my progress,” so as not to let his head bigger by the implications that I missed him like crazy.

“Yes, I am, among dozen other teachers you also need to listen to in the conservatory.” He replied cheekily. I yanked my hand from his grab.

“Hey, don’t be angry.” He coaxed me again. “I’m sorry, OK? So stop being moody and smoking cigarettes. It’s really very bad to your voice.”

Oh, how I love his concerned face, like I was the single most important thing in the whole wide world. I was only smoking cigarettes today, cleverly timed to right before his arrival, to make him worry. Women’s tricks. It just that he was late and nosy Koji interrupted unexpectedly, so I ended up with two cigarettes instead of the planned one.

“Do you want to go anywhere? Otherwise we can go straight to the Seine River after we finish the lemon water. I already booked a table at one of those bateaux-mouches.” Bateaux-mouches were long boats leisurely sailed along Seine river, in the middle of Paris. They were known for the romantic restaurants decked in the boats, and a meal there was pretty expensive. Tourists and couples dug the romantic experience of dining on top of the Seine River, with the view of the beautiful city of lights on both sides of the riverbanks.

The lemon waters came and we soon drank them all. Then we proceeded, hand in hand, along the cobblestone streets towards the Seine River. Sunset came slowly; and Paris was soon bathed in orange lights, from the heights of the Eiffel down to every arch and crook of its Rococo and neo-classism styled buildings. Colorful spring flowers bloomed happily as we passed by, as if blessing our romance.

As our bateaux-mouche sailed along the Seine River, I watched my dining companion lovingly. Here’s the man I loved, I was most proud of; I was crazy about for years. Heiko Lang. It was still a dream that this wonderful man became my lover. Among million other women on this earth, he chose me. Every night before sleep I counted my lucky stars.

[ecieci]

I’d loved him for a long time, but this relationship started only a few months ago. It all began with him being the guest lecturer at the conservatory, teaching lyric classical singing, his expertise. As student, I had direct access to him, something I only dreamt about for years. He came only every Wednesday afternoons, but half day a week was enough to get him recognizing me. I worked very hard to get noticed. I studied hard to master his topics, asked plenty of questions all the time, and most importantly, contacted him outside school hours, either in person, via phone or email.

At first he was only interested in my voice. He said I had huge potential as pop-classical soprano. I didn’t have the interest to go for pop; I always wanted to be opera singer. But I played along
out of my interest for him. So I began requesting for special pop-classical classes with him, and after a while, those special classes became our special rendezvous.

I guess it’s the teacher-student thrill, or maybe my youth (despite being final year student, I was only 20), that attracted him to me. He obviously could get any woman he wanted, and although I was pretty attractive for a normal person, I was for sure not the best looking woman on the planet. Maybe it was also our German connection. He loved it when we spoke German in Paris. It’s like we were in our own world, the world only us understood. Like tonight, we carried the conversation in German, among French speaking people around us. He wasn’t afraid to take off his sunglasses in the restaurant, as he was not famous outside the classical circle, and anyway in general Parisians were too proud to clamor over celebrities. The so called paparazzi were not like the way you would imagine in Hollywood or London.

“I just composed a new song, it’s titled ‘Meine Schwarze Tulpe’,” he told me with gleaming eyes, amidst our mousse au chocolat. “Come listen to it.”

“Is it a booty call?” I smirked.

“Strictly professional.” He winked as a reply.

Of course it would never be strictly professional. We were too crazy about each other. After dinner we walked happily along the river, enjoying the velvety night, grabbed a cab and zipped through the Parisian night lights to his private apartment a few hundred meters away from the beautiful city park Jardin des Tuileries. This spring, the balcony looked over colorful flowers from the park. It was one of my favorite places in Paris.

Despite being classical artist, his apartment was decorated in modern and minimalist style. It was predominantly white and blood red, his favorite colors, with some black furniture, notably the grand piano in the middle of the living room. Aside from being an accomplished lyric tenor, he was also a very good pianist. As soon as we entered the room, he flung towards his piano and began playing the new song he just composed. And immediately he was lost in the music.

