20th November, 2024

Wednesday

Dear Hongjoong,

It's warm in here, captured within the kernel of sweet darkness, an affectionate embrace. How easy the throbs feel within the enclosure of my ribs, the twists and turns, the heaviness settled upon my chest, reluctant to leave. The pulses reverberating within an empty void, the surges of pain and regret gnawing at every bit of my form, the venom of a profound loss crawling up my veins, making it hard to inhale a breath.

My eyes feel heavy, irises drenched in tears cradling a plethora of unspoken emotions, pupils desperate in search of focus and yet, loosing their path within the waters. They roll down without a permission or a pause, falling on my sweater and dissolving upon the fabric, meeting their woolen grave. There wasn't anything more to afford after all.

Perhaps, it was all a tale already blotted down by destiny upon its pages, impossible to change anything further. Perhaps, there couldn't be anything in possibility to bring about a change, as this was all meant to transpire.

I sit here in a corner, the aureate blaze of the crepuscular firmament painting a melancholic piece upon the canvas of the walls of my room, the breeze in a low whisper. I write to you a letter, even though I already bear the knowledge that this will never meet your vision and that the words I write will never be read by you. Yet, I write, in hope that maybe, it'll reach you. Or maybe, I write it more for myself, to let out all the turmoil that brews within me, in arrays of alphabets, black upon yellow. That could perhaps be the closest explanation to this madness, you know.

I miss you. A lot. Your presence lingers in the air, confined within the ambience of the spaces I occupy. I seem to see you everywhere, awake or asleep. I see you with my eyes and also, with my mind's eye, in my day and in my dream. Your appearance never departs and sometimes, it all seems so genuine. As if, you never departed to begin with.

The twilight sings me a song, the one that you adored to hum into my ears whenever I stood against the balcony, letting the crimson shine bath me in its dazzle. Hands snaking around my waist and a pair of lips attached to my ear, whispering mellifluous melodies, the softness of the voice and the occasional kisses against my neck tickling me and making me laugh, followed by a simultaneous giggle that I would hear from you along with mine, a concoction that sounded so beautiful.

I crave to hear that again, my heart crying for the sound to reach my ears. But I know I no longer bear that luck. Not anymore.

Soon the moon will rise and the stars will shine, the lamp of the night adorned with the glimmering candles floating against the inky welkin. You were a lover of it, weren't you? A perpetual aficionado of the moon, a selenophile. Sitting upon the window sill, with your mug of warm coffee settled in your hands and eyes outside the casement, etched upon the nocturnal stretch of the void above, you watched for hours and hours, the moon captivating your soul with its unmatched beauty and making me extremely envious. And as the nights melted into days and days diminished into nights, you taught me to love the moon too.

You made me a selenophile as well.

But now, I wouldn't call myself that. I'm no longer an admirer of the moon. I'm no longer bathed by the beams of her tranquility, the shine doesn't bless me anymore. The luminosity has left my side ever since you did.

I'm now a lygophile, because that's wherein I find you now, amidst the webs of darkness. That's where you breath, and for me, that's where you're still alive.

~ Hwa

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I've got absolutely no explanations as to why I began writing this book. I don't even have a plot thought out and let's say, I wrote it without thoroughly judging the entire thing.

Forgive me if it turns out shitty:')