"JUST YOU" [Yoonmin]

"Prologue ; Where To Start"

"Prologue; Where to Start"

Yoongi's P.O.V.

There's never an easy way to start a story. It's always nerve wracking when you put pen to paper or start writing your first sentence. Is this story going to be good enough; did I grab the readers' attention with the first line? Were there any spelling or grammatical errors? Did I get the message across; where do I even begin?

They say the easiest way to go about creating your first adventure, biography, book etc..... is to just start, or simply just tell your story; that the rest will eventually fall into place.

When I think about the past and how I even got into writing in the first place, I think about my former 6th grade self and the assignment I wrote as my very first mystery narrative. I had to read it aloud in front of the whole class. It was to make up 70% of my final grade.

I was nervous, my hands shook, I was sweating, I looked only at the words that were written on the lined paper, and I made no eye contact with a single student. I spoke in a rush and did my best to not pass out as my heart was pounding really fast. I look back at how horrible I was with public speaking and how at even at the age of 12, I was a quiet, awkward kid.

What was supposed to be a 5-minute timed presentation, I ended up reading in two. I quickly bowed as the class unenthusiastically clapped, and I rushed back to my seat which was in the far corner at the very back. It was next to the only view I would ever want in a school setting, a window seat.

It overlooked the pretty fountain, mowed grass, and the statue of the school mascot. But that wasn't the only gorgeous view I had in language arts.

"Good job hyung! I can't wait to hear what happens next!"

That's right, the beautiful 10 year old boy who sat right in front of me. The same boy who skipped 2 grades because of his intelligent, creative, and smart brain.

He smiled at me like I actually mattered, that I was worth something. Even if my story did suck, and his would get an automatic A±, he still never failed to praise me, greet me, to make sure I never went a single day without being acknowledged.

"Thank you," I muttered back blushing. I quickly looked down at my textbook hoping he couldn't see my flushed face. But out of the corner of my eye, I could see a little smirk and his beautiful eye smile that I would come to love more than anything as the years go by.

I might have been young, but I wasn't stupid. Even at such a young age I knew I was different, felt different than most boys in my class, in all my grade actually if we're being honest. Hell, probably my whole school.

While most people dated and gave out gifts during Valentine's Day and White Day, I just kept to myself and focused on my writing. Although I didn't have those puppy love, fairy tale, milk and cookie drama social problems, that doesn't mean I didn't want it.

I would pretend by writing poetry of love, hurt, and wanting. I would write essays with long paragraphs, more pages than were assigned, and big words that even the teachers had a hard time understanding. I would create stories with beautiful creatures and fantasies of a parallel universe or new worlds where gender identity didn't matter.

Sometimes the ideas for a story would come to me in a single moment: a walk in the park near my house, daydreaming when I was supposed to be studying, fantasizing about the gorgeous boy in front of me and zoning out when others are talking to me, or even sleepless nights of imagining that I was the main character, or that the boy could be the damsel in distressed for once. My notebooks would be filled with want and longing, but a lot of the pages were just about feeling isolated and loneliness.

But most of the time, they were about the beautiful boy, who surprisingly, would sit in front of me in every class we had together, through every new school year that started, he was always there. My eyes were blessed every day with eye smiles, smirks, beauty, kindness, compassion, sometimes mischievous looks, but most importantly just the beautiful incredible creature that he was.

And in all those years he grew in popularity, grew into his maturity and responsibilities, and even grew more beautiful, which I never thought could be even more possible. He was the star on our track team, he was on the student council, he was the conversation starter with most students who wanted any and every piece of him; whether you were a boy or girl, he was the epitome of perfection.

And as my love from him grew deeper and deeper, so did my love for writing and "Fuck You" attitude. He always thought it was funny how I could write so beautifully but have the mouth of a sailor.

As you can tell, we remained friends and even started to meet others. Well, let me rephrase that, he forced me to meet others. I'm not complaining though, it filled my empty heart with the very love, compassion, and wanting that I had always dreamed of. Even if I didn't always verbally or physically show it, I will ALWAYS be grateful to the beautiful boy who sat in front of me.

But, like most romance novels, or "unrequited love" as in my case, all stories must come to an end.

We started to grow apart in life, began to have different views and opinions, different dreams and values, but most importantly we just changed. I changed. And when I begin to look back and blame myself, doubt myself, asking where it had gone all wrong, the one and only answer was plain and easy to see. It simply started with "Just You!"

Diary of Min Yoongi

"Young Love"

"Young Love" resembles short but brilliant rays, they smile, sweep, and tremble.

The most beautiful thing about "Young Love" is the excitement of shaking hands, beating hearts, and rosy cheeks of the first blush.

Kissing the rain of innocence,
wishful thinking, fantasies, daydreams, the feel of being carefree and freedom.

However, the sad and naive truth is, believing that this "Young Love" that we wholeheartedly yearn for in our hearts with the gleam in our eyes and compassion in our souls, will last Eternally Forever.

For the Very first time, the truth becomes a Lie, the Lie becomes the truth, and the Rose's thorns prick the inevitable once again."