Ah…it’s a strongly sexy and beautiful song. His voice was warm and graceful, and the piano accompaniment was sweet and daring at the same time. It was the kind of love song that would make you want to be involved in a dangerous love affair when you listened to it. I was hypnotized by his performance. Was this song about me? I wished secretly. Well, whether it’s about me or not, he still gave me a private concert, especially for me only.

He finished the song on high note. Then he turned to me, all exhausted yet satisfied at the same time. Sweats were dripping from his forehead. “How was it?” he asked, full of anxious anticipation.

I walked up to him and dried his sweats with my pocket tissue. “Made me fall in love with you.” I replied, and then kissed him passionately on the lips.

---------- Post added at 10:07 PM ---------- Previous post was at 10:04 PM ----------

Thursday morning. Bright and cheerful day was waiting outside. I could hear the birds chirping from the oak branches in the Jardin and warm rays of sunlight seeped through the glass windows. A beautiful, happy spring morning… well, not for me.

I looked around the predominantly white and black bedroom. He was not anywhere, and I shouldn’t expect him to be. The bathroom was empty, the dressing room was empty, and the whole apartment was soulless, except for me. Before I woke up from slumber he’s already on his next flight away from Paris, back to his busy schedule, singing on the stage somewhere in Europe. These mornings were the kind of morning I hated the most. The feeling of loneliness after being drunk in romance the night before, it was simply unbearable.

Half a day. Only half a day each week, when lucky, I could spend with my beloved. What kind of woman would accept this losing deal, well I guessed only struggling idealist artist living in unrealistically romantic city like Paris, i.e. myself. I wondered if I were a physicist, economist, or mathematician instead, I would have calculated very differently and refused the deal. I smiled bitterly.

No time to waste in regret or sorrow. I have to get back to reality. The next class was starting soon. I quickly got ready and grabbed a bottle of Perrier from Heiko’s fridge on the way out.
Today I had one lecture, advanced history of the classical music, a very boring but nevertheless necessary subject to graduate, and a one-to-one private tutoring with my opera soprano teacher Cecile DeMille. She again complained about ‘the loss of character’ in my voice and how it would jeopardize my opera career in the future. “You have potential, but it seems that you are being distracted.” She said calmly but meaningfully. “It is dangerous to experiment with other genres at this important stage of your study, Miss Hönle. You are already final year student and I hope you would embrace in opera career as soon as you graduate. You should focus on only opera singing.”
I was terrified, to say the least. My dream career was in jeopardy. It was probably because I trained in pop too with Heiko, but I shouldn’t blame him for my incompetence. As a singer I should be able to sing wide range of voices and styles. This was the pressure I always put on myself.

“Annabel!”

I was too deep in my thoughts that I didn’t hear the voice calling my name a few times as I walked down the school corridors. “Hey!” somebody tapped my shoulders. It was Koji, still carrying his violin. Apparently he also just finished classes. I sighed. “What, Koji?”

“You didn’t come home last night, did you? I was wondering if you really smoking till midnight at that café.” He smirked.

As much as I appreciated his concern as one of my housemates, I was also very annoyed by his nosiness. Among four of us who share an apartment together in the 19th arrondisement, although all were students of the conservatory, nobody was as curious about my business as this guy. He would appear out of nowhere, asking what I was doing, where I was going, and things like that. He was worse than my mother.

“I had a date.” I replied shortly. He looked a little taken aback by that reply.

“Oh.” He looked away and mumbled. “I see…but don’t start skipping important concerts or smoking because of that.”

I gave him a look. “I know what I’m doing.” Even my mother stopped telling me what to do after I was 17 (and enrolled in the conservatory). What on earth was he doing now giving redundant advice?

As soon as he saw my sour face, he quickly changed topic. “Anyway, David, Iulia and I are forming an ensemble. We wanted to practice our piece later at home, around 7 pm. Come see our first official pre-concert show!” he invited cheerfully.

