Art Of Letting You Go ✓

liii.

I placed the soup on the tray, along with a dose of aspirin to relieve pain.

I made my way to the door to Jimin's room and struggled to knock.

After a few more knocks, I never got an answer.

I twisted the door open and surprisingly, it was not locked.

There was not a single trace of him inside the room and I started to worry once again.

He hasn't even recovered yet he's already causing me trouble for the second time.

I sighed, knowing my effort to cook was put to waste. I guess he wants some time to himself, so I'll just let him be.

Besides, I know he probably hates me by now. I was such a fool not to realize.

I placed the tray on the kitchen counter and picked up the aspirin, placing it back into the cabinet.

I was spacing out when I remembered the black box.

Wow, what a great time to hurt myself. Literally, since I'm home alone.

I walked into my room and took out the box which was hidden underneath my bed.

I felt a series of nostalgia as I opened it, taking a quick glimpse of the polaroids.

One thing caught my eye. It was a small notebook labeled as "Love Diary."

I opened it and a picture slipped out.

It was my silhouette and I surely know it was taken at Mount Achasan, the last place I went with him before I left.

It strongly reminded me of the painting inside Taehyung's room.

I went through the pages and found the last page where there was handwriting. One-fourth of the notebook was empty while the rest had writings on each.

I'm guessing this was the last one he wrote.

dear diary,

it's been two years since i last saw her.
how long will this longing take?

she told me ten years would pass quickly like seasons.

it's been three winters yet i still haven't played in the snow with her.

how many more winters until i can hold her hand again?

i wonder if she's eating well, if she became even more prettier.
i wonder if she's missing me too.

i feel so empty. i thought i could live like this but i'm not even halfway yet i'm already unable to sleep properly.

all the memories i have of her are these polaroids, keeping my love undying.

I noticed how a droplet of tear soaked a part of the paper.

I wish you loved me again.
Like before.
When you loved me the most.

NARRATION:

It was his last letter before the fateful accident happened.

He was lonely, just before his mind was completely renewed.

Along with the loneliness, it also took his precious memory of his beloved.

In this cruel world,
do happy endings really exist?