Gold Dust || JJK

50 - Seven

Jungkook

Tantamount to a psychic murder, the sea silenced her waves from gossiping about us. The giggles of the ebb and flow have been submerged and banned from what they witnessed, from what they heard, dropping a quilt of laconism and quiescence as if we're attending a funeral.

Cold, macabre stillness, and not given by the brisk wind. It's the murmur of the water that sounds like a blue mourning. It shall die here. Our little secret. That's what the stars said when they stopped shining to help me keep my promise.

Sunrise on the beach.

But I am off-putting in some way. My mouth is stale, and there is a lump in my throat as hard as a bullet, sharp and obstinate, that persists in blocking my airways. My lungs are crying, squeezing the oxygen from last night, possessed by her perfume, which I now use as an inhaler.

I am in a rational debt, tortured by the 'musts' and 'shoulds,' and the hand I desperately try to extend to the heavens is slapped harshly. Rather unfair, if you ask me, living with an imposter syndrome that doesn't allow me to follow my own preachings.

I thought there was no need for heaven when I had a haven, a cathartic shelter where I could sleepwalk my way through life. Thanking her for giving me emotional sanctuary won't be enough because I successfully fucked it up and turned it into a house of cards in a gust of wind.

No.

It was like that before. It has always been like that, but I did not mind.

It looked dustier, forlorn, and potentially punitive, letting me wade through the mud of my sorrow like I was in a trance. In a reverie of benign thoughts, I was ignoring the fire licking at my ankles.

Did I care? Of course not. It was my house.

My swamp of reprimed, murky feelings where I became a master gardener, carefully planting rotten seeds inside me. And she stepped on them. Pulled the putrid bushes from their roots and added bricks to our foundation.

Too bad that it feels like I don't deserve it.

Is the universe testing me? Jokingly checking if I have any common sense to reject it or if I'm greedy and take it? I am human. I will make mistakes. Such a familiar sentence that people tend to use just to excuse themselves. Why does it weigh so fucking heavy when you actually mean it?

And no, I'm not going back there, letting the remorse and regret consume me again. I healed from that already. Slowly and harrowing, but I did it. Now, I am fearful. Scared to my bones for doing the right thing at the wrong time.

But there is, in fact, no time to think about it today. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after tomorrow. Next week does not sound bad, either. Certainly not today.

"It's coming. It's coming. Look!" Faye screams and picks herself up, dusts herself off, and forgets all about me, the place where her hand held onto my knee becoming remarkably cold, "Baby, look!"