The sky outside was grey, the kind of grey that settles in your bones; making you feel extraordinarily sluggish. People opting to stay inside rather than walk around out in what could be considered the dreariest day possible. I was also opting to stay indoors, but not because of the depressing weather (which matched my current mood quite well anyway), but rather because I had decided that it would be an excellent idea to wallow in my past mistakes and current misery.

     I was lying in the middle of my apartment living room surrounded by photo albums. They were in a semi-circle around me, forming what seemed an inescapable ring of misery. Within these photo albums were cherished memories from some of the best years of my life. The maroon one directly to my left was the hardest to look at. It contained all the pictures that had been taken when I first met the love of my life. It had our first date- a sweet trip to the marina where we had dinner on his uncle’s boat, in which afterwards he insisted that we take the cheesiest selca, he had his arms around my shoulders and we were both smiling widely with our cheeks pressed together. The photo album also contained a picture of me blushing heavily- my body covered by a blue duvet- he had insisted he wanted a picture to cherish and to remind him of our first time together.

     I guess I shouldn't be bitter that we broke up, it was as painless as it could've possibly been- at first at least- it took me two weeks to completely come to terms with the fact that I was alone in this apartment he and I had made so many memories in. But after two weeks of mentally blocking the fact that all that wrapped me in its arms after he left was the coldness of being completely alone, I realized that's exactly what I was. I was alone. I went into a state of complete shock, not speaking, not eating (until my friend Sungmin came over and forcefully made me swallow some soup), I was barely even living. It took Sungmin and his boyfriend Kyuhyun another month to get me back on my feet, I felt bad for them- having to take care of a nearly catatonic mess- but every time I mentioned them going home for alone time or even just leaving for a few hours they adamantly refused. I think they were worried I was going to try and harm myself in some way, even if I assured them that no matter how utterly blank I was I wasn't suicidal in the least. But I guess I can’t fault them for being worried.

     After a month and a half of them practically living in my apartment (I'm glad I had a spare bedroom, because I couldn't have handled the guilt of them having to sleep on a couch, especially added to the fact that they pretty much gave up their normal lives for me) They finally decided to leave me alone for longer periods of time, for which I was grateful. I finally had the chance to live- actually live- without him. They slowly gave me more space to be alone, and by a month later it was back to almost-normal. They had their lives and I was limping by without him. Here I am 6 months later with a slowly healing wound in my heart, which, of course, was slowly being reopened by looking through these old photo albums.

     I flicked my gaze toward one that I hadn't looked through yet- it was blue and newer than the rest. I grabbed it and pulled it into my lap, wiping off another stray tear like I had been all afternoon. Flipping to the first page had my breath catching in my throat, moving on to the second page had me in utter pain, and by the third page sobs wracked my body so horribly I thought I was going to be sick.

     Inside of this blue album were pictures I didn't even know existed. I remembered him taking them, like the one on the third page; he had walked up behind me, one arm looped around my waist and holding the camera out in front of us. My eyes looked tired and bloodshot- effect of the tears shed only hours earlier when we talked about what would happen to us when you moved- and you looked sad, but we both wore smiles and leaned into each other knowing that we only had a small amount to time left. I hadn't realized he had put all of the pictures he'd taken those last few days into an album and left them for me.

     I calmed my tears until I got to the last page, where they started back double-force. There on the last page was a hand written note, some of the letters a bit smudged with what looked like tears. I stifled a sob and pulled it out to read it.

"Donghae-       

     I can't believe after all of this time we're getting torn apart by something as irrelevant as a job on the other side of the country. I love you more than you could ever imagine. I’m writing this so you’ll never forget exactly how much I love you. I love your smile, your laugh, everything. One day I will make my way back to you, that I promise. Well, I can’t write too much more, still have a lot of packing to do. I love you so much.

-Hyukjae”

     The letter had me clutching my stomach in pain from my heart wrenching, my free hand reaching for the bottle of alcohol to my left. I hadn’t drunk any of it yet, but I could feel my strength waning and needed more courage to get through the rest of the pages. I took a large gulp, it burned like fire down my throat, and I steeled myself and flipped to the next page.

     By the end of the day I was beyond drunk, lying in the floor with dried tears lining my face. My phone hung numbly in my hand; I kept dialing his number then deleting it before I got the guts to hit the call button. I sat in the dreary darkness for two hours before I finally hit the call button and brought it to my ear.

     “Hello?”

a/n- Yes, there will be more, but I literally can not write anymore right now. I am way to engrossed in listening to D.O, Baekhyun, Chen, and Luhan singing Open Arms (I'm on the 6th listen right now... (make that seven)) I'm in a hate/hate relationship with this story right now. Enjoy~~