{  Personal Info;

Date of Birth: March 30th, 1987

ual Orientation: Heteroual

Relationship Status: Single; not looking

“I want to let you know that it's a little ed up that I'm stuck here...waiting.”

{  ooc Status;

✔ Procrastinating || ✘ Replying || ✘ Prioritising certain posts || ✔ Dead muse || ✔ Lazing about || ✘ Waiting || ✘ Unexplained

#Officially Missing You - Geeks

 

{  Nobody knows me; I'm cold. Walkdown this road all alone.It's no one's fault but my own. It's the path I've chosen to go;

 

 

♠

 

I remember the feeling of my heart dropping.

 

Speechless, unbelieving and completely and utterly lost. “Get married; it’s your destiny,” my father said. What was so wrong about that? The feeling of pure bliss: the feeling of someone loving me for who I was, the thought of someone devoting their entire life to me, the thought of someone putting me first in their life, the sensation of someone’s smile as they kissed me—as I said; pure bliss. It was perfect; everything my father had planned. I marry her, devote my life to her and she’d do the same to me. After all, she loved me. She never failed to remind me. What was so wrong about that?

 

It was wrong because I was wholly and irrevocably head over heels in love with someone else. I was stupid, you see. When I was younger, I never thought it mattered. So what if I loved? Love was such a feeble thing. Love made one a feeble thing. But when the supposedly remarkable news was brought to me, I froze. I couldn’t possibly love her for who she was, because I never loved her in the first place; not in that way, anyway. I couldn’t devote my life to her. I couldn’t put her first in my life. I couldn’t smile when I kiss her. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t because I was in love with someone else.

 

Unbelievably, blissfully, permanently, fearfully in love with someone else.

 

♠

 

I remember the sensation of the cold wind blowing against my cheeks.

 

Cold, wet, breathless and absolutely blissful. “Run away with me,” I said after barging into her house, completely soaked because of the raindrops that had attacked me, begging me to stop this nonsense. It would be complete and utter nonsense if I didn’t run away. Running away from the skeletons in the closet, the oppressing parents, the carefully calculated life, the abuse when nothing had gone right. What was so wrong about that? She hesitated. Uncertainty: it ate us up then spit us out so we don’t get to see what bliss we could’ve missed. Maybe, just maybe, it was a bad idea. Doing things impulsively? It was stupid.

 

The look in her eyes had told me she would miss this place. Why would she? Everyone other than us seemed to be sane at that moment—irrevocably in love with money and unbelievably obsessed with pride. Sane. Was that sanity, though? Living a mundane life simply because you were afraid of change? Believing that happiness meant being able to pinch whatever you spotted off the rack of a branded shop, just because? Being able to buy something that was overpriced, when you could get the exact same thing for much cheaper? Being able to flaunt your money and take pride in the passer-by gazing at you while silently worshipping and wishing they were you? That was insane. Run away with me. She wanted to; I could see it in her eyes. I promised her I’d take care of her, love her for the rest of my life and that I would always find my way back to her. It was the first time I told her I loved her.

 

And run away we did. The feeling of her petite fingers entwined with mine was pure bliss, and so was the euphoric sound of our laughter as the rain did everything it could to stop us, but to no avail. The thought of us being able to live without having to follow all these laws, the thought of us being able to be together and know that we could stay together, the sensation of her smile against the kiss, the pleasure of making love, not meaningless one night stands, the feeling of my reacting heart whenever she was within my reach: pure bliss.

 

Love: it made you weak, but it strengthened you in ways you never knew was possible.

 

♠

 

I remember the feeling of pain due to the prolonged smile that was plastered on my face.

 

Insignificant, overlooked and perfect. “I love you.” Those three cliché words said too many times, yet not enough. There was no way to express the way I loved her, the way I thought of life with her, the thought of little feet running around the house as we breathlessly chased after them, the clear sound of church bells, the thought of her genuine smile that was painted on her lips—a masterpiece made by none other than me—the quickened pulse, the scent of her shampooed hair, the embarrassing yet extremely addictive teasing, the joyful sound of delighted squeals. How could one possibly complain about life?

 

Life: it was never—what some would say—a gift that we should all appreciate. Life was nothing. Living was a dread because of the countless of critics everywhere and the abnormality one would be labelled as when they were slightly off the scale that measured normalcy. The people in it: that was an entirely different story. She made life worthwhile; she made me appreciate each day. She was my whole existence.

 

Life: it was her.

 

♠

 

I remember the feeling of my heart dropping.

 

Speechless, unbelieving and completely and utterly lost. It hit you where you’d least expect it, when you’d least expect it, how you’d least expect it. “I have her with me,” he said and even though I couldn’t see her, I knew her well enough to know that she was shaking in fear, that she was silently praying for me to rescue her, that she was trying to escape, risking her life in the process, that she was stubborn and naïve enough to believe that she actually could escape.

