White Roses

 

 

 

 

 

She is alone, her navy blue dress pregnant with newly-made dark blue spots. The rain is beginning to fall, yet she stays on. Her mascara smears down her cheeks; partially from the rain and partially from her tears. She doesn't remember how she got there, she doesn't remember when she came. Seeing the mound of dirt covered with white roses is enough to block such simple things to take note of.

 

 

 

 

 

White roses

 

 

 

 

 

 

They'd always been his favourite. He'd always liked the colour white, he’d always liked roses. She smiles slightly. Roses were the perfect flowers for someone who was a romanticist. Someone who would cuddle up to her and keep her warm on cold days. Someone who would tell her he loved her endlessly, with kisses in between each 'I love you'. Someone who'd buy her cheesy and cliché matching accessories. Someone who would find every reason to shower her with compliments.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone like Jungsu.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She remembers his white roses, even the first white rose she'd ever gotten. It fit in place next to the collage of memories on her wall; one she'd spent so much time fixing up with him. She’d received more in time- after a fight, during Valentine’s Day, their yearly anniversaries, sometimes even for no reason at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Each and every one of them hold memories; memories she can’t bear live without now that he is gone. She needs them to survive, see. She needs them to keep going. Because throwing them away is like throwing away her memories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Throwing away Jungsu.

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, she can’t. She can’t bear to. The one person she needs most in her life has to stay with her- one way or another.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s made it a daily routine, to come back every day and give him new ones. She talks to him, about how she misses him, how her life’s been and asks how his has been. She’d ask for his advice and then her head to one side, as though she can hear him whispering to her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Most of the time, she’d sit with a guitar in hand and hum a tune. Sometimes the tune would be accompanied by a complex array of guitar strums; then words would begin to form. When she’d finished composing the song, she’d proudly say it’s for him and sing. Her beautiful voice would ring out in the empty and desolate place- a voice so filled and overflowing with gentleness and sadness. She sings and sings and sings of the very same thing; even till gets sore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She sings a song of white roses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time doesn’t stop for her like how it does in the movies. Everything around her goes on, she’s forced to follow along. The years pass, her visits decrease. Then comes a time when she never comes at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s moved on, they say. She’s finally gotten over his demise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

⁞⁞⁞⁞

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9^th March, 2019

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

They find her so beautifully clothed in a white laced-dress. The graceful ballerina twirls and leaps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

But she never comes down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They open the door to her room, one she’d used to share with him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s white, so very white.

 

 

 

The sheets are white; the walls are white, the furniture, the carpet;

 

 

 

 

 

 

But no, not the roses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s got them scattered all around her. But they’ve turned black and limp.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They scream and cry, seeing the beautiful ballerina hanging. Her limbs hang limp, her lips in a slight smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She never comes down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A note, they find a note in her pocket. A tear-stained note with traces of smudged ink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If I die, put me next to him will you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

⁞⁞⁞⁞

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are two moulds of dirt now, one piled with fresh soil and the other clearly much, much older. It may have been of different ages, but the souls it held within have known each other for a much longer time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As her friends and family gather around and read off the gravestones, their brows push together as realisation hits them. They call them her the most foolish person on the face of the planet. They wail and cry and pound the heartache in their chests.

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

Park Jungsu (1^st July 1983 – 1^st July 2012)

 

Departed from the world

Awaiting a loved one

 

 

 

 

 

Kim Taeyeon (9^th March 1989 – (9^th March 2018)

 

Departed from the world

Now with a loved one

 

 

 
 

 

 

She’s never forgotten him, see. She’s never abandoned or moved on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s simply been waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All through the years, she’s held on to the white roses, counting them off till the day she turns 29- the age he was when he left her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And with a broken-heart, a tear-stained faced, a soft melodious voice singing of certain white flowers, she waits to join her loved one.