one

If I remember correctly, no two fingerprints are ever the same. Mind you, if my memory serves me right (and we both know how that usually turns out), I would say you were a pretty girl with bright eyes, a sweet smile and a beautiful assortment of dresses.

You’re not though. Because you only ever wear orange dresses, you have circles under your eyes from your horrible sleep patterns and your smile is often a cynical laugh towards anything I have to say.

Please don’t be offended dear. I say this all in an endearing, loving way. Don’t give me a frown; I have good memories of you. I do recall how you never actually used pen beyond school. We met a couple of times – a lot actually – and every time you would bring a sharp yellow pencil and some century old rubber to write on the Polaroids you took.

I told you it’d look better in pen, you silly girl. It wouldn’t smudge if you let it set.

I think of you a lot. Sometimes I linger in that old café of ours, the faded post-it notes which are pegged along a messy string, draped across the west wall. Sometimes I go order a hot chocolate and black coffee for you, laughing when only a breeze greets me. I think of you in every moment I’m not trying to catch flying leaves as they fall off autumn trees. Every moment I stare into the glass window of that café, laughing at the words we used to write.

I don’t believe we’ve visited it recently, do you?

Someone should tell you that too much black coffee will turn you bitter. I believe I had told you that myself. I think it’s one of my better jokes – horribly worded, but that’s what suits you fancy. I believe you don’t go to that old shop to order your coffee anymore. Now, you tell me, you go to the new one closer to that new apartment of yours. Psh, what do they know about coffee? Obviously, our café knew better.

Only Youngmin could make your coffee the way you wanted.

I really don’t understand, even to this day, how you drink that. From what I’ve seen, it tastes horrible. Nothing like the subtle sugar Youngmin sneaks it. Oops – did I say that out loud? I hope you didn’t hear that, Youngmin would have my head. But I guess now you know, I should tell you it was only ever two good tablespoons of brown sugar. That stuff is wonderful, in case you haven’t tried it (but you have, only unconsciously).

Come to think of it, did you ever try those brownies? Youngmin makes lovely brownies.

I know you’re not a fan of sugar. Don’t worry, I’m not as silly as I was before – someone like you could never be concerned over kilojoules. You eat tasteless foods anyways. All those heavy teas and seeded breads – you should really try something new. You eat to live, I see, though personally I prefer to live to eat. I guess that’s what made us get along so much. You didn’t mind sharing lunch and I didn’t bother you over your lack of flavour (though honestly, I really don’t get how you survive on oatmeal muffins and black coffee everyday).

Or maybe not. Come to think of it, how we managed to slide in like two perfectly crafted puzzle pieces is really beyond me. You were always so regular and evenly paced – it was suffocating, I’ll admit.

The only thing you ever did change, in that terribly mundane life of yours, was that each day you had a different bottle of milk. Nothing to big (you have the appetite of a five year old, do you know that?), but a good little treat you would always snap at. A different flavour of milk. Sometimes chocolate, sometimes soy – sometimes a totally new creation you tell me you made yourself. Mind you, I trust you zero when it comes to the kitchen.

I never did get your obsession with photography, but who am I to complain?

I hope you know I really do like you. You’re such wonderful company – horribly sarcastic, terribly presented and an awful person to anyone in need of a hand, sure. But you were my mess of blunt words, badly phrased compliments and statements you could never get across in the right way. I really liked that about you. I really liked your orange dresses and funny little charms which hung off your neck. I did like the way you held a camera, your hands firmly set. There was something unbelievably confident about your position.

One thing, however, I did dislike was your habit of taking photos of me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I find your whole picture contains a hundred words terribly amusing and all, but I don’t really get how I fit into this. You once told me you took pictures of things which were beautiful. That was wonderful dear, really. But I don’t think you understand fully. Many things can be beautiful. Mind you, most beautiful things are inanimate objects – I hope you see that they are beautiful because there are too dead to be ugly. However, I think your definition of beauty is too vague. You never did define it, did you? Something, perhaps, pretty to the eyes?

Sorry for diverting so terribly from our originally topic, but I feel the need to remind you that among the many beautiful things you photograph, there is me.

And I dear am not beautiful.

(A/N: Well this is terribly short.)