Work Text:
Long after it has gone dark, a faint light illuminates a room. In that very room, a woman writes down each and every moment of her day—inconsequential or not, they’re meticulously recorded down. Tribulations and cheer, small smiles and triumphant celebrations, she more than most, knows to cherish these moments with her life on the line. Each stroke of her pen is with love and care for a better tomorrow.
Once she grows tired and weary of inscribing her tales to her well worn journal, (let’s not kid ourselves, it’s a diary), she places it on her table. The first thing that she will see come daybreak is that notebook, her life bare to the person reading it.
On that hour before midnight, Ye Shunguang takes her final rest.
—
Ye Shunguang awakens to the cheerful chirps and a lazy sun. Though her memory of the day before today is blurry, that’s quite alright. Because somewhere, where she can’t quite place, she knows to read through the book by her bed.
And then with shaky hands—she reads.
She commits every painstakingly written detail to memory, to the point that it’s second nature. Quizzes herself on the faces and names of those who she loves most. Chants both in her mind and through her lips that she’s still here, that she hasn’t left just yet.
And she makes memories, enough to fill out the pages of a notebook.
On that day before it goes dark, Ye Shunguang lives.
Hidden between the lines and buried beneath her heart is this,
don’t forget me.