How wonderful. Adam and Iulia were our other housemates, playing percussion and piano respectively. Adam was a brilliant scholarship student from Indonesia and Iulia was a pretty blond girl from Romania. Koji was not bad looking either, so I could imagine their ensemble would be popular among the young audience in the future. I was very happy for them, but at the same time felt rather envious because they had started to embark on their musical careers, while I was still stuck here without knowing what to do. “Well, I’m impressed.” I said quietly. “Do you guys plan to take this professionally?”

I knew they had been playing together a lot. It was just a matter of time for them to form a group.
“Of course. We already secured a spot at the next student concert.” Koji replied enthusiastically, making my heart sank even deeper. I forced an encouraging smile. “Well then, I for sure will be home early tonight.”

Their first number was a rearranged Franz Waxman’s Carmen Fantasie. They cleverly slipped in percussion tunes in the difficult violin concerto repertoire. The result was an energetic, powerful Carmen Fantasie, without losing the soft violin touch. This must be the work of Adam, who had successfully experimented percussion with classical numbers in the past. I was amazed at how well this ‘amateur’ band pulled off a brilliant re-arranged repertoire.

After they completed the number, I couldn’t help but clapping vigorously. “You guys are amazing!” I shouted. “Soon music producers and orchestras will be lining up in front of our apartment door!”
They laughed. “Wait till you listen to our version of Vivaldi’s Spring.” Adam said energetically, albeit being obviously spent from the rigorous drumming works. Vivaldi! How daring! I couldn’t imagine. The immense amount of talent brimmed from the three of them was unbearable.

And true enough, their version of Vivaldi’s Spring was like nothing I’ve ever heard before. So powerful yet beautiful, so energetic yet soft, the violin still dominant but the piano and percussion were giving it an edge. It was like listening to a rock band playing classical music without leaving a bad aftertaste. I was captivated by their performance. So talented. So successful. So unreachable from the place I was staying now.

[ecieci]

“Aah, I’m spent!” Iulia screamed in relief by the end of their last number. “Let’s eat now!”
We sat around the dining table, having pasta and wine. For me there was only plain water, as a remedy for my two cigarettes yesterday. As we enjoyed the food and made joke of each other, I sighed a relief. We returned back to normal, young students again.

“I’m planning to take up waiter job upon graduation,” Adam mentioned, “while pursuing concert places for our ensemble and a job in the orchestras.”

“Yeah, me too,” Koji chipped in, “my parents have had enough paying my tuition fees for four years. They want me to support myself in I want to stay in Paris after graduation.”

“Aaah, I don’t know,” Iulia, the pretty spoiled princess, buried her head in her arms, “I want to enter competitions and build a name as professional pianist. But it’d mean nothing if I don’t win the competitions. And it’s so hard to win.” She pouted. “Mom said I should return back to Romania if I don’t get first or second place in a competition by the end of the year.”

The three of us looked sympathetically at her. “That’s tough.” I mumbled.

“But why don’t you just take up a side job like the rest of us, if you want to stay in Paris?” Koji chipped in.

Iulia sighed. “I don’t like waitressing,”

“Who does? But for money.”

“Maybe you can be piano teacher too,” Adam suggested. “Start now by sending flyers promoting your service around the residential areas in Paris. There’s plenty of competition, of course, but there’s enough to go around I think. You will have a music degree, that’s already an advantage.”

“But I want to be concert pianist.” She pouted again. “And I can’t stand children.”

“You can play piano at bars that allow you to play classical music, and start from there.” I said eventually. She was thinking about the idea for a while. “Yeah, sounds reasonable.”

It was always tough for musicians like us to find a foothold after graduation. Most of us would have to hold two or three jobs, while still trying to realize our musical dreams. I knew the rocky and windy road lying ahead of me; I knew that now was not the time to fool about in a secret affair with a celebrity or getting distracted to sing pop, I knew I should focus on getting a job at operas instead, but I couldn’t help it. I guessed I was also scared of my future and chose to run away from it temporarily.

Temporary? This love for Heiko had become my biggest obsession, for the first time in my life, more than singing.

