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"If my heart could count the beats it had rhymed for you under the stars, then the sky would had been crushing down to the earth."
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Min Yoongi stepped out of the operation theatre in midnight.
His hand gloves were drenched in blood; the green cotton mask was lowered and loosely tied around his neck. He took a deep breath from the air which was still suffocatingly hot and dank. Fishing out the gloves and throwing them into dustbin, the man started walking toward the bathroom with his shoulders aching keenly.
At those dark nights, he could not stop feeling alone.
Maybe sometimes his eyes would wonder off to the vast and starlit night out of the windows, but that empty canvas always reminded him of a certain time he could not forget. His chest throbbed painfully at the sight; his cold yet sorrowful gaze traced upon the inky curves of the silver moon. The stars painted on the horizon looked dazzling yet secluded in their own pain to him; making Yoongi to think what could be the exact reason.
Alas, those snow white constellations were already grieving for his story.
Life had taught him many things. Things what others could not even think of experiencing. Like a palette full of bright colors; people used it to paint their dreams on papers, yet never knowing how it carried the essentials for them to draw. How it was left tainted after each and every strokes; how water could not ever wash away the patches fully.
