"It's not easy for me to talk about. A half-life in lost dreams. And not simple, it's trigonometry. It's hard to express. I can't explain. Ever since my baby went away, it's been the blackest day." — The Blackest Day, Lana del Ray
I almost never visited my mom's grave. It was too weird, standing on a ground filled to the brim with dead bodies and the high possibility of wandering souls.
It felt like I was too dirty, too impure to be there. Like my sins would awaken the spirits at rest and have them maliciously attached to me like dogs on meat.
But I also didn't like the thought of leaving my mother alone like that.
The older I got, the more I realized that was her whole motivation behind having a child. Nothing grand like raising the world's next cancer-cure or conniving like trying to trap my father and siphon his money.
She just didn't want to be alone.
I could at least grant her that last wish in death, or try to at least. Especially since I failed to keep her alive in the first place.
It was a hollow, indescribable type of pain to stand there in her mausoleum crypt staring at the big concrete box that housed my beautiful mother's decaying body.
To be right there with her and never be able to get through. To never be able to tell her all the things I was meant to. To never be able to work through our problems together. To never know what the last straw was that made her pull the trigger.
I drew my eyes to the corner of the crypt for a moment, trying to rid myself of the sting of tears building in my eyes.
I could tell my nana had been here recently. The flowers on the casket were fresh and the place had been dusted and tidied up.
No one ever came in here but me and my nana. My dad's rich circle never actually liked her and she was too depressed to make friends otherwise.
When my eyes cleared, I returned my gaze to the enclosement that protected my mother's corpse.
I wished I could have one of those long monologues. An apology. An update on my life.
But instead, all I had was tense, pained silence.
The one thing I could give her was a tradition of mine that I started since she died.
A small slip of paper left on her entombment with a single word on it to describe the gist of how things have been since the last time I came.
Written on the paper was the same word that I'd written every time I came since she died.
Lost.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Promise | Monsta X Jooheon
Fanfic•To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven• Promise Keshan doesn't want to think. Not about her mother's suicide or the four men who violated her that night when she was just a little girl or Jiho, who left her without a word right when she needed h...
