Я вас любил: любовь еще, быть может,
В душе моей угасла не совсем;
Но пусть она вас больше не тревожит;
Я не хочу печалить вас ничем.

Я вас любил безмолвно, безнадежно,
То робостью, то ревностью томим;
Я вас любил так искренно, так нежно,
Как дай вам бог любимой быть другим.

The eternal sound of the light rain constantly knocking the roof of his apartment woke Baekhyun up. He stirred at first, muffling the sound under the soft, warm blanket he pulled up to his face. But as he closed his eyes back, his mind was getting aware of his surrounding, it was useless.  So after a few minutes of pulling himself back into slumber and failed, he decided he couldn’t sleep anymore.

He sat up instead, hands rubbing the remaining drowsiness off his eyes, which wasn’t much. Sooner than he would have liked, he was fully awake now. The digital clock on the table showed that it was nine minutes past eight in the morning, early in the fall.  The sun must have set up in the sky yet Baekhyun found the room still dark. Kicking off his blanket and setting his bare feet on the floor, Baekhyun tried to blindly search for his slippers. When he couldn’t find them, he almost got frustrated and walked to the windows barefooted.

The sky was grey and the rain seemed to last forever when he pulled aside the peach colour curtain. Some drops stick to the window glass and left some fogs when it trailed down ever so slowly. There was no one outside, even the cars were rare and made no sound, swallowed by the rain.

Gloomy weather. And suddenly he felt the same. Damp. There was a heavy feeling in his chest, suffocating him, agonizingly so. He wanted to scream; he wanted to cry for no legit reason. And before he realized, a bead of tears had strolled down his right cheek. He quickly wiped it with the heel of his hand and looked back at his queen size bed. Empty, cold, and felt out of place. As if something was missing. Something he didn’t know what, something he couldn’t see. Yet, he felt it deeply, like a fresh cut inside his chest.

Clutching the front of his thin white tee, he dropped on the floor, back pressing the windowsill as he let the tears falling one by one, perpetually, almost endlessly. The tears without a reason he could name.

Why it’s always like this? Why I always wake up to a strange longing feeling I don’t know of?