Koji seemed to read my worried mind, as he soon enough asked me, “And what’s your plan, Annabel?”

I couldn’t answer. I didn’t even know if I was still good enough to be opera soprano. The words from my teacher this afternoon haunted me. I was scared. “Not sure…” I mumbled indecisively. The others caught the fear in my tone by then.

“Hey, relax, nobody is really sure about the future,” Adam consoled.

“At least your path is clearer; you would need to attend auditions at operas. And there are plenty of them in this city.” Iulia added. “You can also try Germany, Switzerland or Austria too, since you speak their language.”

“I prefer to stay in Paris if possible,” I replied, “maybe I too will take up a side job. Singing somewhere, for example, doesn’t have to be classical opera.” My mind wandered about the private classes I had with Heiko in pop classical. How unexpectedly fun it was.

“Maybe you can try up Nouvelle Star!” Koji suggested. Nouvelle Star was French version of the American Idol singing contest. I threw him a look. A pop idol contest! If I tried that I would have to say goodbye to my dream career as opera singer. The rest laughed at the idea.

***

---------- Post added at 10:09 PM ---------- Previous post was at 10:07 PM ----------

How days gone by very slowly and quietly
When you are not here
I was waiting every velvety spring night, always lonely
Are you also the same?
I couldn’t be bothered by Thursday, Friday or Saturday
All I have in mind is the half Wednesday
When we would again be in love

I finished ‘Si, mi chiamo Mimi’, Mimi’s aria from the opera La Boheme, without much confidence. I knew DeMille and Sophie Boccara, another soprano teacher of mine who also conducted private singing tutoring lesson for me today, were unsatisfied with my performance. It was written all over their faces. The next half an hour I was lectured by the two of them, how ‘soulless’ and ‘empty’ my Mimi was, and how limited the range that I brought within my voice. “You could have been better than that,” they encouraged me after pointing a long list of faults and expression of their disappointment. “We know you have the potential. Practice and concentrate more.”

But I concentrated to the maximum already. This was the best I could do. I was in despair. Maybe that was my limit. Maybe being an opera singer wasn’t my destiny at all. The thought was horrifying. At times like this, I couldn’t help but thinking about Heiko. My lover, where were you? I needed you now, I cried my heart out.

My days were dark, until Wednesday came. The simple text I received from Heiko, ‘Meet me as usual,’ was enough to energize me by leaps and bounds. He didn’t teach me anymore, so we had to meet in the evening after school. I literally ran to the café that by then became our official meeting point. And there I waited, sat alone at the outdoor table, aimlessly watched the people passing by on the cobblestone streets in front of me, until he came.

“Hi baby,” he kissed me on the lips straightaway as soon as he reached my table. I was breathless from passion. The long wait, the despair, the worry about future, they all poured out in the form of uncontrollable lust for him. This time we didn’t go for fancy dinner, we went straight to his apartment and spent the whole evening being mind numbingly crazy about each other.

“Hey, I want to play you something,” he rolled out of bed, wearing only boxer shorts, dragging me with him. Still drunk in happiness, I wrapped white satin blanket around me and watched him as he settled in the piano and started to sing a song.

I held my breath. It was piano version of the ‘Everytime I Look at You’ by Il Divo.

I used to think that I was strong
I realise now I was wrong
cause everytime I see your face
my mind becomes an empty space
and with you lying next to me
feels like I can hardly breathe

I close my eyes
the moment I surrender to you
let love be blind
innocent and tenderly true
so lead me through tonite
but please turn out the light
cause I’m lost everytime I look at you

and in the morning when you go
wake me gently so I’ll know
that loving you was not a dream
and whisper softly what it means to be with me
then every moment we're apart
will be a lifetime to my heart

He sang it so passionately, all along with his hazel eyes firmly fixed on mine. I was captivated, couldn’t move my gaze for even a second. It was so beautiful and intense, so passionate and loving, the best performance yet by far. As the last note was played, he rose and extended his arms towards me. “Come here, beautiful.”

I accepted his invitation and we both danced to an unsung melody.

