Sometimes, he would escape the present. In between a troubled past and a painful looking future, he would fail to remember that a “now” even existed, that there was a moment he was supposed to attend, pay attention to.

 

It wasn't as much a choice as it was a way for him to run, his legs not moving an inch but his mind taking him right across the oceans in just the blink of an eye. All it took was a breath and closed eyes, and he would no longer be stuck in the despair and ache he had no control over.

 

Sometimes he wouldn't go far. Sometimes he'd just go around the corner, to the shabby old coffee shop where smoke seemed to linger even when nobody was inside, and the tables were scarred with tobacco burns and the jukebox since long had stopped playing. He'd go to the bookshop a few streets away, where the shopkeeper would smile his crooked smile and ask him if he'd read his newest recommendation yet, and then laugh the same, hoarse laugh as always when he'd scratch his neck and give an apologetic smile. Sometimes, he wouldn't even go anywhere. He'd just roam the streets, looking at the people he'd known since childhood and exchange a few words with the fisherman on his lunchbreak.

 

But other times, he'd travel far. Far away from everything he knew, to exotic places and unknown cities. He'd go to India, the country had always intrigued him. He'd look at the people, he'd listen to the music, he'd enjoy the food. Then he'd continue to Europe, through France and Italy and Greece and right up to the coldness of Finland, Sweden and Norway. He'd take a short trip through the United States, he had many places to visit after all, and return straight through Japan.

 

But his favorite place of all wasn't any of the above. It wasn't a foreign country far away and it wasn't a wellknown place filled with memories. Rather, it was a memory itself. A short, but happy dream within walls of anxiety and hopelessness. A light that made it possible for him to see.

 

His favorite place was July 24^th.

 

He visited a lot of people. His visited his mom, and his dad, and his sister. He visited his childhood friend, the tall soccerplayer he'd always been jealous of, and he visited the kid he used to bully in high school. He visited his music teacher, and his first girlfriend, and the boy he never dared to talk to on the train. But there was one person he visited the most, one who was a little younger than he was with golden blonde hair and a cute smile and dimples he didn't even know he liked until he saw them on him. A boy with no regrets and no fears, who managed to make him dream and hope and love. If anything, he visited Kim Kibum the most.

 

Kim Kibum... he wasn't even sure if he had been real. It felt like a summernight's dream, gone before reality had sunk in. But he liked to believe that he did exist, or had. He liked to believe that the laugh he remembered wasn't an illusion, and that the touch of his fingers wasn't a mirage. He liked to think that maybe, there had been a future for him with Kibum, a future where he'd been happy and hopeful, where he didn't forget about “now” and where the moment was everything.

 

July 24^th was an especially beautiful memory, one of a kind. He was sure he had perfected it in his mind, but he didn't mind it really. It was around a week after he'd met the boy for the first time (he tried to remember how they met but it wouldn't come to him...) and Kibum had been wearing baby blue shorts and a white tanktop. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but he had been sure they were looking just like the ocean. As always. They met up right outside the bookshop (oh that was where they met!) and strolled around town, not doing much really. He couldn't recall any words being spoken, he couldn't even remember if they held hands. But just walking there, beside the boy with his golden hair and his dimples and the slight blush on his cheeks, he didn't remember ever feeling that happy.

 

He believed they kissed that day. His lips would tingle every time he went back, so he was sure of it. He doesn't know when, or how it was. Did he force himself on him? Or did Kibum initiate it, with a colorfully red face and a beating heart matching his? Sometimes he would cry, because he wanted to know, and sometimes he'd be relieved because maybe, just maybe he was better left in the dark.

 

He remembered a feeling of goodbye. He remembered guns, and heavy clothing, and worry for the boy who seemed too pure to be there. He remembered tears and happiness and protecting and being protected. He remembered hiding, he remembered looking for the familiar body wherever they went. He remembered the ring he constantly carried with him.

 

But only sometimes did he remember the shot. The dust as the body fell to the ground. The seconds that it took him to be there, the warmth of the blood on his hands and the coldness of the hands tightly held in his. Only sometimes would he remember the look in the boy's eyes, the tears that welled up when he slipped the ring onto his fingers, the crushed "i love you" mouthed to him before the eyes closed. Only sometimes would be remember why Kibum wasn't there.

 

This was "now". This was the present. He came here only ever so often, but whenever he did, he wanted to go. Somewhere, where Kibum existed and his smile still lived.

 

In "now", an aged man let his hands fall on the wheels and turned himself towards the window, the sun beginning to set as he fondly let his fingers swipe over the sharp diamond forever etched onto his left hand. His gaze was absentminded, his actions barely controlled by an aware mind. 

 

Yes, Kim Jonghyun lived for July 24^th.

 

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Okay Idk where this came from but it was born literally twenty minutes ago. I'm not sure if i like it or not, especially the ending did not turn out like i wanted it to at all, but i realised I really at going from this "deep thoughtful" thing to "angst depression death" and whatnot so sorry ^^;

Please leave some constructive critisism in the comments and tell me what you thought! ^^ Bye ~

 

confuzion