three

Didn’t we discuss this?

I thought I’d made it clear.

Dear, what are you doing?

I’m honestly quite mad at you, watching you now. I thought you promised me you wouldn’t cry. You’re not like this. I know you – and the you I know doesn’t act like this. Oh don’t be like that – stop those silly tears. I don’t want to hear your words. You’re saying things I really don’t want to hear. Don’t flatter me. I didn’t change you. I didn’t make you like this. Honestly, if I knew you were going to act like this, I wouldn’t have told you in the first place.

Please stop talking. You’re making me feel bad.

There’s a funny thing about you. I don’t recall telling you this, but you have a habit of unintentionally tugging my heartstrings – taking me away and making it all hurt. You’re a strong girl – a cold girl – and you’re not meant to break down. You know, they used to always talk about us – Jeongmin did quite often. I remember his words, they were rather vague but he knew what he was talking about. He said if anything happened, I’d be the sissy breaking down while you’d pull me out. Funny, he didn’t turn out to be quite right. You, why are you crying? Please stop it, you look absolutely horrible.

I’d laugh if you wore mascara because, knowing you, you’d buy the one which wasn’t waterproof.

Though out of curiosity, wasn’t it obvious? Out of curiosity, couldn’t you tell? I did give you an unintentional amount of clues – ridiculous, I could say. I was actually quite angry with myself. I thought you would’ve figured it out, but it was still important that you’d be happy. More than anything, it was important that you’d smile. This sounds silly and clichéd and something you of all people couldn’t bear to hear, but it was important that you had good memories of me. Selfish, right? I wanted you only to think the best of me, and now that I think about it, how could I expect you to move on swiftly? I’m sorry for being selfish, but the truth is I love you. I love you a lot. I love you more than the birds which fly through me and the flowers which wither in my hands. I love you in ways I don’t think anyone could understand. You’re not likeable, you’re not anyone who I can simply smile at and expect to smile back. You’re so different, you’re so special. I really, really like you.

And now, you’ve turned me into a withering mess. And now, for once, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for being such a selfish fool. I’m sorry, alright? I know it was selfish of me to want you to remember me – to want you to be caught up on the traces of myself. It was so egoistic to have wanted you to be infuriated with ne as I was of myself. It’s so stupid – so shameful. I wish you could see me right now, shaking my head in disgust. Sometimes I disgust myself. Sometimes my image of myself gets ahead of me, and that causes me to act not for your sake, but for mine instead. That was stupid – I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve just left you, left us – perfectly mismatched like different socks. I shouldn’t have tried to alter our last memories. I shouldn’t have tried to make everyone seem better than it was. What was, what was the point of that?

Please know, if I could see you, I’d tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done.

I hope I didn’t make you mad. Oh please, please stop throwing your camera around. You told me, when I first met you, that you loved your camera – that it was your everything. You took a lot of pictures there – you captured a lot of memories on that thing. You said it was once your father’s before him and your mother got into a big fight. You told me you had tried to give it back to him, but he threw it back at you before he left. I always wondered why you kept such a thing. I mean, if it was a good memory I’d understand. If you smiled every time you told that story, and your smile wasn’t bitter, it would make sense. You’re such an infinitely perplexing person, you know that right? You with all your scoffed laughs and twinkling eyes, why couldn’t you – why couldn’t I?

I’m looking at you now, you know that right? I’m sure you can see me, even if all you do see is your camera. This sounds creepy, but I know what you’re doing right now. I can see you, you know, flicking through your camera. Your eyes are red like they are in the flu season. Your lips are cracked and pale except for the small red spots where you’ve bit your lip too hard. That’s a really bad habit you have, you know. You’re doing right now – subconsciously you do it when you’re really thoughtful. You do it when you’re not thinking or when you aren’t focusing.

Oh dear, don’t drop your camera like that – if you’re not careful, it will break.

Break, break like your glass eyes where salty tears sweep through. Break, break like the throbbing pain in my chest when you look so ugly and disgusting and everything that’s simply not you. Break, like the promises I made and the rings I gave you. Break like your mother’s memories and the sanity which kept her alive. Break like you did when your world was crashing down.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh god, oh I’m so sorry why can’t I do anything please forgive me.

I think I’m honestly starting to lose my head. See what you do, you silly girl? There are so many things I should’ve told you, so many facts you needed to know. Please stop that. Don’t touch those photographs – you printed them because you thought they were lovely. Oh my, please don’t. Please stop throwing things; please stop hurling them across the room. Please stop ripping those photographs and smashing that glass. Can you hear your mother? She’s scared, she’s really scared. Can’t you see? Don’t you understand? She’s worried. She’s mimicking your screams because she’s afraid. She doesn’t know what to do.

Please help her, please, please – for me.

You’re such a lovely girl and I know I shouldn’t ever hurt you or touch you because you’re the only girl I could ever love but please help her. It’s not her fault, please understand dear. Her memory’s fading. Just because she can’t remember doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. Just because she can’t recall your name doesn’t mean she won’t panic if you break down. You’re such a strong girl, such a happy girl – cynical really, but I saw you, I know you best; your eyes fold into crescents when you’re happy – I can’t ever let that part of you go. I hope you know I love you, and I hope you know that I know you love me, so you can stop with your guilt party. Be happy – your cameras still working.

Watching you flick through all those pictures, I feel like you’re a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow up in my face.

