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I hated you so much, you know?
I couldn’t remember your face really clearly—but I could, somehow, picture your lopsided smile and dark strands of hair inside my consciousness. And I could, somehow, imagine the freckles which dusted your flushed cheeks and the sounds of chiming bells when you were laughing. I could vividly paint you in yellow—in gold. Your little moles and deer-shaped eyes left a painfully sweet picture between my black and white memories and it stayed even until now.
If I were given the chance to meet you again, in any circumstances, I would gladly take it by heart. I would give anything in a change of your existence. I would—but not now. Not never.
I refused to.
Because now you were gone. Gonegonegone.
(I will never see you again, never touch you again.)
By the time I realize the pain and suffering that rested behind your eyes—it was already too late. And by the time I decided to let you go—you began to fade away, little by little.
And I hated it—the way you kept disappearing every time I wanted to remind you by.
I hated it so, so much.
(I don't want you to be gone, I'd never wanted to let go—but they said that I have to, but it painful, so painful and I'm hurt. Hey, will you come back?)
They said that you'd gone too far. There was no coming back. I couldn’t see you again. I couldn’t feel you again. I couldn’t meet you again.
I blocked them out of my mind.
Because the idea to forget you—it was too absurd for me. Too cruel, I'd say.
But they kept on ranting about how a dead person—yes, they were talking about you, how stupid—should not harness my future.
I ignored them.
But they were too pertinacious. They kept on ranting and ranting until I was sick of it and did what they want to shut them off.
So I tried—
I tried to forget you and move on with my pathetic life. And at first, it was okay. I was okay. But then, things began to change. I was afraid to move on, it hurt to do so when you were not here with me. I couldn’t remember you anymore. I began to forget. You were only a caricature of some sorts, a greyscale, blurry picture. And by the time the month ended—you were gone thorughly.
It was painful, to see you slipping away. Because every day I spent without you the memories of your smile and laugh and everything began to disappear little by little.
That's why I decided to shut the world off. I decided to break off my connection with the outside world—because they always tried to take you away from me.
I hoped you understand.
(You do? Don't you?)
I loved you. So much that I felt like breaking every time I caught the familiar shade of yellow that exclusively reserved for you from the corner of my eyes. Sadly, the harsh truth was, it was not yours. Never yours.
I was sorry.
Even though I hated you so much—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so, so much, I chanted again and again—but I couldn’t help to love you.
Sorry because I couldn’t save you.
Sorry because I couldn’t love you enough.
Sorry because I'd let you die.
(I'm sorry, Kai.)
“Patient Choi Soobin?”
I stepped away from the window. A white-cloaked woman was standing at the door, staring at me.
“It’s time for your regular examination,” she smiled, and yet it looked so fake. “Are you ready?”
I’m not, I wanted to say, let me out this hellhole, I wanted to say, I’m not crazy, I wanted to say.
(But who would listen to me anyway?)
“Yes, I am ready.”