The messages were sent.

However, the answer button left idle.

My tears already fell while the tissues left untouched.

The questions came but were left unanswered.

How could you, Suho?

How can you just pack up and leave without checking out?

You may be gone but you’re still here…At least, I think you are.

I called. I waited. I left messages. I looked for him. I did everything, but why are you still not here?

You were the one to tell me there is such a thing as a happy ending but why do I feel that this ending isn’t one of those kinds of fairytales?

“Suho…It’s me, ___. Please…Please give me a call back. I really need to talk to you. I need to hear your voice…Call me back, please.”

I shut my eyes along with my phone and threw it to the side, not caring where it landed. I picked up another book and looked through it without the least bit of interest as I flipped through its word filled pages.

How could something so full feel so empty?

Easy. These words no longer had meaning. These words were useless to me now that I knew the bitter taste of love.

Love could be the addiction while I was the addict.

It made me drunk with bliss while it ran through my blood and increased my heartbeat. I was forever wanting more of it until it was all out and then…

The side of the addiction that no one wants to admit to…The fact that you were addicted to the pain, the joy, the craving of wanting to feel that ecstasy.

I was obsessed with the feeling of love.

But it put me in a state of self destruct as my heart slowly started to die down and the feeling of happiness was replaced with the pain of the addiction.

I no longer felt happy. I was hungry. Starved to the point I was dying for it.

And in all reality…He hadn’t even told me yet that he loved me.

I was living in my own world, thinking his behavior told me he liked me.

What was the turning point to his behavior? What was the problem to this story?

The similarities are certainly uncanny now that I think of it.

My love for books was my obsession, but now falling in love with Suho…I see how similar these two things can be.

It pulls you in with its pretty picture and keeps you there with its meaningful words and its mysterious story. You fall in love with what though?

I fell in love with the words he told me.

I fell in love with the story he made me.

I fell in love with the mystery that was Suho.

I fell in love with his handsome face.

Just like how I fell in love with the words of a story and how it carried me to the end.

Just like how it’s the story that pulls me in.

Just like how I love to turn each page and find out what happens next.

Just like how I fall in love with the pretty picture.

Books.

And Love.

Are one and the same.

They even give you heartbreak.

But unlike a book, you can’t return love.

Love can never be checked out or checked back in.

It’s permanently there.

But, unlike love, books were easier to move on from.

But I wasn’t moving on without Suho.

So I waited.

Waited in the place I knew he’d come to eventually.

To the one place that filled my addiction until I had reached my ideal high.

The library.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I haven't written like this in awhile.

I could feel my stories were becoming...Ehh, and my writing was starting to not be what I wanted.

Why didn't you guys tell me that haha

A short update...Sowwy, I was writing up another story I've yet to release lol

I apologize for my writing in my other stories too...It's lacking and I need to get my muse back!

I loved his hair in the history MV >.<  I love his brown hair...

WHYSUHOWHYMUSTYOULOOKSODAMNGOODINBLACK?!!?