Forbidden Desire | J.JK

2

Two months later

It's been a solid two months since Jimin left for the military, and let me tell you, I've been missing him like crazy. I mean, seriously, it's like a piece of my heart is missing. Life without him feels so incredibly lonely.

Every single day, I drag myself out of bed, only to be greeted by the emptiness that surrounds me. It's like a cruel joke, a constant reminder that Jimin is no longer here. Gone are the days of waking up to his warm body pressed against mine, his arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace. No more morning cuddles that made me feel safe and loved. And don't even get me started on his soft snores. They used to drive me absolutely insane, but now, I find myself longing for that familiar sound. It's funny how the things that used to annoy us become the things we miss the most.

I try to fill the void with pillows, hugging them tightly as if they could somehow replace Jimin's presence. But it's just not the same. The pillows don't have his warmth or his heartbeat. They don't make me feel cherished and adored like he did. They're just lifeless objects, incapable of providing the comfort I so desperately crave.

Sometimes, I catch myself reaching out to the empty space beside me, hoping to find him there. It's a habit I can't seem to break. But all I'm met with is cold sheets and a hollow ache in my chest. It's in these moments that I realize just how much I miss him. How much I need him.

To keep my mind from dwelling on the constant ache in my chest, I've thrown myself into new hobbies. One of them being painting. It's funny, really. I never thought I had an artistic bone in my body, but here I am, dabbling with colors and brush strokes, and surprisingly, it helps.

There's something therapeutic about mixing colors, watching them blend and create something beautiful. It's a form of expression that I never knew I needed. With each stroke, I pour my emotions onto the canvas, releasing them into the world. It's like a cathartic release, a way to let go of the heaviness that weighs me down.

And as I paint, I find myself getting lost in the process. The world around me fades into the background, and it's just me and the canvas. The worries and doubts that plague my mind take a backseat, replaced by a sense of calm and focus.

I experiment with different techniques, trying to capture the essence of my emotions. Sometimes, I let the brush glide gently, creating soft, delicate strokes that reflect my longing. Other times, I apply bold, vibrant colors, representing the strength and resilience that keeps me going.

It's not about creating a masterpiece or impressing anyone. It's about finding solace in the act of creation. It's about channeling my emotions into something tangible, something I can see and touch. And in those moments, I feel a sense of freedom, a temporary escape from the ache in my chest.

But no matter how many paintings I create, or how many books I read, or how many episodes of my favorite TV show I binge-watch, nothing can fill the void that Jimin's absence has left behind. It's like a black hole, sucking away all the happiness and warmth from my life.

The books I read offer temporary solace, transporting me to different worlds and introducing me to new characters. But as I close the final page, reality crashes down on me, reminding me that the only character missing from my story is the one I long for the most.

And then there are the TV shows, those mindless distractions that keep me company during the lonely nights. I lose myself in the lives of fictional characters, living vicariously through their triumphs and heartaches. But when the credits roll and the screen fades to black, I'm left with the harsh reality that my own story is on pause, waiting for Jimin's return to resume its course.