'Remember when I said that I thought I had a knack for crocheting? I was wrong. I got my finger caught so tight I had to cut it off. The thread, not my finger. I guess I was never one for the visual arts.
Anyway, I listened to this new album today. It was an English one, but really good. I think I heard you talk about the artist once or twice. If that's correct I see why you liked them. I've also been really interested in taking a trip somewhere in Italy. I think alone, but I don't know. Flying kind of scares me, now.
.
.
I miss you so much.
But anyway . . .'
---
The grass had not been allowed too, but if it were, it would have been nearly overgrown by now, perhaps covering the dates and sentiment.
He had a neighbor, too, who was not there before. Another life gone, another funeral, another lifetime of grief. Flowers that had been left there fed sprouting mushrooms. Colorful ribbons aged from the sun.
Namjoon and Jimin couldn't see their reflections in the stone. Polish had not been applied for a long time, now. Winter and deep snow had come, soon before a quiet spring, and then a sweltering summer. Three seasons, and now they were almost finished with the fourth.
Award show season was around the corner, but they had nothing to be considered. Their first English had a birthday. Namjoon noticed that a few rows down, a cross had lost half of one of its arms.
That was how long Jungkook had been dead. The earth had made a complete cycle around the sun, from the day he had gone.
They were exactly where they started.
Jimin sat next to him in the trimmed grass. He read the inscription over and over again. Sometimes his eyes would flicker downwards, and a look would cross over his face as if he could not understand that Jungkook was beneath them. He looked back up and read again.
He hadn't spoken much, but, there was a flash of a memory and his lips twitched upwards.
"Remember when he got so drunk he called Twice and asked to become the tenth member?"
Besides himself, Namjoon smiled. "And Nayeon said he had to buy them all Chanel bags to get in."
Jimin almost snorted, looking towards the sky, remembering the giggles and the slurred words.
"And then for their anniversary, he ended up buying them, anyway."
Generous. Generous, kind, caring. Always with us, forever.
"They sent some flowers."
Namjoon's throat was suddenly tight. He managed to respond after a heavy swallow. "That's nice."
"They posted, too, isn't that brave?"
He was blurting out a sentence before Jimin spoke the last syllable, the significance of the day finally catching up to him. It had been an entire year since Jungkook -
"Can you even believe this?"
There came a moment of silence. The younger's eyes were hard on his cheeks. Belief still came uneasily.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
To What Was Ours
फैनफिक्शनThe color of grief varies. For some, it's red, hot, vengeful, anger. For others, it's black, a solid nothingness. But when those feelings settle, it's always a deep, navy, blue. Water you dive into, to reach for the bottom, to struggle, to maybe dro...