The velvet night and Jardin des Tuileries became silent witnesses of our immense love and happiness.

[ecieci]

Later that night, when we were back in bed, I couldn’t sleep and kept staring at him. “Hey,” I called, as I knew he hadn’t slept either, despite the closed eyes.

“Hmm..?” he mumbled.

“Don’t fly back to Frankfurt tomorrow.”

He seemed to be surprised about the idea, and opened his eyes straightaway. “You know I can’t.” he said in one single breath.

“Yes you can.”

“I have work.”

“Postpone it.”

“I have to see my wife.”

I stared at him silently, as he stared back at me.

This was the conversation we always avoided. Like a shadow lurking behind our back, a weight that we always carried, we knew it was there but tried to ignore it. I could feel the familiar pain stabbed my chest once again, as he looked away from me and sighed.

“Be reasonable, Annabel. You know we can’t have more than this.”

People had love affairs everywhere. In France, it was totally commonplace to be the other woman, especially among the artistic community. So why couldn’t I feel at ease? Amidst the love, the passion, the happiness, there was always loneliness and sadness hovering over me.

“But you said you loved me,” I croaked, “so why can’t you spend more time with me?”

“You know it’s true that I love you, but I have my other life out there.” He was holding both of my hands, trying to make me understand. “I was already a married tenor singer since before we met. I couldn’t throw that part of my life away.”

I knew. But I didn’t want to understand. I was selfish and I wanted to be happy. Tears started to swell on my eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry now,” he hugged me strongly, “be the usual Annabel, the talented and cheerful Annabel. Or do you have something that you are worried about? Is it about an opera job? Money? Tell me.”

He meant well, but somehow his words made me felt cheap. “I’m not a whore,” I replied curtly.

“No, I don’t mean anything bad, I’m sorry. I mean, if you have problems, tell me. I would be more than glad to help.” He quickly revised his tone. “I love you,” he said while looking at me meaningfully.

“As much as you love your wife?” I asked sarcastically.

“Don’t start, Annabel,”

I don’t want to be that jealous lover who would always ask to be compared. I was not that whore who snatched other people’s husbands for money or other gains. I was truly in love with him, from so long time ago. But at these times when I was troubled by my uncertain future, I couldn’t help but re-questioning the existence of everything around me, including this awkward relationship that I had come to build with him.

“So what is it? What problem that makes you cranky like this?” he tried to study my face.

“Doesn’t matter. Not worth spending time of a world class celebrity who’s happily married.” I turned my back against him.

He threw his head back on the pillow, frustrated.

(to be continued to Half Wednesday 2)

[gitafh]

btw komen2nya menghilang ya ci? Yg ke 2 nya mana niy? :)

[ecieci]

iya neh, komen2nya ilang :(
yg kedua belum selese. penulisnya masi liburan sampe senin. nantikanlah !

[gitafh]

bukannya penulisnya lg banyak waktu luang :D :D :D

[ecieci]

bukannya penulisnya lg banyak waktu luang :D :D :D

inilah salah satu my biggest procrastinationnnn =:::::::::::::::::::: (

[fixshine]

gud2 bulan2 kmr sempet sedih krn penulis2nya pada paceklik karya keknya lagi panen skr hehehehehehe

[gitafh]

ci, dah baca the first time nya joy fielding? di novel ini kisahnya rada mirip ma half wednesday tapi diceritain dari sudut pandang sang istri resminya..

[ecieci]

ci, dah baca the first time nya joy fielding? di novel ini kisahnya rada mirip ma half wednesday tapi diceritain dari sudut pandang sang istri resminya..

ehh masa seh? ga tau sama sekali novel itu :D
tapi emang love affair tema yg universallll ~

[violace]

Akhirnya baca juga yang ini... :msembah: :msembah:
Dulu juga pernah posting di forum dengan tema yang sama, tapi belum selesai juga.

