Work Text:
Somewhere in Anakt Garden, long after the 50th season of alien stage, there was a note found.
It’s not specified where it was said to have been found, but theres one thing for certain. Whoever wrote it cared deeply for the contestant named Till, who made it to the last round before sadly losing to the second time champion, Luka.
There was a vague memory that the boy had once sung in the competition. But that would be forgotten with time, too.
The note was scorned at the sides, layered with the remnants of time and jagged pains of what couldnt have been changed. Whoever wrote it was careful with the wording, but messy with their writing. Maybe they had wrote it in a hurry.
It read:
“Dear, Till.
I know you should never find this. But I, nonetheless, must write it. Its too difficult to put into words— the way I feel things— its too intricate. Nothing correlates, tangling into each other. I know you dislike that about me: You cant figure me out. I guess thats something we have in common. I cant figure you out, either. My feet cant touch the bottom of you. Its curious.
I wont leave you.
I know that much. I dont think I could stomach it well enough. But I will die if I stay here. Maybe im okay with that. As long as I can feel the weight of your eyes on me once more.
My feelings for you are shallow, as are all of my feelings, but theres something else im supposed to say. I cant for the life of me remember what it is.
I want you to leave this place with me. But you wont leave her. You choose her every time. Thats okay. You dont understand. Im not supposed to need other people, but I need you. It’s a defect woven into the fabric of my very being.
When the time comes, I will give my life to you. Cradle it close. Dont forget me, Till.
Goodbye.”
The note ended at that. No name. Only small hints as to who it could be.
Goodbye Till, they hardly knew you.