 

I used to think that I always held the winning card. I was the key to his incessant money. I was the one person who could grant him eternal happiness—the one I had felt when I selfishly sacrificed his happiness for mine. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. You took away my money; I take away your love. That way, we both lose and if you think about it, we both win.” him. He knew nothing about love. He couldn’t love even if he tried to. Money gave you pleasure only for a short while, but who was going to give you a glass to drink and hold your hand when you grew thirsty on your death bed? How dare he say that it was similar? For ’s sake, it was nothing alike. “Let her go,” I screamed through the phone as I yanked the car door open, got in then drove home. I didn’t believe him. He couldn’t have taken her. How did he find out that we were here? I was certain I kept us invisible.

 

Let her go. Take me instead. It’s all my fault. She had nothing to do with this. it. Those cliché lines had nothing on him. I could hear her silent cries, begging me to save her from the monstrosity I used to call father. He couldn’t have taken her; I wouldn’t believe it. I’ll be damned if I did.

 

Then, I heard a gunshot. What followed was the irritating sound of uniformed, high pitched beeps.

 

All was lost.

 

She was gone.

 

And so was my happiness.

 

♠

 

I remember the sound of my heart beating.

 

I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t hear anything. It was silent; everything was. The imaginary sound of tiny footsteps was gone. The hopeful sound of church bells had faded. The sound of her laugh had disappeared. The shuffling of her footsteps was untraceable. Nothing could be heard, other than the amplified drumming of my own scarred heart. Ever wondered what that felt like? Don’t.

 

I had let her down. I wasn’t there to save her. I didn’t respond to her pleas for survival. I hadn’t been there to hold her hand and give her a glass to drink right before she died. I had let her down. It was all my fault. It was all my doing. It was because of my father. It was because of my selfish intentions. It was because of my foolishness to think that I could love like normal people could. It was because of my childish wish to rebel. It was all my fault. And now, I had to pay for it. I had to live when my existence was gone. I had to live when there was no more meaning in my life. Why should I live anyway?

 

I didn’t deserve life.

 

I did deserve the pain. I deserved the suffering. I didn’t deserve to live, but I deserved the misery of living.

 

Time erode me. Pain erode me. Life erode me. Love erode me. Memories erode me. I erode me.

 

♠

 

I remember the bitter taste of alcohol running down my throat.

 

Cold, relieving yet completely ineffective. “Want another one?” Of course I wanted another one, you annoying prick. I needed help. I needed comfort. I drank another glass. I promised her I’d stop drinking, yet there I was. I had let her down yet again. I had to drink, for tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to taste it anymore.

 

Tomorrow, I’d die. Tomorrow; I couldn’t wait for it.

 

I stumbled towards the malodorous toilet as I felt bile moving up my throat. The first thing that had greeted me was a couple attempting to make love. Pathetic. There was nothing called love. It didn’t exist. It hurt you. It made you pathetic. It changed you. It made you retch—literally, this time. I felt pathetic. I pitied myself. How did someone as carefree as me end up in such a state? , who was I to comfort myself?

 

I wasn’t worthy.

 

♠

 

I remember the sensation of the cold wind blowing against my cheeks.

 

Cold, wet, breathless and absolutely blissful. It was raining—it reminded me of the night we ran away. I could feel her tears drench me; drench my soul. The heavens were crying, because of the wretched tears that dared touch her unblemished face. This one’s for you, Jeonhwa. I’m sorry for letting you down. I’m sorry for not being there for you when you needed me the most. I’m sorry that you had to die because of my selfish intentions. I’m sorry for forcing you to run away with me. I’m sorry that you had to die because of my father’s lust for revenge.

 

Have you ever felt the urge to jump, when you stood on the balcony of the fifth floor of a 20 storey apartment? I did. Fifth floor didn’t seem like much, but it looked a lot higher from up above.

 

The pitter-patters of the rain droplets weren’t loud enough to drown out the galling voice of the newscaster. him. all of them. They were mocking me. They were mocking my wrongdoings. They were laughing at the way I thought I was worthy to be in her presence. She loved me. I kept telling myself that. Then, I heard it. The headlines; it was so intriguing. Dangerous Drug Dealer Dead. It was spoken with the clear use of alliterations. I carefully got off the balcony then ran towards the infested apartment—that wasn’t the only thing that had changed since she left, I’ll tell you that much. Then, I saw him. On the screen of the preposterous television box set. There he was. The picture of the man I used to look up to, the man who took away my youth, the man who blinded me, the man who killed her. His horrid picture had flashed across the screen, along with a short snippet of the paramedics forcing a man clad in thick, black plastic-like cloth into the back of their van. I couldn’t see his face, but the graceful portrait of him was enough evidence. He had died and throughout the whole topic, they had never said anything about a girl. It only meant one thing.

 

Jeonhwa was alive.

 

♠

 

I remember the feeling of newfound hope sparking in my heart.

 

It felt…hopeful.

 

♠

{    N  I  G  H  T  L  U  S  T ^TM   }