It’s around that time you break down. You don’t often do so – in fact, when you could still see me I don’t think you ever did. But watching you, watching you roll in a pit full of your own pity – it actually scares me quite a far bit. I’m wishing I can hold your hand when it happens, grab your bony fingers in my own and hope my warmth will rub off on your icy body. I really regret taking those pictures with you, I really regret what I had originally intended as a favour to you. I can still remember that day.

One picture, I had told you, you can take one picture.

To be honest, I would’ve thought that would’ve been the biggest hint. Originally it seemed too obvious. I thought you’d get suspicious. But you didn’t, and in some ways I’m glad.

Happy birthday, I know I’m three days too late and left seventy years too early.

Now don’t look at me like that. You know, you knew that I hated – and continue to hate – the way you’re always trying to capture me; turn me into another picture of your mind. I hated that camera of yours, but here’s a small thing. When you feel really guilty, indebt to a person really, you’ll do anything for them. So I guess this was my tribute to you – my gift.

But now it’s time to realise that I, by many standards, have not done that. I’ve simply put my own idea of self-worth onto you, and if I could I’d make it up.

Now, as I watch you curl up on the floor and cry and cry and cry, I know what I’ve done was wrong. I never should’ve left you, because then you would cry and sob and weep and I would just watch silently as you wore away your life. You’re telling yourself you should’ve known it – you should’ve suspected something when I let you take a picture. You shouldn’t have fumbled over your camera. You should’ve known me. You should’ve known me well. I hated cameras. I hated photos. So when would I ever do something like that?

“You’re such an ugly liar,” you spit, “Shim Hyunseong, you’re the worst liar in the world.”

I don’t get why you say that – I mean, I fooled you, didn’t I? You’re not a girl who’s easily tricked by small things like that, but I’m pretty proud of myself, cruel as that sounds. I’ve always known you to easily spot lies – to easily see my bull. But surprisingly, this time is danced past you. I don’t know if I’m flattered you like me that much or ashamed because I wrongfully corrupted you and told you something that wasn’t the truth.

You laugh, and your laugh this time isn’t pretty nor a scoff. It’s kind of bitter, like black coffee, and when you speak again my vision blurs.
 

“Did you think it was funny, Shim Hyunseong? Did you think it was funny to pick daisies when you should’ve gone under the knife?”

Your look up helplessly at the ceiling, and even though they tell me you can’t see the dead, I feel like you can, and your eyes are looking straight at me, your brow furrowed as you scowl.

“You should be under life support, Shim Hyunseong. You should’ve taken the operation when they offered it.”

I know what you’re going to say. In fact, you’ve already said it. I’m a silly boy who shouldn’t have refused a life changing operation to save my life. I know how you see things, and in ways I can see it myself. I see you at my funeral, a black dress you probably grabbed off your forgetful mother, not before you glared and hissed at her, “I’m your daughter.” And I see you as you watch among people who you know never really knew my face as they weep for a person they barely know. Everyone takes their turn at giving a talk and to be honest it’s not as tear wrenching as everyone says it is because frankly I don’t know these people and I certainly don’t understand how they can write five minute long speeches on someone they never knew.

Of all people, I wait for your speech, because truly you’re the only one I could actually say knew me and liked me for who I was. I don’t know what I’m expecting, because I know you and you don’t like talking. You don’t like opening your mouth unnecessarily and you certainly hate useless batter. But nevertheless, I’m watching you closely and my eyes are silently waiting for your speech. I notice you have no palm cards and frankly I know you’re good at talking when you want too, so I wait.

You gather everyone’s attention and pause. You haven’t even said anything as you breathe out a sigh.

“I hope he knows I’ll miss our little talks.”

You walk back down and slowly but surely people turn their heads and frown because frankly they don’t know you like I do and they can’t understand how much you mean. You mean a lot more than your words, and if I’m honest, your mere few seconds were enough to make me smile and laugh and I feel like my cheeks might stretch if I beam too much. It doesn’t feel as bright as I know it should be – it feels pitiable even, because you’re probably the one sole reason I would’ve considered taking that operation. Now – and I don’t want too – I feel regret, because I know I want to be there with you in my arms and your rough hand in mine, your fuzzy scarf hitting my shoulder and your coat five sizes too big. I want to have your baggy sweaters touching the side of my waist when we walk and your camera jabbing me as you walk across, a soft, quiet but firm smile on your face. For once I want us to sit next to each other, hand in hand and feet touching as we watch the sky change from blue to pink to orange and every colour it can be. I want the grass the sparkle underneath our feet and your eyes back towards the camera, a smile gracing your clean lips.

So now I’ll give you one more chance – take two if I may – just for you, for your smile and laughter only. This is only for you; you know I’d do it for no one else, right? One more time – one last chance – a twist of time to make everything return and for it all to be right again. This will be your only chance to make everything right, and to see it for what it is.

Here dear, one more chance for you to make everything go your way.

In this chance - ending, if I may - I won't die. I won't leave you with photographs of fake smiles and a timed fate. This time we'll live through it. This time I'll tell you I'm dying and together we'll summon enough money to make your dream a reality. This time we'll pay for the surgery. This time I'll make it out. This time you won't run to the hospital and find a dead face. This time they'll be no funeral. Nothing. 

Just you and I, walking into the sun.

(A/N: Thank you for reading Flavours of Milk! I hope you enjoyed it, and I thank you for your comments and subscriptions, they mean a lot to me <3)