This Sunday

This Sunday,
I would be under a different sky,
Different breeze, hot but wet.

This Sunday,
I would be standing on a different land,
Different industrial and scenery.

This Sunday,
I would talk to a different person,
Someone who I almost forgot their voices.

This Sunday,
I would eat different food,
Food that I love but still missing.

This Sunday,
I would be doing things that I never done before,
Arrive at KLIA for the last time from London Heathrow.

This Sunday,
I would ask;
Why is it today?

This Sunday,
The last Sunday was my last Sunday,
After this Sunday,
It will be the same Sunday forever.
No more the feeling of four seasons,
How I would surely miss the feeling of cold.

~Izzati~