Ravishing pink it was. The horizon between heaven and earth. Prepossessing it was. Buried there a garden of words, of earthly delights, and of heavenly dismay. He blinked rapidly, right in front of him was a soft hue, a soft pastel shade of red and blue. It was sweet, charming and feminine. It danced in front of him, like bubble gum and cotton candy, like a little girl singing a song of joy. He blinked again, the pink faded, laid on the ground and fell into a deep slumber. And it buried there again, a garden of magnificence, of hope and of love. Beautiful is mortal when pain is immortal. Even when he was standing there, right in a garden of bliss, but deep into the darkness, long he stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams that could never come true. In his garden he grew, a flower that would always be his, to grow into him someday, to love him like he did, to embrace him as he wished, and to stay with him, not always but forever. But it was in his dreams where he built the garden, dreams that would forever revolve, in the longing darkness, together with the flower.

Even at times like this, right now when he was facing the winter blossom, engulfed by the daring pink, there was a thin layer of ice, cooling his insides, a gentle reminder of pain. Was it his mind or his heart, that longed to fly? Or was it both? But he stayed locked up in the frozen prison, too afraid to pick the lock or to break the bars. With his lonely garden he stayed, under the winter blossom, in hope to see him again.

“Jungkook, are you awake?”

There was a beam of light to his soul. A light that streaked across the dark, illuminating his world. And he could feel the blooming of his flower, slowly but gracefully, each of the petals was awakening, escaping from the shyness with a tint of red on their cheeks. It was sending him into a state of euphoria, it felt like a serendipity, a singularity to his life, yet it hit him hard like an epiphany, abrupt and unforeseen.

“Jungkook, I am so afraid. Where are you?” he spoke again, melodious voice sounded from behind. Right at the moment when he turned around, the voice spoke again. But this time, it was from the left. And it happened again, it was now from the right and from the above. It was a never ending cycle, from all the direction, it kept repeating the same thing, telling him he was afraid, he told him, again and again. But he knew it, it was not real, it was not him. He tried to feel, to run away from the Lucifer, but he felt nothing. Not his voice, not his limbs, not his body.

Jimin, is this how you feel too? When you are alone is this how you feel? Not being able to become yourself, not being able to become a person, is this it? Jimin, don’t be afraid, I will be meeting you very soon, and by that time, my flower would have bloomed. It will be like you, as beautiful, as gentle, as strong. It will carry all the hope and love, it will cherish you, it will be the world you have been dreaming of. And I shall name it after you, Barbie.