seasons of our ruin

four

JAEHYUK

i am always torn between love and hatred for him. there are days when my heart brims with honey ambrosia love for him, till it seeps down from the cracks and crevices of my bones, till it flows like gushing rivers from my eyes, till i am wholly and completely dissolved by it. there are days when i hate him so much that the venom of my hatred scalds my throat and burns like wildfires across my warm ivory skin. i hate how my mother has stopped making her infamous strawberry shortcake, because every time she plucks a fresh strawberry from our garden she's reminded of how he would sneak at midnight to finish all the cake she made. i hate how she has slowly decayed from inside, and now she's just a ghost covered with this ephemeral flesh. i remember how her amethyst eyes used to always sparkle like the honey gold morning spring sun but now they're just a chasm of bleakness—a void that's become so heavy with guilt that it hangs like bags under her eyes. wherever she goes, she can't escape the unbearable cruelty of spring.even her sleep is haunted by those tantalizing blush pink cherry blossoms as she wakes up in the middle of the night screaming and calling out his name, begging him to somehow come back. whenever i close my eyes, all i can see is his mangled and bloodied body glistening with crimson stained cherry blossom petals. you may think you're the only one whose life has been ripped and decimated and thrown apart after he left, but he's completely destroyed us too and now all we're left with is nothing but bloodied and broken remnants of a past which reeks of corrosive guilt and ceaseless pearl drop tears.

you continue to smoke, while i stay transfixed to my spot; unmoving, completely entranced by you. i watch you with golden mesmerisation as the sun casts a soft glow on your ground coffee skin, and it almost feels as if the glaciers that cloud your onyx eyes slightly melt with the gleaming sun irradiating you in its seraphic halo. i try to unravel what you're thinking but you've always been so reticent and frigid; especially when it comes to me. i could stare into the obsidian pools of your eyes for eternity, i could drown in the bubbling darkness that brews in there every time you see me, i could burn myself away for you just so that you have light— but you could never understand me; because for you, i would always be the sinner who led to his downfall. i was the scorching and blazing sun that melted his wax wings as he tumbled and fell into the cruel arms of draconian death.

it feels good to see you after so long; spring feels less suffocating, less stifling, less overbearing with your earthy vanilla spice perfume blanketing the sweet floral spring air which reeks of fluttering cherry blossoms. i can almost feel myself dissolve with each cloud of smoke you exhale as the half burnt cigarette momentarily detaches from your fiery rose lips. your hate is a familiar ache, its scorching and blazing and burns me whole, till my insides are charred onyx and littered with ashes of my own ruin— but its warm. its warm like freshly poured honey on melted butter toast, its warm like the tropical carmine sunsets of spring. i've been cold for so long that it doesn't matter if your warmth sears scars me with its cruel ultraviolence, because finally, finally its warm inside.