Sometimes, I wonder what she would do if she were in my place. Would she feel the same way as I do? Would she wait for me like I'm waiting for her? Even though she told me she had to leave, and didn't tell me to wait, I know she'll be back for me – because I would be back to her no matter what. That thought is the only thing that keeps me going these days... every day, it's becoming more and more of a struggle to get through the day, to breathe and eat and just get to the end of the day. In the morning when I wake up, the first thing I feel is dread... everything has become a meaningless mess of time to kill to try and stay distracted from my own hateful thoughts; I have no goal or dream, I have nothing to get better for besides her. I am nothing but a burden for my family – I always was, but now even more so.

"Hey, honey!" Mrs Min's voice startled Yoongi, and he quickly shut his notebook and shoved it under the blankets.

"Hi, Mom," he said, wondering what his facial expression was. Sad, worried, empty, joyful, what did he look like when he talked with his mother right after writing in his journal?

"Were you writing again?" she asked, sitting on the edge of his bed and reaching over to massage his sore muscles one last time before bed.

He shrugged, unsure of whether she would want to read it if he said yes.

"Good," she murmured. "It helps to arrange your thoughts, doesn't it?"

He shrugged again, not sure if she would exactly understand what kind of thoughts he was arranging.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, her fingers digging into his neck and moving in small circles. "There are some of those cookies you like, if you want."

"No, thank you," murmured Yoongi, feeling little tingles run down the back of his sp ine. "I'm not hungry."
 

"All right then." Mrs Min then launched into a monologue of her day – about Namjoon always studying too hard, the way Namjoon was excited to start attending a new tuition centre. Yoongi tuned her out, not in the mood to listen to things about Namjoon, he frankly didn't care what his younger brother was doing.

When Mrs Min bid him good night and left, Yoongi sat up slowly and took out his journal. Aimlessly flipping through it, he came across one paragraph, whose anger, he remembered, had caused dents in the paper because he was writing with such force.

She finally did it. She finally just left, with barely a goodbye to me. Like I'm some used tissue it was time to throw away. I don't care. I won't look for her. I'm so sick of her cutting me off and then suddenly pulling me in. Does she feel good by doing this? Does she feel good when I send her text after text with no answer from her? I'm done. I don't care, she'll be back eventually. I knew she would start disappearing.

He was so angry and naive. This was written more than half a year ago, she still hadn't come back. And everyone said she didn't even exist, that she was his imagination.

She wasn't. Yoongi's memory had been damaged in the accident, but he knew one thing for sure – she was real. She would come back in the end, because she always did and this time would be no different. In fact, Yoongi decided he was going to write down everything he could remember which involved her, from A to Z, so that when others tried to convince him and sway him that he was indeed imagining her, he could read what he wrote and remember. Once, he had almost let himself get convinced he had imagined her... he didn't want to risk it again.

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