[ecieci]

Akhirnya baca juga yang ini... :msembah: :msembah:
Dulu juga pernah posting di forum dengan tema yang sama, tapi belum selesai juga.

procrastination neee =:::::::::::: (
salah satu kelemahanku itu kadang suka bikin cerita yg putus di tengah jalan :p
tapi yg ini bakal dilanjutin d. simbol perjuangan melawan kebiasaan buruk.

[gitafh]

beda kok ci baca half wednesday ma the first time, tapi emang tema besarnya sama, dan kemarin tiba2 jadi keinget ma novelnya joy fielding itu .-krn daku suka bngt- dan mikir yg jadi selingkuhan atau yg diselingkuhi sama2 menderita, seperti di cerpennya kak cece, penderitaan krn cinta :D :D

[ecieci]

awawawawaw
sebenarnya awalnya ga niat bikin cerita selingkuhan.
ini idenya dapet ketika hubby mulai proyek baru diluar kota n mesti kerja disana dari senin sampe rabu, jadi cuma ada di rumah dari hari rabu.
jadi perasaan daku yg menunggu sendirian dirumah sampe hari rabu dateng itu yg jadi inspirasi :D tambah imajinasi gimana kalo seandainya dakulah the other woman n hubby punya keluarga lain di kota itu :D

[gitafh]

imajinasinya tampak semakin menjadi :D , btw pantes agak beda cerpen eci kali ini (setidaknya dibanding ma the charming max) pake hati soalnya he2, dan biasanya berlanjut pas lg mellow lg hehe

*makanya daku curiga penulis goodbye winter itu dirimu ci :D

[ecieci]

udah mellow2 gitu ternyata salah denger, hubby kerja ga sampe rabu, melainkan selasa doang. selasa malem balik rumah. aehaehahehaehae

[gitafh]

huehehehe, kocak d, padahal dah sendu2 mengharu biru yah? :D

[nad3418]

beda kok ci baca half wednesday ma the first time, tapi emang tema besarnya sama, dan kemarin tiba2 jadi keinget ma novelnya joy fielding itu .-krn daku suka bngt- dan mikir yg jadi selingkuhan atau yg diselingkuhi sama2 menderita, seperti di cerpennya kak cece, penderitaan krn cinta :D :D

Pernah kepikir gak yang selingkuh juga menderita ...? Silakan membaca trilogi Amstel ...

[ecieci]

Pernah kepikir gak yang selingkuh juga menderita ...? Silakan membaca trilogi Amstel ...

trilogi amstel apa? karya dikau yak bang?

[nad3418]

Yup ... diawali dengan "Seutas tali di atas bantal", "Berjalan di tepian Amsteldijk", dan ditutup dengan "Menatap sunga Amstel dari balik jendela". Side story-nya ada do "Long Pura" (tapi yang ini endingnya maksain)

[ecieci]

Yup ... diawali dengan "Seutas tali di atas bantal", "Berjalan di tepian Amsteldijk", dan ditutup dengan "Menatap sunga Amstel dari balik jendela". Side story-nya ada do "Long Pura" (tapi yang ini endingnya maksain)

ah so...daku baca yg sungai amstel aja. daku agak risih kalo baca bagian esek2.. too embarrassed to read :D

[dina kharisma]

baguuus :)
*nunggu the rest*

[fixshine]

ah so...daku baca yg sungai amstel aja. daku agak risih kalo baca bagian esek2.. too embarrassed to read :D

bagian itu kan nade copy paste tulisanku ci

[ecieci]

bagian itu kan nade copy paste tulisanku ci

dikau bisa nulis esek2 juga ternyata ya xie

[ecieci]

baguuus :)
*nunggu the rest*

thanks jeng
ok2 bakal dilanjutin >_< *memecut diri sendiri*

[dina kharisma]

thanks jeng
ok2 bakal dilanjutin >_< *memecut diri sendiri*

ternyata kakak walo sering pake terminologi bdsm,
juga sama tida nyaman sama deskripsi yang terlalu xxx ya kak? *hugs

[ecieci]

hhuehuehue...ya lor...embarrassed bacanya =::::::::::::::::::::::: ( *hugs back*