𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄

"Do you have everything?" She asks and I nod. She hums before giving me the car keys, I hesitantly grab them.

"I love you, baby." She whispers and I kiss her cheek while grabbing the bag.

"Goodbye, mom." She says goodbye as well and I am out of the door.

I walk to where the parking lot is standing in front of the car and I sigh. Open the trunk and then put my bags inside.

When I'm inside I turn it on and I sit there for a moment, looking out of the windows.

I see that it's snowing outside, the cold night.

My hands grab the wheel- maybe I can call a cab. I can call a friend of Yoongi's to drive me there or I could call him, no he might be resting the plane leaves at two in the morning.

Biting my lip I see the time and I take in a deep breath before driving out of the parking lot.

A soft chuckle leaves my lips when I see his picture on an ad board. We had gone snowboarding and the older's had needed a model so they had asked him. I still remember the shocked look on his face when they asked him.

I stop when the light turns red.

I wasn't shocked, his beauty was something no one would be able to compare with.

I find myself twisting my brows a few minutes later, laughing as I think of him.

Him.

Him.

Only him.

Park Jimin.

Park Ji-Min.

I love him and he loves me.

Love was a heartbreaking phenomenon. It could break you. Makes you vulnerable. It is what has inspired the greatest poets and play writers out there, Shakespeare is one of them. It is what created those hues within the paintings of Picasso and Van Gogh. That is the reason why we all still enjoy reading the plays. Looking at their art, because we feel the love they have felt. Now thinking of it, we all have loved even if we haven't known it.

I used to love my pillow, it would be the only thing that would catch my tears when I'd cry at night. My only sense of comfort.

Jimin loved English Literature, it would bring him peace when he read it. When he wrote it. When he'd see those who had a talent with words.

Yoongi loved drinking, it calmed down his sadness. Stopped him from stressing over exams. But it also made him happy, made him wild. It made him forget his problems, something that always wandered around his mind. Problems.

My mother- she loved my father. I was sure that she still does. Spending over twenty years with him, I don't think neither of them will ever get rid of the stain they had created on each other's hearts.

I remember when I was younger when they'd argue in the kitchen. I would sit in the bathroom for a moment and then I'd move to close the door of my bedroom. Get my headphones to ignore whatever they were arguing over.

As a child, I use to swear that when I had my children. That I wouldn't argue with my partner, that I would look for the perfect partner. Now that I am older, I found that there is no such thing as a perfect human, Homo sapiens, person.

Growing up, I thought- oddly- that my parents were these heroes who had the capability of doing anything and everything. They aren't heroes, they have feelings and they are still like I am now. Confused about the way the world works, but they hide it better than I always will.

Kids will always wish that they are adults, I wish that they don't. I wish that their innocent minds are stuck in this wonderland I wish I had enjoyed. But now it's too late.

The light turns green, I look at both sides and I drive forward.

I comprehend that the car is flipping when I feel something against me. Pain. I don't really know, but I do know that I can't speak and that I can't move because of the seat belt.

I grip the bracelet he had made me and I close my eyes.

I don't think of him, I think of Marcus and I remember when we are children. When he'd scream for me to run when the bus would come down the street. Or when we'd go to the East Side and we'd spend all of our money on the food. I think of when I told him that I was gay and that night he held me as I cried in his arms.

Telling me that it was okay.

When he left, but he never said goodbye. I don't even remember why I was even angry at him.

I think of Yoongi. Yoongi, my beloved companion. The love of my life (in friendship terms). How he was always there for me, how he was the one to suck out the venom when a milksnake bit me. When he'd come over with food and how he'd climb through the bedroom window to give Marcus and I burgers.

I think of Taehyung. How is he now? Will he be happy? How will he feel when he gets the news? Will he regret what he had done a few years ago? Does he have a family? Will he cry? Will he laugh? What will happen?

I think of my mother, her young, beautiful, unlucky self. What is she doing right now? Is she cleaning the house? Cooking? Driving around town? Will she be the unlucky one to find me?

And then at last, just when I am about to close my eyes. I think of him. You- Park Jimin. Love of my life, the fire to the cave. What is he doing? What will he feel? Will he forget about me? When will I see him again? Will he be happy? Will he cry?

I think of the months we had been together and I can't help but almost cry when I noticed that these last few months are the happiest months I lived in my whole life.

I wasted my time with him.

And I don't regret it one bit.

I just hope that he is happy. That's all I want.