✔ blue-coloured beginnings 「 khunbam 」

Epilogue

“Itʼs been a while, my jewel.”

Clad in silver and blue, you whisper soft and crisp, a spellbound gaze lingering on the epitaph a little while longer before you settle beside the open casket— a bouquet of crystalline azure and gray flowers growing rather comfortably on the grip of your palm.

“How are you? Did you miss me?” You mumble, caressing your belovedʼs face so gently, tucking away the strands of sanguine strayed by the winter breeze. “I hope you did, because I long for you. Sometimes, itʼs too much that it feels like a sin. But I always do.”

An eternity had passed since the day you had to say an abrupt goodbye, yet you could still distinguish the overlapping faces of the first and only person you had loved the most like it was easier than breathing. Tracing the almond that was your loverʼs eyes, through the structure of his nose and lips, until the chisel of his jaw with the wintry cold of your fingertips, you took all the time in your world and kept it in this casket. Because you once said the world would crumble the moment he would die before you, and he was your world. You took all the time in the world and placed it inside this casket, because it held the memories of him, and looking at it felt like your time never once stopped moving.

“Hey— pfft... stop it! I give up, I give up!”

A memory flashed in your mind.

The brunet wheezing almost breathlessly, clutching the sides of his stomach as he tried to pry away your intrusive hands which tickled. You ended up complying yet pursed your lips, throwing a playful glare at the guy who was fumbling with words of surrender.

“Serves you right for leaving me alone with those nasty blonds for hours.”

Silence ensued between the both of you before bursting into laughter, knowing full well that when it comes to him, you were an open book that had sat too long within the corner shelves without the patience to stay unread. You can never refute those eyes which knows no doubt. Ironic, isnʼt it? As you ventured atop the tower, along your name carried the reputation of a vain and cunning bastard who spares no expense at disposing anyone who cannot prove themselves worthy of his presence. Yet here you are, grasping the hand of a man who is desired by everybody. Him, whose hands fit yours perfectly.

“Mʼsorry. Donʼt get mad at me?”

It was picturesque. A scenic masterpiece you could stare at your every waking second ever so tirelessly, yet too realistic at the same time. The brunet falling into a dreamless slumber, and the longer you stare, the more it felt like he was breathing. That the slight rising and falling of his chest werenʼt just a figment of your imagination, and you could pretend that if you wished hard enough, his eyes would flutter and flicker, and his palms would squeeze yours for reassurance.

“It must be upsetting— being alone, wherever you are. I told you I should have followed you soon after, but every time I attempt to, you always bring me back.”

As if the several millennia of self torture wasnʼt enough, it was an indulgent move on your part to preserve the corpse of a dead must-have-been and dress him up as if he was alive.

You were forced to sit down the floorboards of your porch between the youngerʼs legs, facing the vast horizons of the 111th floor. The other carefully running a brush to bristle through your unkempt strands of sky blue.

“Why do you still always go and meet with the floorsʼ inhabitants when you know they would barely remember you?”  You asked in a fit of boredom and curiosity, leaning back until you caught his eye as he braids your hair.